Maui Thirty Magazine

Getting to the beach with my grandfather in his Model T Ford was a huge task.  In the summers, my grandparents looked after my sisters and me.  I think when I was seven and my sisters were five and twelve, the thought of going to the beach and having a picnic was on our minds all the time.  We would plant the idea in my grandfather’s mind and on some days he would ask my grandmother to pack a picnic lunch.  YES!

That was the first part of the plan.  Success!

My grandmother would mumble something in an annoyed tone, but she would put the rice on and start frying spam.  She would pickle some cabbage. Beat some eggs, fry them with slices of Vienna sausage and cut them into bite size pieces.  The whole house would smell of “picnic”!!!  In about a half hour she would start packing the lunch ever so neatly into a cardboard box.  We had a table cloth, napkins, forks, chopsticks, plastic cups and a pitcher of ice water.

Meanwhile I was changing into my bathing suit and running around talking in a very loud, excited voice looking for my inner tube and beach towel.  I have no recollection of what my sisters were doing.  They were probably quietly holding their bathing suits, towels and inner tubes watching me get overly excited.

We would pile into the back seat of the car.  Me with my inner tube on, bouncing up and down on the seat, holding on to the cord behind the front seat and making believe I was riding a wild horse.  I have no idea how my sisters would fit into the back seat with me. I was too busy bouncing and swinging on the cord.

We would reverse out of the driveway and I would try not to scream too loudly.  My grandmother was never excited to be going to the beach.  She had gardens to look after, trim, clean…not waste time going to the water.  The car smelled of fried spam and musubi (riceball).  My grandfather would drive about ten minutes down the road.  As soon as he saw a dirt road that looked like it it didn’t lead anywhere, he would pull over.  He didn’t speak much English but he would smile broadly and say, “LUNCH!”  We would yell, “NO Jitchan (grandfather), drive some more!  Go Jitchan, no lunch, beach!”

He would get the car back on the road and we would drive another five minutes.  He would spot somewhere he could pull over and he would announce…“LUNCH,” and we would scream again…“NO!  Beach, Jitchan, beach.  Go!”  And off we’d go again.  Eventually, the smell of lunch would get to all of us.  The beach was forty-five minutes away from their house.  I don’t remember ever getting to the beach with my grandparents or having lunch at the beach.  We would always give in and eat our lunch sitting in the car stopped on the side of the road.

Full of a great lunch, Jitchan would turn the car around and go back home.  No lunch to take to the beach now and ready for a nap.  The ride home was quiet.  All the excitement and bouncing around was exhausting.   

In the next few days we would try again.  Never making it to the beach didn’t discourage us from trying again and again.  I would think my grandmother would get tired of packing a lunch for the beach and not getting there, but she never complained about not seeing the ocean.  We never caught on that we didn’t need our inner tubes or towels either.  Lunch in the car by the side of the road always tasted delicious.  I love the memory of my grandfather pulling over on the side of the road for lunch.  I think of it every time I go to the Big Island.  I see places where we had our picnics in the car and I laugh, seeing myself sitting inside an inner tube eating lunch in the back seat of Jitchan’s Model T.

On May 23, 1960 a massive 8.5 earthquake off the coast of Chile caused a tsunami that hit the Hilo Bay area on the Big Island.  With waves reaching thirty-five feet, much of downtown Hilo was destroyed.  $24 million in damage occurred with over 500 homes and businesses affected.  Sixty-one people lost their lives.  Wilma Nakamura was a young girl who saw the devastation firsthand.  This is her story.

Just thinking about writing down my memories of the 1960 tsunami in Hilo gets my heart racing.  I’ve never tried to remember the details of that day before, but the feelings I experienced have always stayed with me.

My parents had just purchased a hotel in Hilo that year.  The new business was an exciting prospect for our family, but we had no idea how our lives would soon change.  Before we had the chance to settle in to our daily routine, the whole community was turned upside-down overnight.

I was thirteen and in the eighth grade. That Sunday, my sisters and I were home watching TV with our mom and dad while getting things ready for school the next day.  We were a little surprised when the Civil Defense sirens started wailing.  Hearing the sirens in Hilo was part of life on the islands, but it didn’t happen frequently.

Most of the folks in the area who had to evacuate did so and took the warnings seriously.  The wave was supposed to hit at a specific hour, but when it didn’t many went back home.  Their thinking was, “There’s not going to be a tsunami…I have to get back to my bed, I have work the next day.”  I remember not being able to fall asleep for a while because the sirens were very loud.  There was no “all clear” signal before I fell asleep, but our house was on high ground so we felt safe.  My parents went to the hotel to make sure the guests were comfortable.  The hotel was also located on higher ground, although you could hear the sound of waves when the surf was up.

Eventually, morning came.  I awoke to silence.  No one was making breakfast, a sound we usually woke up to.  I realized that either my parents weren’t home yet or they had left again very early.  It was Monday, so my sisters and I got ready for school.  We waited for our parents to come back and drive us, worried that we were going to be late.  My Dad finally drove up around 8am.  He seemed very distant and quiet.  He was usually a happy and cheerful person in the morning.  We drove down Waianuenue Avenue towards school, but when we go there he drove right past it.  We all shouted, “Dad…school.”  He said, “No school today.  We had a big tidal wave last night.”  We were full of questions…“Really?  What happened?  Is the hotel okay?”  He replied, “I’m taking you to see what happened.  You’ll remember this for the rest of your lives.”

We drove down Waianuenue towards the ocean and I thought, “No, I don’t want to go near the water…”  When we got to the end where Kamehameha fronts the shoreline, my Dad pointed to the right.  We looked down the road and a huge boulder the size of a building had rolled in and parked itself there.  There were dead fishes everywhere on the road.  We saw what looked like railroad tracks, metal poles neatly laid out but connected to the sidewalk.  I couldn’t make out what I was looking at.  My Dad pointed out that the force of the wave was so strong the parking meters were bent over at the base and laid across the road.

We drove down Kamehameha Avenue as far as we could go.  He didn’t want us to get out of the car because it was not safe.  The stores along Kamehameha were still standing.  Once in a while we saw broken windows.  When we got to around Mamo Street we could see that all of the houses from Mamo down towards Waiakea town were gone.  We just saw rubble.  Hilo Theater building was still there but that was all.  To the right looking up towards the Hilo Hongwanji church, I was again confused by what I saw.  My Dad quietly explained that houses were taken off their foundation and pushed up towards Kinoole and stacked one on top of another, sometimes three houses high.  The National Guard, police and firemen were helping people out of the wreckage.  At that point we had seen enough.  Dad turned the car around and we drove back to the hotel in silence.

Hilo had no electricity for what seemed like ten days or more.  My sister and I were assigned the task of washing the sheets and towels by hand and hanging them out to dry.  We were more than happy to have an important job.  The hotel was undamaged, but my parents had a lot on their minds.  They were very worried because they had not heard from one of the cleaning ladies, one of the cooks and one of the bartenders.  We had no idea if they were okay.

Thankfully after a couple of months they did all return to work, but like the town of Hilo they were never the same.  Their lives had been devastated by unexpected loss and grief.

I have no photographs from that day.  My Brownie camera was only used for happy occasions back then.  I never thought of capturing those frightening images or wanting to remember what I saw.  We were all too stunned and in shock to think of anything but the sadness of it all.

When we finally got back to school and the students started shuffling in to class, the seat in front of me stayed empty.  I thought, “Connie’s going to miss the first day of school?”  But our homeroom teacher soon made the sad announcement that Connie had not survived the tsunami.  It was hard losing my friend at such a young age.  I still remember Connie’s seat stayed empty for a long time after, a painful reminder of the very real devastation we experienced in our community.