(instrumental music) Announcer: Aloha ladies and gentlemen,  we'd like to welcome you to the Honolulu Stadium.

Taking in a football game  set with Saint Louis versus Kamehameha.

(music playing) Narrator: For 50 years, Honolulu Stadium housed  the biggest sporting events, the greatest social functions and the friendliest gatherings.

The  house that Beven built was not just an arena.

It was a reflection of our community.

As the town  grew and changed, so did the stadium.

It came to life in 1926 with a game between the University  of Hawaiʻi Fighting Deans and Scottie Schumann's Town team, led by future stadium manager Pump  Searle, it breathed its final active breath in 1975 as the Hawaii Islanders won the PCL  Championship.

The state had plans for a bigger, better place to play.

In between anything and  everything that could fit onto the two acres of turf on the corner of King and Isenberg thrilled  Hawaiʻi's fans and fueled young athletes' dreams.

Jim Nicholson: So, we went to all the Kaimukī  games, and I started going to games probably when I was in the fifth grade.

We'd walk  from Pālolo and stop at a crackseed shop on near University Avenue someplace, and go  to the stadium and watch the Bulldogs play.

Herman Wedemeyer: The stadium was the place  that every young man in this community hoped that someday they could take their  cleats into that soil and be part of it.

Dwight Toyama: Halftime, we all wait as  they come out as the players would come out of the locker rooms and lean over,  hit everybody on the shoulder pads, on the helmet.

And after the game,  running to the bus, asking everybody for their chin straps and stuff.

That's  what I remember best about the stadium.

Narrator: Fans came from every part of Oʻahu  to see Olympic hero Jesse Owens race a horse and win.

They marveled at the ingenuity of  the Boy Scouts at their Makahiki festivals.

Pep squads and cheerleaders pushed for their  teams to whip the Warriors and smash the puns.

Countless big league baseball players  and yearly Hula Bowl all-stars thrilled the local fans.

Everybody knew that the  best seats in the house were the last two rows of section six, right on the 50, covered  from the Mānoa mist by the overhang of the press box.

But before you could get to  the seats, you had to get in the gate.

Jim Leahey: You'd have to have your student  identity pass and all of, I remember, all of the gatekeepers were very grouchy, very grouchy  Portuguese men.

They were all Portuguese, and they were and like no excuses, no excuses.

This  is event 16.

You get 15.

I not going let you in, next, next, next!

Okay, step aside, step aside,  you know.

And you go, wow, you know, I came all the way from, I don't care.

Look, look, the sign,  16.

You get 15.

That was last week.

You know?

Narrator: This stadium was a  home for concerts and carnivals, polo and parades, and it was a part of the family.

Fred Borsch: I talked to people who said it  was the greatest babysitter in the world.

Their parents would come out and watch  a ball game, and the kids would go out the right field to catch fly balls.

And  they wouldn't have to worry about them.

Narrator: With peanut shells under your feet  and the smell of beer and cigarettes hanging heavy in the air, colorful nicknames would ring  out.

Point Tinoy, Sparky Neves, Russian Cabral, Mullet Arakaki, Jabo Jablonski, Donkey Nakamoto,  Porky Wasa and Kali Dog Souza.

Honolulu Stadium was our Ebbets Field, Yankee Stadium and  Fenway Park all rolled into one.

It was like a home.

Groundskeeper, Tosh Nakamoto,  even kept a vegetable garden growing behind the makai bleachers.

The stadium was  like a loving parent and a dear friend.

Jim Leahey: It was made of wood.

It had warmth, because wood is alive, or was  alive, you know it had warmth.

Jim Nicholson: That was our  stadium.

That's where we all dreamt about playing.

That was our field  of dreams.

You know?

You can't beat that.

Larry Price: If I had, if I had a dollar for every tear I shed on the Honolulu Stadium  turf, I'd be a very rich man.

Oh boy.

Jim Leahey: The stadium itself looked like it was an erector set or a tinker it was put together by  tinker toys or something like that, and it wasn't done all at once.

You know,  they would run out of lumber and wait.

Narrator: People may not remember  exact games they saw at the stadium, but they do remember certain physical  characteristics, certain sounds.

Larry Price: It creaked.

It actually creaked,  you know.

It was, it was kind of spooky.

But when it filled up and everybody started  jumping up and down in the place, I mean, leather on wood sounds a little bit  different than leather on steel.

Pal Eldredge: You walk under  there and you had to look up, because anything could be falling through  the cracks there, even money.

You know, and as kids, we, of course, we'd  do at halftime of football game, we'd circle the stadium, because we're looking  for money.

Found a $20 bill one time too.

Richard Dias: Now they had, we sitting down  on bench type of seat, there's openings, there's grooves.

Okay?

These  kids were so smart, they had chocolate malts that was melted.

They had  saimin and they would watch you come under the stand and would bombardier you.

So we had to  go with a jacket on when we run under the stands, because these things would be bombardier  and on you.

You had to run pretty quick.

Narrator: Honolulu Stadium was  built mostly of wood.

So by the 60s, it took on a new nickname thanks  to some unwanted occupants.

Tommy Kaulukukui: After a while, it was  called Termite Palace, because that's what it was.

The termites had a field day  on that place, eating every place else, so.

Fred Borsch: And on certain nights  when you had the Kona winds, those termites would swarm.

Billions  of them, you know, around the lights, and then when they turned the lights off,  the stadium lights off, they'd all come to the press box.

That was probably the  most difficult time in writing a story.

Narrator:1920s Honolulu.

Wallace Rider  Farrington is the governor in a town of well under 200,000 people.

The Hawaii  Theater hosts the arts.

Issei Japanese women still walk the streets in kimonos.

And  the island's tallest structure, Aloha Tower, is built.

J. Ashman Beven, a lawyer originally  from upstate New York, is promoting sports in a small stadium with a modest grandstand called  Moiliili Field.

It sits on the fringe of town in an area surrounded by coral flats and  duck ponds full of carp āholehole and pāpio.

Beven eyes a nine-acre parcel of land across  King Street, originally called Kapaʻakea.

He secures a $96,000 mortgage from William Castle  and founds Honolulu Stadium Limited.

He sells shares to some of Hawaiʻi's most powerful people,  and the University of Hawaiʻi.

Plans are drawn up for bleachers along the makai side only,  and ground is broken on September 10, 1926.

Sidney Kashiwabara: I can still hear  that, the sound of the that you know, the riveting going on as far away as  where the Star Market is.

That was our home then.

And that area where the the  or the Honolulu Stadium, which is a park now, it was just kiawe bushes with a lot of  corals, white corals, and they cleared it up, and they had truckloads of soil brought  in, and it became the Honolulu Stadium.

Narrator: In less than two months, construction is  complete with seating for 16,000.

On November 7, the stadium is christened with an American  Legion benefit game between the University of Hawaiʻi and the town team.

Two weeks  later, the ILH championship is decided with Kamehameha sneaking by Saint Louis  College, 14-13, in front of 15,000 fans.

Iwa Mamiya: One of the kids we used to  ride on a trolley bus, trolley cars, street cars.

We call that street cars.

That's  how we got to the stadium.

But sometimes, Mr.

Beven, he was the owner of our manager of  the stadium, and he used to have kids there, sometimes, you know, and he would get the  other kids, send us out to the right field.

Arthur Suehiro: When he caught those  youngsters coming over the fence, well, he referred to them as the knot hole gang.

He  would corral them, give them a quarter each, and said, go outside, pay your entrance  fee.

And, you know, do it the regular way.

Narrator: Some of the best action in the early  years comes from the Barefoot Football League.

Teams like the Kakaako Suns, the Punchbowl  Juggernauts and Kalihi's Thundering Herd.

Bob Ebert: When they were playing  football, and I photographed, they didn't wear even shoes.

They played  barefoot, and I'll vouch for that.

Narrator: In 1926, the great  Notre Dame coach Knute Rockne comes to teach an extension course in  football.

He referees several UH games, watches the Barefoot boys and leaves with a  newfound appreciation for Hawaiʻi's athletes.

Sidney Kashiwabara: I recall as a kid that  Knute Rockne came over and he says, gee, if my boys can play and run as your boys here, we'd  have a whipping season.

You know, whipping team.

Narrator: In 1927 the grandstand is completed.

The Boy Scouts find a new home to hold their Makahiki Festivals, and the Hawaii Baseball  League moves in with the Chinese Tigers, the Portuguese Braves, the Haole Wanderers, the All Hawaiians and The Asahis.

J. Ashman  Beven has given Hawaiʻi a place to play.

Cris Mancao: Baseball in stadium  is the best field to play because you're right on top of the players.

You  can yell at them, hey, in and all that, and some of the players, they talk back  to you.

You got to watch what you say.

Rich Barry: I mean, you sit in the dugout  and they're right there next to you, almost sharing with your conversation.

Larry Price: This is very intimate.

You  can turn around and see your uncle or your auntie from the field.

You know, you can  see people throwing tomatoes and stuff too.

Fred Antone: You can look out in the Diamond  Head section, and I can see my good friend Carly Souza there.

Always sat in the same seat,  the same numbers, or whatever the case may be.

I looked on the ʻEwa section I see my good  friend Alice Spinda sit in the same seat, same section, whatnot.

I look up in the in the  grandstand, I see Bill Ahuna sitting up there.

Jim Leahey: There was a little Filipino man who  was married to, I believe it was a Japanese lady who was much taller than he was, just a little  guy, feisty little guy.

He'd go to every game, and he'd sit in his season ticketed,  allotted seat, and she dutifully would bring musubi and things, and he'd be eating.

Tell  you the guy on the mound for the Islanders.

He'd walk a guy.

Change the pitcher.

Change the  pitcher.

That's all he said.

Change the pitcher the whole time.

Change the pitcher as if that  was a panacea for the world's troubles.

You know, all the world had to do for peace, for  prosperity, for the lessening of class distinction, is change the pitcher.

If we had, if  we could change the pitcher, we'd be all right.

Herman Wedemeyer: People coming along the side  of the fences would draw up against the sideline, practically saying, how do you feel today?

You  think we were gonna score another touchdown?

Larry Price: It was awesome.

But when the place was full, it was like part of the game.

It wasn't detached,  like Aloha Stadium.

They were part of the game.

Larry Price: Uh, the stadium could turn into a  quagmire with the slightest drizzle.

Cal Chai: And there were moments  where we're playing in quagmire, terrible.

The rain was coming down, we'd  be slushing and sliding all over the place, but they still played it.

They didn't  postpone any games at all, that I know.

Jim Nicholson: But it's fun.

I mean, nothing  like playing in the mud.

Nobody gets hurt.

Bill Kwon: The way the stadium is built,  it looks like there was a little Mānoa stream tributary that cut right diagonally  across from the mauka side to the makai end zone.

And you'd actually see water  going across the field diagonally, that way in a heavy rain.

And Galdeira,  one time after a punt put the ball down, maybe at 18 or right around that area,  and the ball actually floated away.

Earl Galdeira: People were out in the field, even with towels trying to dry off the field  so that you can be prepared to play.

Now the general public didn't see this activity,  but it was certainly being carried out.

They had ordered from the laundry barrels  a towel so that we can dry the field off.

Fred Antone: We have to bring up,  bring the helicopters in.

Run the helicopters so that, I mean, so that we  can dry up the field to play the ball game.

Bill Kwon: Guy from Farrington, freshman,  Jerry Stothers, that he returned a punt and he got piled on and he almost, he said he  almost drowned because his nose is in the turf and everybody else was piled on top of  him.

Took a while to get him out of there.

Earl Galdeira: Many people didn't realize but  there were a considerable amount of worms that were as much as 6, 7, 8 inches long that came up  from the ground.

And that's the truth.

I saw them.

Narrator: In the 1930s, Waikīkī Beach is  crowded with all of two resort hotels, the Moana and the Royal Hawaiian.

Sirloin steaks  sell for 32 cents a pound at the Piggly Wiggly and sugar is still king.

In 1931, most major  stockholders are persuaded to donate their stocks to the University of Hawaiʻi for a scholarship  trust fund, and eventually, two thirds of the stock are owned by UH and the Associated Students  of the University of Hawaiʻi.

In the late 30s, Hawaiʻi's version of Satchel Paige appears.

A  crafty left handed pitcher named Crisp Mancao.

Honolulu Stadium will see Mancao for the next 40  years.

On the gridiron, the biggest headlines are grabbed by an exciting runner at UH nicknamed  grass shack, Tommy Kaulukukui, one of five football playing brothers, is Hawaiʻi's first all  American and as tough as anyone in the country.

Tommy Kaulukukui: The helmet was hardly  any any padding.

And if you get hit, if you hit somebody with the helmet, you do  things they're buzzing in the ears because there was hardly any padding.

And even in  the shoulder pads, everything was different.

Narrator: In 1933, the biggest sports hero  in the country arrives, the Sultan of Swat, Babe Ruth.

The Babe plays an exhibition  game with the HBL all stars and is knocked in by a young shortstop from  the Braves named Iwa Mamiya.

Iwa Mamiya: Oh, he was very friendly.

He would  come up to you and say, okay, boy, let's go things like that.

To come from a Hall of Famer like  that.

Well, it was biggest thrill of my life.

Narrator: The Babes appearance also  touches future Kamehameha Coach Cal Chai.

Cal Chai: Babe Ruth was at the plate, and  you notice his famous swing.

He swung at the pitch.

Which incidentally was a home  run, they told me.

And my dad was a catcher at that time.

It's 1933 at the old Honolulu  Stadium, and it was a prize possession for me.

He gave me that picture.

He said, you  need it more than I do.

And I sure did.

Narrator: The Bambino returns again the  next year on his way back from Japan, this time with friends Double X, Jimmy  Fox, Lou Gehrig and legendary manager Connie Mack.

Ruth's trip to Japan  had impressed the Japanese so much, they formed the professional league.

And the  next year, J. Ashman Beven brings the Tokyo Giants to the stadium.

Four years later,  ill health will force Beven to retire.

Narrator: Auto service magnate Cliff  Melim sponsored the stadium time clock and scoreboard off and on from the 30s through  the 50s.

It didn't always say Melim on it, but it always read that way  in the minds of the fans.

Bill Kwon: What's funny about that clock was  that second hand was hardly a sweep second hand, because it did take 30, 60, seconds  for the minute, but as it went down, maybe gravity, or whatever, it took only  about 25 seconds to go, 30 seconds.

But then coming back up and against the wind in  that Diamond Head end zone, it would take about 35 seconds to go, 20, 30 seconds.

So,  it fooled many high school quarterback then.

Jim Leahey: Melim.

Melim sponsored the scoreboard.

The scoreboard clock was run from the field.

And Richard Yamada, I think, was, was the  timer.

And Leland Blackfield always wanted, was always his sidekick.

He wanted to  be on the field.

He wanted to be part of it.

It had a sweep second hand, and you'd  have to shoot the gun.

It wasn't digital, where you know exactly how much time it is at  the Aloha Stadium now.

And what would happen was it would come up, and then it would kind  of teeter, and then finally go over.

And then he so I remember one day Leland had it was  raining, so he brought out his umbrella for Richard Yamada.

He's holding it there for  him, it came to zero, picked up his gun, boom, went through the umbrella, the wadding and  shooting the blanks, big hole, people laughed.

Narrator: Most social events in Hawaiʻi  revolve around food.

A trip to the stadium was no different.

If you didn't fill up at  the concession stand, you loaded up before you went in with sweet bread from Buck's  Bakery or peanuts from the peanut lady.

Aunty Lucy Lee: Everybody wanted the peanut  lady because her peanuts were so ʻono.

Earl Galdeira: You had both boiled or boiled  peanuts and roasted peanuts.

And let me tell you, I am a peanut eater, and I just loved  the peanuts that they used to have.

Les Keiter: An ear of corn, a Dixie  cup full of saimin.

The pitchers in the bullpen out in left field partaking  those items while they were supposed to be either warming up or watching the game.

Gene Kaneshiro: The barbecue meat smell coming  up from the stand beneath section 35 has to be one memory, something that you don't see  at any other stadium, bar none, I guess you know.

But they used to cook the barbecue meat  right under the stands and on the charcoal.

Fred Borsch: They had food there that you wouldn't  find on the ballpark on the mainland at that time.

I mean, the corn the cob, and, of course, the  manapua and the saimin with the real char siu and the fancy fish cake, you know, with the with the  red circles in it.

I mean, those were big sellers.

Jim Leahey: I don't think that hot dogs ever  tasted better hamburgers, the saimin was unmatched with just something about it.

You know, they  say, you know, they say, there's nothing like a hot dog at the ballpark.

In Hawaiʻi's case,  there's nothing like hot saimin at the ballpark.

Narrator: In the 1940s Hawaiʻi changes  dramatically.

The bombing of Pearl Harbor and World War Two see to that.

The  military more than doubles our population.

College football is suspended indefinitely,  and civil defense threatens to tear down the stadium and build bomb shelters.

War bonds  are big sellers, and former town team hero Pump Searle becomes manager of the stadium.

But some things stay constant.

Hawaii Calls broadcasts to the world from the Moana Hotel and  Crisp Mancao plays on at least two different teams in the HBL.

Anti-Japanese sentiments force the  all Japanese Asahis to become the Athletics.

And a young police captain named John Burns  becomes the acting owner after Dr.

Katsumi Kometani goes off to battle in Europe.

Burns will  become governor of Hawaiʻi two decades later, and his son will one day become Hawaiʻi chief  judge James Burns.

The armed forces bring with them baseball arms.

Permanent bleachers on the  mauka and ʻEwa sides are finished and then jammed with fans eager to see baseball.

And in those  war years, they see the best baseball in America.

Dermot Ornelles: We had better players here playing in Hawaiʻi than  they had in the major leagues.

Narrator: Generals pull rank and land  players for their outfits like Joe DiMaggio, Pee Wee Reese and Scooter Rizzuto.

It pays off  for the seventh US Army Air Corps on June 4, 1944 when Joe DiMaggio makes his stadium  debut in front of 30,000 people.

Detroit Tigers pitcher Bob Harris grooves  a pitch and Joltin’ Joe crushes it.

Francis Funai: I remember that ball going  over the fence.

And for anybody to hit the ball out of the park was something  else, but his ball travels so far, and they talk about the Dreier Manor.

It's  the old building that Saint Louis alumni took over.

And they used to associate that DiMaggio's  drive as the ball that went to the Dreier Manor.

Narrator: DiMaggio's blast soars across Isenberg Street and plops down more than 110  feet beyond the left field fence.

Bob Ebert: I remember covering during the  war on the Stars and Stripes Irving Berlin, when he played in This is the Army.

It was played there.

I think it was one of the largest crowds too they  had in the history of that place.

Narrator: After the production, Berlin  leads a sing along on White Christmas and God Bless America.

Berlin goes home, and so  do the victorious soldiers.

One year later, J. Ashman Beven dies in a Kaimukī  nursing home.

Without college football, high school football begins a 30-year  run of unmatched popularity.

Sellouts become a regular thing, with the turkey day  doubleheaders drawing the most attention.

Father Bray inspires his Iolani teams to great  heights in the 40s.

Saint Louis Herman Wedemeyer, high steps his way to St Mary's College  and is named the best college back in the country by Grantland Rice in  1946.

Farrington's Wally Yonamine plays football before beginning a Hall  of Fame career in Japanese baseball.

Punahou has three future NFL players,  including Herman and Jimmy Clark, and they play in one of the biggest upsets in ILH  history, 1947 and the heavily favored Buff and Blu fall to undersized McKinley 19-7.

The third  future NFL player in that game, Charlie Ane.

Hawaiʻi says, aloha.

Narrator: With the end of the war, UH football begins again.

1930s all America  Tommy Kaulukukui is the head coach.

In 1947, the New Year's Day Pineapple Bowl is resumed  with Redlands making the trip to the islands.

Announcer: Once more now Kaulukukui has the  ball.

Hands it off for a Hawaiʻi touchdown.

Narrator: Hawaiʻi wins 33-32 in what was called  the most exciting bowl game of the year.

One year earlier, the Hula Bowl is started by a sports  visionary named Mackay Yanagisawa, who 20 years before, had been a member of the knot hole gang.

The stadium also welcomes boxing in the 40s, with the help of a hard-working master salesman  named Sam Ichinose, known simply as Sad Sam.

Larry Ichinose: It's that name that he  made himself there was a subaltern writer, I think his name was Don Wilson, and he gave  him the name of he wrote something, and he said, melancholy one.

Melancholy one.

Sad Sam, you know.

And then thereafter, he called him Sad Sam and the name sucked to the point where all over the  world, any cable would come to Sad Sam, Honolulu, Hawaiʻi.

It'd come to him, you know.

I mean  that's the address, Sad Sam, Honolulu, Hawaiʻi.

Narrator: The stadium's 20th anniversary is  celebrated in royal fashion.

Former world champ Joe Lewis fights an exhibition  with Cleo Everett.

Afterwards, Sad Sam is all smiles as he presents the brown bomber  with an inscribed ʻukulele.

Aloha, Joe Lewis.

Narrator: In the 1920s Mōʻiliʻili was hardly  a neighborhood more like a farming community on the outskirts of town, dotted with  duck ponds and taro patches.

As Honolulu grows, so does the Mōʻiliʻili neighborhood.

And by  the 50s, the stadium is nestled in the middle of shops and restaurants.

Chunky's Drive-In  sits on the site of the old Dreier Manor.

It was destroyed by fire in 1950.

The Lee  family's Leilani Chop Suey is across the street, and BK Kop Hula Supply  Center moves around the corner.

Steven Kop: Think it was in '55 that my father  moved here.

I was a small kid then.

I used to come in and help around.

The stadium was a  big monolith over there across the street, big and gray.

And every year for the Hula  Bowl, they would paint that the gates, you know, and I'm sure probably was  about two inches thick of paint.

Aunty Lucy Lee: And I taught  Tahitian and New Zealand dancing.

And sometime our Tahitian drumming was so loud  that the ticket girl would call and say, Lucy, do me a favor.

Yeah, shut your door because  the quarterback cannot hear, and then the quarterback trying to give his calls, but the  line, looking at him to hear what he's saying.

I still remember that.

You know?

Neil Sakumoto: My auntie lives on Makiki Way  behind the grandstand.

You know, at family parties, everybody would be inside talking and  playing, you know, playing cards and stuff and and the kids would go outside and play.

And there was  a Islander game on, that was the best time to be there, because we could go and catch foul balls,  you know.

And there'd be a radio playing outside with the game going on, and so we could hear when  the balls came over or a foul ball was hit.

So, we could go by the lane and the old lady's yard and  wait for the balls to come over.

You'd hear it hit the hit the roof, boom, and then sometimes they'd  roll over and come across to the other side.

Narrator: A stadium adventure always began  before you got to the gate on the ride over.

Joe Pimental: And the first painting I did, I did  my nostalgia, see?

My nostalgia of the stadium, was when we'd crowd into the street cars on  tracks the trolley and to go to the stadium, we pack that street car like sardines.

It's  amazing.

And then we get out to the stadium, and we all jump off.

Some of us  jump off before paying our fare.

Jim Leahey: First thing that you saw  at the stadium was the backstop.

If you were on the bus, you could see  the backstop and the light standards, and you knew that you were getting close.

Narrator: If you didn't arrive  by streetcar, trolley or bus, you were in for a short walk after parking  the car, if you found a place to park.

As late as the 1970s only 87 stalls existed, with 11  reserved for management and eight for the press.

Pal Eldredge: You'd have to know where to  go and yet to have friends who maybe have, you know, have an empty space in their  in their lot for you to park.

You know, it wasn't easy to park there at all.

Gene Kaneshiro: When we had a car, we used to go  around finding, trying to find free parking space, and had to walk several miles, you  know.

And nobody complained about that.

Narrator: In the 1950s, Hawaiʻi is poised to shed  the territory label and become a state.

We set our sights on becoming the 49th  state, and optimistically hold a 49th State Fair at the stadium three years in a  row.

The Pineapple Bowl ends its run in '52.

Salvador Dado Marino, the Little Brown Doll, beats  Terry Allen in front of 10,000 boxing fans at the stadium to win Hawaiʻi's first world title.

Crisp  Mancao begins the 50s with the Phil Americans and the Hawaiians of the HBL and ends with Kondos  of the Winter League and tours with the Harlem Globetrotters baseball team in between.

In 1955,  the New York Yankees play a four game exhibition series with the Rural Red Sox.

Future Hall of  Famers, Yogi Berra, Casey Stengel and Mickey Mantle graced the grounds of the stadium.

On  the mound for the local stars, our man, Mancao.

Cris Mancao: I played five inning  relief.

They get only three hits from me, and one of the hit was a home run by  Billy Martin.

And he's not too big, you know, he's not very big, and he's a  scrappy player.

Hit him in the goal post.

Narrator: The next year, the other New York  team is in town.

The Brooklyn Dodgers bring along Pee Wee Reese, Roy Campanella and Jackie  Robinson, who actually made his Honolulu stadium debut 10 years earlier, playing football in the  Hawaii Football Association for the Polar Bears.

High school football continues to rule in the  50s out drying the University of Hawaiʻi and selling out every turkey day doubleheader.

You  did whatever you had to do to get into the games.

Dwight Toyama: We sold the lineups for 10 cents.

We got two and a half cents.

But the big thing is, we got in free.

Would have to stay out there till  at least midway through the second quarter.

But the thing is, you know, getting free and  then had enough money for hot dog, coke.

Narrator: The game of '53 is a comeback win for  Al Harrington and Punahou.

The Buff in bBlu beat Saint Louis 22 to 20.

They are the ILH champs for  the first time in 29 years.

Harrington celebrates with local style, a shave ice.

Tiki Vasconcellos  coaches Roosevelt to a 33 and one record and wins ILH championships in '55, '56 and '57.

In 1958,  Cal Chai's defensive minded Kamehameha team ends the Rough Riders dominance and wins the first  of nine ILH crowns for Chai, the man who once saw his dad play against Babe Ruth.

The stadium  has a new tenant in the 50s stock cars.

Nick Czar and partner Al Montgomery bolt railroad ties  to the fence, hang a 10-foot screen to catch flying wheels and lay a dirt track.

Czar  pays for all the repairs and modifications and begins to pack in more than 20,000 motor  enthusiasts every Friday and Saturday night.

Larry Price: You could hear the noise for  miles, and people just used to love it.

Just stock car races.

You could hear  the crashes all the way up in Mānoa Valley and Waikīkī.

I mean, it was something to  behold.

Everybody came to the stock car races.

Narrator: The fans root for Jerry  Unser, brother of Al and Bobby Unser, and name local boy, Ken Sakumoto,  the most popular driver of 1955.

Ken Sakumoto: The dugout, we had quite  a bit of cars going right inside, and I hit that wall head-on myself, and I mangled  my car.

I couldn't control them because of water puddle in that area.

Somebody had crashed  over there, broken the radiator, whatever they spilled water.

And I didn't remember that.

And  you know what I mean, I hit that sweet spot.

Nick Czar: You couldn't see the cars running  around the car, there's so must dust, see.

And, and so we didn't what, so finally we found out  calcium chloride was good.

You put that calcium chloride on at the, salt water is, and then  a water on top, and that keeps the dust down, and it packs like a real clay track.

Then the  polo people come in, and they don't like the racetrack because their horses used to run on  that calcium and cholride track.

And I tell you, when you walk on that track, you picked up  about six inches of clay.

And these horses would run around on the field, and with all  this clay on their feet on their hoofs, rather, and they couldn't play polo.

So, we told them to  go out to Mokulēʻia and play polo out there, see.

Narrator: The races are fan favorites, but the wear and  tear on the turf causes concern with management.

Nick Czar: Another thing I used to enjoy  was I used to like to pick on Pump Searle.

And I'd get one of these drivers, I give  him a few bucks.

I said, run across the baseball diamond.

He would come out, pulling  his hair like that.

Well, can you blame him?

Narrator: Rodeos and even bullfights also share  time in the stadium in the 50s.

The animals are kept in stables under the makai bleachers.

One night, the gate is accidentally left open.

Arthur Suehiro: Animals went as far  as 22nd and Waiʻalae.

Animals going up Waiʻalae Avenue.

This is like after  midnight.

You got people coming out from the bars and and the newspaper article  says, you know, they go they they went out and they saw what was going on in  the street, and then they went back in.

Narrator: In 1956, Mackey Yanagisawa takes over  as stadium manager.

Over the years.

Mackey's Hula Bowl will bring in greats like Dick Butkus, Gale  Sayers, Frank Gifford, Fran Tarkenton, Mike Bitka, local stars like Charlie Wedemeyer, Kale Ane,  Levi Stanley, Skippa Diaz and Larry Price.

Les Keiter: Anything that went on Mackey was the promoter.

Mackey was the one who put  them on the field.

Mackay Yanagisawa, to this day, in my estimation, is  the key figure in sports in Hawaiʻi.

Narrator: November 10, 1957, the stadium is  stuffed to overflowing once in the afternoon and once again in the evening, all Honolulu is  set to hail the king of rock and roll, Elvis.

Tom Moffatt: I introduced Elvis.

I worked with  Colonel Parker and helped him promote the show and everything.

And the colonel says, you get  up there and you introduce Elvis.

I say, yes, sir, and I introduced Elvis, and a black  Cadillac came out from the dugout area, and that's where they brought Elvis out from  the dugout onto the stage, which was facing the makai stands.

And I've never seen him  like that show.

But at the end of the show, he jumped down onto the ground, there was  a slight barricade there, and did a slow version of You Ain't Nothing but a Hound Dog,  on his knees with a guitar.

And it was wild.

Narrator: The most important party  was still to come in March of '59.

It could be summed up with  just one word, statehood.

More than 25,000 people are on hand to see  alternating mauka and makai stages host orchestra leader, Bob Crosby, singer Ray  Kinney, MC Ed Sheehan and Napua Stevens, 98 girl hula troupe.

As the 50s pass, so too does  the popularity of the Hawaii Baseball League.

Harold Bell: That's all we know is his name was  Caruso.

He had a high tenor voice.

Narrator: For years and years, there was  a man that filled the Honolulu Stadium with his voice.

Nobody remembers his real  name, but everyone remembers his voice.

Harold Bell: They would play the Star-Spangled  Banner, and he would sing the Star-Spangled Banner, but everybody would look up to  where he was, just below the press box.

Cal Chai: No, I never did know who he was,  but we heard, I heard him from the field.

Jim Leahey: You could hear  this.

Everybody laughing.

Francis Funai: He was a Portuguese  fellow.

They used to call him Caruso.

Dermot Ornelles: I think he was Puerto Rican, you know.

And he had a tremendously  strong voice and a nice voice, you know.

Jim Leahey: And then he would sell ice cream.

I  scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream.

Pal Eldredge: And he had one heck of  a voice, and he could break glass.

Francis Funai: When he stopped  going or stopped singing, there's something missing.

You know, traditional.

Narrator: In the 1960s, former Hawaiʻi baseball leaguer John  Burns is our governor, KC Drive Inn turns thirty, 1 year younger than the stadium, and a plate lunch  at the kau kau wagon sets you back 55 cents.

1960 and the San Francisco Giants are here.

The Say Hey  Kid Willie Mays says hello to Honolulu Stadium.

In 1961, the stadium begins a love affair that  will last 15 seasons and set baseball attendance records.

The Islanders come to town.

Nick Morgan  brings in a defunct PCL team, changes the name, and on April 20, the Islanders beat the Vancouver  Mounties, 4-3, in front of 6,041 adoring fans.

Also new to the stadium, Rolly Ray on the  organ and a young sports writer from Portland, Oregon that will go on to cover every  Islander game, home and away for 26 years.

Fred Borsch: I still remember that  my first look at the stadium was for an afternoon workout in April of  1961 and I immediately fell in love with the place because it had that certain  warmth that old baseball fields have.

Narrator: The team draws well, but Morgan falters  financially, and a hui led by Chinn Ho and Francis Iʻi Brown, steps in to save the team.

In 1962,  the Islanders lead the league in attendance.

Narrator: 1963 and the legend of Bo Belinsky  is born.

With a live fast ball in his arm, a pool cue in his hand, and a reputation  with the ladies, he amazes the fans.

Dermot Ornelles:Whenever  he pitched the game, well, you know they're going to be a big crowd there,  which 50-percent of them were women, I guess.

Narrator: Belinsky's claim to fame comes in 1968  when he pitches out of a jam in the ninth inning for a no hitter.

A combination of skill and  luck by a guy called No Neck, leads to the most instantly financially rewarding moment in the  stadium.

Tosh Kaneshiro of the Columbia Inn offers $1,000 for a home run into the puka of his sign.

In 1968, Walt "No Neck" Williams does just that.

Fred Borsch: And the irony of it is earlier, a  couple seasons earlier, a guy named Ricardo Joseph hit one in there for Seattle, when Seattle  was in the league.

And he thought he was, he was from Latin American and he thought  he had won the money.

And they had a tough time explaining to him, no, it was just for an  Islander player.

But the thing is that later on, Ricardo Joseph became an Islander.

He  never got close to that sign again.

Rich Barry: I came close to that too, one time.

I hit one right at it.

I was already spending the money.

I thought I had it for sure.

Hit the pole  just below it, and bounced up in the air.

Didn't even go out the ballpark.

Now that was I was  sitting on first base looking like an idiot.

Narrator: Maui boy Andy Miyamoto was one of only  seven local players to sign on with the Islanders.

The first was Hawaiʻi's answer to Satchel Paige,  45-year-old Crisp Mancao.

In 1961, the team needs pitchers, so they call Mancao down just to throw  batting practice.

But they like what they see.

Cris Mancao: I pitch about ohh, about 15  minutes and coach on me.

Okay, you're in.

How can from a bush league get comfortable  the Triple-A?

Yeah, I was pretty thrilled.

Narrator: On the gridiron, the Kamehameha warriors  continue to give Coach Cal Chai championship teams.

He is most proud of his '62 squad that  boasts future success stories like NFL player, Rockne Freitas, Farrington athletic director,  Agenhart Ellis and Michael Chun, president of Kamehameha Schools.

Cal Chai did not claim  every title in the 60s.

After a 20-year drought, Farrington's well respected and  innovative coach, Tom Kiyosaki, motivates the Govs to a 16-6 win over Kamehameha  in the 1965 turkey day championship game.

The day the Govs won it all.

The 1969 Hula Bowl  is the perfect ending for the decade.

USC Heisman Trophy winner OJ Simpson scoops  up a soggy football and runs into history.

Larry Price: I remember OJ splashing  mud on me when he made that 99 yard run because I was coaching for the  opposing team.

It was wet that day, and he went flying right back.

And I  was saying something like, get him, you know, oh, boys, get him.

He's  going to go all the way.

And he did.

Earl Galdeira: I was a recipient  of the mud because I was behind of him while he ran for that touchdown,  and the mud didn't taste very good.

Narrator: For every schoolboy athlete  that went on to star at the next level after playing on the Honolulu Stadium turf,  it seemed there was a big-time broadcaster coming out of the press box.

The Dean of all  local broadcasters was a retired Navy man that brought listeners into the game like no one in  the islands had before.

He was Chuck Leahey.

Jim Leahey: He wanted to be representative of  describing things in a local way.

The manapua, you know, manapua is about this much, so it's  about that long, about six inches for a good one.

And so, two manapua would be about a foot  short.

But people, because they knew manapua, they knew what it was.

They could, yeah, that's  what it is.

And I remember he used to say, I don't know about that call I think the referee  has maka pia pia in his eye, which is, you know, when you get up in the morning, that sleepy  stuff.

So, you know he was, he was like that.

Narrator: In addition to his son, Jim,  Chuck Leahey mentored pros like Al Michaels, Ken Wilson, Hank Greenwald and Harry Callas.

The football press box was a training ground as well as a testing ground.

It wasn't  easy working in that wobbly old booth.

Don Robbs: To broadcast a game  in the old football press box, you had to literally crawl over all of the  print people, the newspaper people and the others keeping score and so on, to get to  the far end of the so-called press box.

Jim Leahey: It was, it was  really bare bones.

And so, you crawled up this ladder into the booth, and  you were able to do all your stuff.

You know, all of they had just enough  room up there for all of that.

Don Robbs: And it was interesting watching the  guys from ABC come over to do the Hula Bowl, because, you know, these guys are  used to working in big time stadiums, and they come into to that old stadium,  and they just couldn't believe it.

Jim Leahey: It would wave back and forth  in the wind and the rain would come in, and there were no toilet facilities.

Fred Antone: But as you know, I mean, we didn't  have any accommodations up in the press box.

So, the thing is, everything was down on the ground  floor.

And if you had a go, and go all the way down the ground floor, you never get back in  time to you'd miss one or two, three plays maybe.

Don Robbs: If nature called during  the broadcast, you had a real problem.

Jim Leahey: It was really something when you  think about what we have now and what we had then, and the dedication of, you know, these people.

Don Robbs: Halftime, for example,  if you wanted to go the bathroom, you had to crawl over all these people.

You  had to go all the way down the stands and go to the public bathroom way at the other end of  the stadium.

And there's no way you would get back before the kickoff in the second half.

So,  you just had to take care of that sort of thing.

Fred Antone: Yeah, you got to go,  you got to go.

What else can you do?

Narrator: The 70s mark the beginning  of the end of high school football's dominant popularity.

Five public schools  pull out of the ILH and join an expanded and reorganized OIA.

That move kills off some  of the biggest rivalries.

In 1972, Punahou's, Mosi Tatupu runs around and over defenders on  his way to setting a rushing record that will stand for 20 years.

In 1975, Charlie Bessette  becomes stadium manager, and we welcome the WFL Hawaiians.

The team plays one season, then  folds along with the rest of the WFL the next year.

A national television audience sees the  Hula Bowl's strangest moment during a timeout.

Earl Galdeira: And all of a sudden, somebody comes  out, picks up the ball, and I said, hey, where the hell you going with our ball?

So, I chased him.

And I was fortunate enough, he had a head start, maybe six, seven yards ahead of me, fortunate  enough to catch up with him just about the goal line.

And ah, as we went towards that, I caught  up with him and landed up against the fence.

If I remember correctly, I think I punched them in the  stomach.

So, I felt very, very embarrassed.

So, I did it on instinct, just complete instinct,  not thinking of anything else but the ball.

Narrator: The Islanders win the PCL southern  division pennant with the best record in baseball and drawn nearly a half million fans in  1970, but it all comes to a close on September 8, 1975.

With a new state of the art  facility ready to go in Hālawa, the old stadium designed to last just 10 to  15 years, has finally run out of time.

The Islanders beat Salt Lake City 8-0 to win the  team's first PCL Championship.

After the game, organist Rolly Ray plays Aloha ʻOe as the crowd  stands and joins in.

Then the lights go out.

Les Keiter: It was tearing a part of your heart out because Honolulu Stadium was  such a part of our world here.

Narrator: Stadium offices were quickly cleared  out and stockholders sold their holdings to the state at slightly less than the appraised value  for quick reinvestment.

Director Chinn Ho says, I would prefer to put my faith in  the market rather than the termites.

Gene Kaneshiro: What happened to all the  termites?

All the neighbors got them, I guess?

Larry Price: When I coached with Parseghian  in the '74 Hula Bowl, he told me, you know, he said, one of these days they're going  to have to tear this place down.

And when they tear it down and they build a new  one, he says, you should make sure that they save every piece of wood, every screen,  every piece of memorabilia that you can here and auction it off.

He says, because as  long as it's been here and as many great things have happened here, people are  going to want a piece of this stadium.

Dermot Ornelles: Early evening, and  I brought a pick and shovel at me, and I kind of dug around home plate and  cleared the dirt around I was getting to it, and I thought, wow, I gotta get  home plate.

Then I got down deep, and I realized that thing was anchored with three  big steel bolts onto a concrete slab underneath.

So, there's no way.

I had to cut it loose  with a torch or something.

I couldn't get it.

And then sometime later, I found that that Tosh  Kaneshiro, his son told me he's got home plate.

Gene Kaneshiro: We have the home plate, the last  home plate that was used on the on that field.

Dermot Ornelles: But I never told  him.

I tried before he got it.

Narrator: The stadium waited empty for one  year.

Its billboards chipped and faded, its grass dying under the hot sun.

On September  5, 1976, a farewell party welcomed her old family members to come by to pay their last  respects, just two months shy of her 50th birthday.

The Roosevelt band sat in the ʻEwa  bleachers and played a sorrowful Aloha ʻOe.

Narrator: The next day, bulldozers  attacked our old friend, first the bleachers, then the grandstand.

Cal Chai: Being a participant in that  that place was really something.

So, I wasn't about to look at that place being torn  down, but I can just picture that it torn down and I went there after it was razed,  and just felt pretty uncomfortable.

Fred Borsch: I couldn't bear to see it go down, and I would detour.

I wouldn't go down King  Street for several weeks, because every once in a while I'd see a picture in the paper,  and it's like watching an old friend die.

Harold Bell: I went over there two days after the  thing was coming down, and I had tears in my eyes.

Les Keiter: I can never go down Isenberg  Street.

I can never go down King Street and past the park without memories welling  up.

I can see Joe DiMaggio hitting a home run over the left field fence and  out into Isenberg, which he did in during the war when I was here.

I can see the  Columbia Inn sign on the right field screen.

Jim Leahey: Honolulu Stadium  is such a big part of my life.

I still think it's there.

When I go down  King Street, I expect to see it.

I expect to see the boiled peanut lady.

I expect  to see the lines at the ticket office.

Fred Borsch: Every now and then I used  to go out.

I would go out and I would try to figure out where home plate was, where  the pitcher's mound was, and where Carlos Bertnier stood in center field.

And you can  still pick out those places pretty much.

But you can almost hear the people in  the stands, you know, at twilight.

Speaker: I swing back there quite, quite often.

And of course, looking for Buck's Bakery, but he's not there no more.

And look, looking  for Howard Igami, and he's not there no more, selling peanuts.

And the old Chinese lady  that was selling boiled peanuts close to the Buck's Bakery.

I mean, she's not there no more.

But, you know, there were a lot of good memories.

Richard Dias: Anyway, aloha to Honolulu Stadium.

(instrumental music)