Development in Paradise

By Peter T. Love

THE big land-developer, from his shirt to his suede-leather shoes, was clad all in white. Strutting like a peacock he felt proud of himself for the way the show was going.

After all, he alone was behind the raising of funds for the “develop ment” of this property. He too had brought all the people, including the board of directors and guests, to this memorable occasion. Even the mayor showed up for the ground breaking ceremony.

He addressed the crowd, “OK folks, before we indulge any more in the fishheads and rice, ha, ha, the reverend here would like to say a quick little blessing. OK rev, take it away . .

As the reverend slowly bowed his head in prayer, thanking the Almighty for the lascivious banquet table set before them, the land baron quickly gulped his vodka martini.

People were still milling around the table laden with pupus, fruits, and assorted delicacies. Cameras were clicking in the background to cap ture the scene for posterity. With the loose pages of his tattered prayer book fluttering in the breeze, the reverend struggled to finish his blessing.

Ironically, the reverend was called in to ask for God’s protective eye on the property. The land developers, being most irreligious and ignorant of Hawaiian custom, did it because it was “the thing to do” and every one else with newly acquired pro perty in Hawaii was doing it!

I was asked to go and bring the reverend to the ground breaking ceremony. Nobody else cared to make the trio. As I knocked on the door of his old plantation house at Honolua village, he was sitting on the couch in an old undershirt with

a big grin on his face, exposing his one and only tooth and several par tially rotted stumps. Telling him who I was and why I was there, he said he could remember nothing about this particular blessing, but it was OK anyway. If I could give him a minute, he would quickly change his clothes. Less than one minute later he was back wearing a green shirt, red tie, and a heavy, wrinkled blue sportscoat. His baggy pants dragged over his shoes. He walked to the corner of the room, picked up a very old briefcase and piled some even older books into it.

Driving from Honolua to Kihei he was waving to friends the entire trip. During the journey, he pointed out to me things along the roadway which he had blessed . . . “You see that beach park, I bless all those covered tables. And that Kaanapali Golf Course, they want me to stand in one place and bless the whole thing, but I say no . . . must go all over course and bless all 18 holes!”

The Rev. Kaanapu is considered by the people of this island to be a kahuna, a priest who has power to communicate with the gods. Kahunas were important in the history of the islands, being linked with the chiefs to give them added power. The Rev.

Kaanapu is one of the last kahunas in the islands; he is also the Con gregational minister for his local town.

When we returned to Kihei we stopped at the Rolling Hills office.

I left the Rev. Kaanapu briefly in the car as I went in to check on the pro ceedings. There at his big desk was Louis Lowenclaus, dressed all in white, laughing his usual laugh, and talking business with some elderly fat man. When I walked in to ask him about the ceremony, he seemed

a million miles away. Then suddenly he clicked back in to the situation at hand, the blessing of his properties.

“Say, see if you can keep the reverend entertained for the next half hour or so, OK?”

An hour later, Lowenclaus hit the scene like a flash, wanting immedi ately to get on with the show. He seemed like a man possessed; time was money and he had places to go and people to see. He did not care for the blessings interrupting his tight schedule.

“Say, John, do you think you could give us a quickie blessing on this first piece of land. You remem ber we already blessed it a couple of years ago, ha, ha . . Lowen claus was truly enjoying the whole scene. The board of directors had arrived and he made even greater effort to be recognised as the central figure.

On the way to the first property, the Rev. Kaanapu stopped to pick a flower. Little of the beauty of the land passed his attention. As he was pointing out plants like the ti plant and explaining its usefulness in the Hawaii of yesterday, Lowenclaus was irritated. He wanted to get on with it.

The reverend’s tattered little books with the pages falling out contained his prayers in Hawaiian and English.

As he read a passage, I sensed the aura of irreverence for the land and wildlife by the people gathered about him.

At the second property, for the major ceremony, while the reverend was trying to say the prayer, an elderly woman squeezed into the picture with the dignitaries and the Rev. Kaanapu. Her husband, hold ing his expensive camera, shouted above the prayer . . . “Closer, Ethel, get closer!”

At the subsequent party on the rooftop of Kihei Towers Condo minium, the people swarmed at the food on the table like a hoard of locusts. Lowenclaus, again getting into the act, called out in his boom ing voice . . . “OK folks, John is going to say a little blessing on these pupus, ha, ha. OK John, let’s have it”. The people swarmed around the food and took pictures as the re verend tried to ask a blessing and offer his gratefulness.

When the Rev Kaanapu finished his prayer, he looked up into the hills above the Kihei Towers. These very same hills where he used to wander as a boy were now filled with new powerlines, new highways and more houses than one could count.

Great clouds of dust were moving down the hillside as bulldozers cleared more sites for houses, con dominiums and shopping centres.