Many of my most important memories, at least those from my short time in Lahaina, came rushing in like the wind that brought the horrible Maui fires.
As soon as I hiked out of the airport at Kahalui in May of 1976, the first information I got from any folks was to go to Lahaina. So that was where I commenced my life as a homeless vagabond, and life was good.
A lot of us slept out in the fields, the vacant lots, with three foot high weeds to cover the lights. Wake up and be about a block from one of the beach parks, which means a bathroom, which is important when homeless. So no problem in Lahaina.
Better than no problem, breakfast on the street in Lahaina was the best. Many of the homes in the area featured small mango trees with really big mangoes. Most of the mangoes would be harvested by hand and sold for a dollar each down at the market. However, in almost every yard one or two of the fruit had fallen on the ground over night. Since it had hit the ground it was considered unsalable so the locals put the nightfall mangoes up on their property line fence every morning for the homeless. They are simply delicious. A great way to start the morning. Or rather I should say they were.
Probably more than half the nights out of the six weeks I (age 23) spent on Maui in '76 were spent in Lahaina, with the others at Seven Sacred Pools or Makenna Beach. But Lahaina, with the mangoes, and the people, always drew me back.
It was more than just mangoes in the morning too. You could get mangoes all day long, during the season, at the site of the old prison yard. It was just an old open stone structure, with the gate long gone. We would go in and just sit around, waiting for one of the small types of mangoes to fall from one of the two huge mango trees growing in the yard. Usually, you only had to wait five or less minutes. After a few days of eating too many mangoes, most learned that there were limits, but it was great for a few weeks.
I remember a lot of the people. Folks at the natural market. George of the Jungle,
I preferred to move around town without being stuck with a pack on my back, so instead of hiding my pack someplace (where I feared it might get stolen) I would leave it in the middle of the promenade on the waterfront, in public view of everything. Then, after I had walked away, I reasoned that a thief would hesitate to abscond with my large pack, not knowing if I was watching it or not. Shaky theory I guess, but it worked there in Lahaina in '76.
The water front park in Lahaina, the one with the promenade, right next to the Pioneer Inn, was always the place to be at sunset. It seemed half the town gathered to spark up together every sunset. I would wager good money that particular tradition was still going strong until this last week.
After the nightly gathering broke up, most the folks probably went to their homes. I went to hang out under this huge tree, the banyan tree, that covered a whole city block. It always felt nice, cool, and peaceful, under the limbs of that welcoming tree. There were usually other folks around, singing or whatever. I would retreat from there to find a spot to sleep about ten o'clock or so.
One night, just after nightfall, I was sitting in the Banyan Tree park, and there's only this one other guy, sitting one bench away, strumming on a guitar.
He was pretty good so I listened for a while. Then he stopped and gave me some good advice. I realized later that he was Stephen Stills, who used to keep a boat in the harbor. I haven't heard, I hope he is alright. And the banyan tree?
I could go on and on recounting lessons learned in Lahaina. I worked one night at a restaurant and another night was spent on an intense tutorial about entrepreneurial culture. But this is not really about me, or my self indulgence of eating life's dessert first, or my precious memories of Lahaina.
No, this is about Lahaina. The town.
Where any number of young adventurers might find themselves. It was a magical place where so many paths and cultures could intermingle. Or at least they used to be able to.
This is to mourn the loss of that Lahaina. The wonderful people of Hawaii, our entire nation, and indeed the whole planet have lost a greater treasure than most of us really know. The generosity of heart and hand of the community of Lahaina will be remembered, and hopefully restored along with homes and orchards, but even there the loss to fire is devastating. The large-scale loss of human life reported in the fire, and rebuilding the culture of Lahaina looks much more problematic. Still possible but problematic.
Be that as it may, with whatever the future holds, for now Lahaina is completely gone. Her loss deserves our tears and our prayers. That bright generous throwback to the best of a bygone era is extinguished, at least for a time. It is the loss not just of a cultural memory, but of a real cultural mechanism. Something has been taken from us that we might not ever get back. Prayer and mourning are in order.
