Hawaii Five-O With Grandfather

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Because he looked like Chin Ho, Papaw showed Hawaii Five-O special reverence, his championship bowling tournaments over, and his lawn Bermuda mowed. Mimosas in the virgin episode, when stars commit a capital offense, somewhat alleviate the sparse suspense as McGarrett speeds a Honolulu road. I never asked why that Hawaiian man— his partner played by Zulu, known as Kono – ……resembled Uncle Teddy to the “T’s.” I schemed to have, by some clean-handed plan, his cute Korean doll in white kimono ……and tittered when the kids called me Chinese.


“He turned against his people and the land.” Jack Lord is listening. “That side of Nate,” the suspect spits, “is one I came to hate.” The gritty talk grandfathers understand. He’d pile the concrete where those mountains stand. Chin Ho strides through the office, hasty, straight, (like a thunder-stricken pahu), to relate the coroner’s report held in his hand. We will be strangers in our land, one day, development from mountaintop to sky, ……the aphorisms of the elders say. Commiseration dampens Papaw’s eye. Compassion fails for those who could betray ……the Earth, and earn no sorrow when they die.


My Navajo best friend is now Hawaiian. I see her when Kamahemeha’s cloak is stolen by some students for a joke – its yardage yellow as a dandelion. This caper’s victim moves me. Not one ion of pity from its captors as they smoke offscreen, no anguish for the law they broke. One of the thieves could pass for that king’s scion, and had that cape draped Papaw underneath, it then makes sense to me why Kono shames ……this culprit whose progenitors’ descent has power to authentically bequeath the shark’s-tooth necklace, strung with natal claims, ……whose very blood implores him to repent.


An episode of rarity which delves deeply in the isle’s mythology, I read in the official guide’s précis, as archaeologists pick up the helves to dig by layers dirt they lay in shelves— Kamehameha’s grave a mystery these scientists of Time expressly see as correspondent chiefly to themselves. But how it disappoints, these academics, the culture socially correct in focus; ……the lava of cold theory, without scorches to fire and scar those marvelous polemics they tout beside the torn, imported crocus ……for leis, at this descending of the torches.


Based on now-debunked, dramatic rumor surrounding Frank Sinatra’s kidnapped son, it’s South Pacific film noir, golden gun the whole way, lacking anything of humor. Sal Mineo – for the Elvis-crowd consumer— lip-synchs at the beginning, and we’re won, already ready for the sure rerun, like tourists by the hula girls’ perfumer. Who knew the clue for this misdeed would hinge on Kono’s recognition of a song, ……a breezy standard strummed on ukulele? Now, decades later, I am free to binge on memories that I’ve suppressed so long ……their color’s dulled, that once were broadcast gayly.