2 Hours after imbibing 5+ Polynesian style cocktails, & deciding that going “Hawaiian” might be just the thing, I found myself on a jet bound for Honolulu. Drunk & sassy, I had written a bad check to the airline (you could actually pass a bad check in those days, before electronic balance checks & debit cards), & off I went into the wild blue yonder, bound for the tropics with no money & no luggage…just my wits & a toothbrush.
I arrived in Honolulu 6 hours later, sober & freaked out. I checked into the Holiday Inn using a Texaco Credit Card the parents had given me to use for automobile “emergencies”, but I had once noted that the card was good at a few hotel/motel chains.
After sleeping it off, & having prayed that I would actually wake up back at my Playa del Rey apartment, I considered the consequences of what I had done, but I was enchanted with pungent, tropical air of the island & I decided- “what the hell…I am in Hawaii!”
I didn’t think much of the Capitol city & wanting a more authentic Hawaiian experience, I took a municipal bus to the other side of the island & got off in a spot that looked more native, with the romantic name- Makaha (a favorite spot for surfers). I set up a little camp for myself on the beautiful white sandy beach, made up from towels stolen from the Holiday Inn. At sunset, a lovely lady in her 40s in a mu-mu, swept down the beach & plopped down next to me with the offer of a beer.
Marla was a refugee from Washington State, & with this in common we started a nice long conversation. Marla was managing an apartment building near the beach & after hearing my sad story of how I ended up on the beach at Makaha, she offered me a vacant apartment for a couple of days. I ended up staying 4 days. I survived by attending “happy hour” with complimentary h'orderves at the Makaha Golf Club, where I had befriended the middle aged & effeminate cocktail hour piano player. He had allowed me to sing while he played & to “pass the hat” (I actually had a hat) in the lounge. I entertained & bewitched the locals & tourists as a the little 20 year old with the big red afro & the repertoire of Broadway classics. I made more than $20 each evening that I was there. The rest of the time I spent on the beach.
On day 4, filled with dread, I wrote another bad check & flew to L.A. Back at Loyola Marymount University, I had abandoned my assigned position of lightboard operator for my Theatre Department’s production of Racine’s Phaedra during tech week & opening night. I was put on probation & I took my punishment & humiliation like man. A man with a tan in this case.
Years later, during a dinner conversation with my parents & their guests, I slipped about my visit to the Island State when the talk turned to vacations spent there. Me: “Well when I was on Oahu, I really had fun at the…, I mean, if I ever went, what I meant to say was…” The parents were horrified, but somehow not all that surprised. The guests were now afraid of me. It was my only visit to Hawaii. I would love to return someday with the Husband. I think about Marla’s kindness, singing for my supper & my Hawaiian adventure on every Tax Day for the last 36 years.
