(instrumental music) Aloha I’m Kalaʻi Miller.

In this episode of Home  is Here, we’re on Hawaiʻi Island exploring the   town of Honokaʻa.

It’s on the north part of the  Hāmākua Coast, about an hour from Hilo, a little   longer from Kona.

It’s modern-day history starts  in the 19th century when sugar was king.

The first   sugar plantation in this area was started in  1876, attracting immigrant workers.

The last   plantation closed in 1994, drastically altering  the way of life for the Honokaʻa community.

I never thought of Honokaʻa  as a plantation town as a kid.

I just kind of thought of the whole island  as plantation because everywhere you drove,   forget having a clean car, it was mud all over the  place.

But, in Honokaʻa proper, you could see the   miles and miles of sugarcane fields.

You could  see the fires when they were burning the cane.

And then, of course, we all got up to  the seven o'clock whistle in the morning,   so we knew everybody was going to work,  and we started getting ready for school.

Everyone that came here,  came here for the plantation,   whether you ended up working in it or not.

My grandma's dad actually came over from Japan  in the 1800s.

And to work for the sugar company.

My dad was a journeyman welder all his life  from right after high school till retirement.

And Pāʻauhau boy, his father was an immigrant  from Japan, and worked on the plantation as well.

My dad worked in the plantation.

That wasn't his only job, however,   but he also had his own field, because his father  and family also raised cane in the Kalapa area.

My grandmother's side would have come from the  Azores.

They came in 1883 on the ship Bell Rock.

My grandfather's family, were from  Madera, and they all came by ship.

My grandfather, J.J., John Jose Andrade senior,  would have worked in the Pāʻauhau plantation as a   blacksmith.

And he helped to pay for the education  of all his younger siblings who became doctors,   teachers, administrators.

And then he used  the rest of his money, still working at the   plantation, to acquire 500 acres of land, and  then it was this property where he raised cattle,   and he was then a butcher.

He would then  go to all the plantation camps selling   one-pound pieces of meat, which my mother  said she shared that he had this big skewer,   and the kids would help put the meat on the  skewer, and then he’d go from camp to camp.

I started in 1982 working in  the field for Hamakua Sugar.

When I first started plantation, you  know, from the time I started from two,   two something minimum, to when I left,  I was making eight something I think,   but we survived.

Dollar used  to be a lot of money, you know.

Today, the Hamakua Sugar Company survives.

Owner Francis Morgan purchased the 35-mile   plantation and flaying sugar  operation has been resurrected.

Well, it was a major gamble buying this thing.

A  lot of people have wondered why I did it.

I was   reaching retirement age.

It appeared to me that  if it stayed in the hands of the former owners,   that there was a sizeable chance that within  the near-term future it would be shut down.

He was all in.

He liquidated everything.

He was  the sole owner.

Like, this man laid it all out   on the table.

And the workers knew that.

And it  was one of the things that really stuck out with   me when I think about Hamakua Sugar because  he was vested and we knew it.

And in return,   the workers gave back.

And that's one of the  differences between the closure of Hamakua Sugar   and the other sugar mills is because  we saw what Mr.

Francis Morgan did   because he believed that he could turn it around.

We knew it was coming but yet, we tried to  do whatever we could to continue saving,   whatever sacrifice we knew we wanted  to do.

You could see it going down,   slowly from different parts of the islands  where sugar company was just closing.

Once it got to the point when they had the  furloughs and they started cutting back,  some of us started kind of putting two and  two together and kind of reading between the   lines and trying to see, okay, if you don't  have sugar, what are we going to have?

Where   are we going to go?

What are we going to  do?

How are we going to live, you know,   what's gonna become of Honokaʻa?

What's gonna become of the families?

Well, for me, my dad was already retired by  the time that the plantation closed down,   but then he still felt the effects  of it.

They were concerned of what's   going to happen to the town, since  they lived in plantation houses,   are they going to get kicked out?

Or can they  still stay there, you know, that uncertainty,   affected many and, and hit a lot of his friends  was still working at the plantation.

So,   they really felt the pinch of that.

You  know, like, what's going to happen tomorrow?

Changed the whole town.

They didn't have jobs.

Number one, they  all worked.

When the plantation stopped,   they went to the hotels.

Had about three or four hotels, and  they can only handle so many people.

(nats horn honking) My mother shared that when the last parade  of all the trucks and equipment ran through   Honokaʻa town, the whole town cried.

So, you know, it was a very sad time,   because people knew nothing else.

But at the  time, I was at the University of Hawaiʻi at Hilo,   so, I was very science oriented.

And  I said, you know, this is actually an   opportunity for us to start doing things to  create new careers for the next generation.

They had like, different things that was offered,  you know, like, workshops, but just to adjust and   adapt, and thinking, okay, now, if we go work  someplace else far, we got to get used to that,   you know, we're working away, working  with different people and everything.

When the plantation finally closed,  the last final harvest in 1994,   it was pretty devastating to this community.

And I think through talking to people, we've   learned that it really has never gone back to that  same feel.

So, there's definitely a nostalgia for   some of the things that we're doing and some  of the other things that are happening in the   future to bring back some of those feelings,  even though we can never bring that back.

Thankfully, there was a lot of  resilience.

And they got over   that hump, but it was a big transition for all.

We are a resilient people, we are  resourceful.

We did what we had to   do to survive the closure of Hamakua Sugar.

And I think that's one of the best traits of   Honokaʻa is because we're so adaptable to  whatever is happening the circumstances.

(instrumental music) If you ever get the chance to visit Honokaʻa,  folks say it’s a great place to take some time   and learn the history of this plantation town.

And if you sit down and you talk with the locals,   you’ll find that they love to  reminisce and share their stories.

(motorcycle revving) Something happened a few months ago, there  was a complaint to about the car show that   happened in Honokaʻa.

That brings out a  lot of locals.

And their classic cars and   it's a lot of fun.

And they like to burn  rubber and and get very into their cars.

We don't know who it was said that  he longed for the days of Honokaʻa,   when it wasn't like this.

But we were laughing  because the stories that we have about Honokaʻa,   it was a rough and raucous and loud and wild  wild west.

There was an abundance of crime,   there was an abundance of activity.

(instrumental music) The judge and the sheriff were participating  in the okolehao trade.

I mean, there was just   gambling and horse racing in the middle of  town.This was one of the more wild towns   probably in all of Hawaiʻi.

It was the third  largest during the peak of the plantation era.

And we have a display case over here  that is a collection of weapons that   were confiscated by the sheriff.

So, I think  it's really funny that people try to think of   it as a sleepy little town when it really  never was.

And so the car shows and things   going on are so appropriate for this town.

We're loud.

We're wild.

We have fun here.

I think Honokaʻa is unique and special because of  its cultural heritage.

All the different peoples   that came to Hawaiʻi and that were here before  we all came, makes it so interesting.

You know,   the food, the dress, the thoughts, the religions,  the everything that people do in their lives.

I was born and raised at the Okada hospital.

I don't even say Honokaʻa.

I  say Okada hospital.

And, and,   of course, the people in Honokaʻa know  that, but nobody else knows.

(laughs) My grandfather made monies, first with his butcher  business, and then in 1924 they built the Andrade   building, which would have housed a restaurant,  bar, a 15-bedroom hotel.

And there was a dance   hall.

They actually did taxi dancing.

And that was  the men would pay 10 cents to dance with a girl.

Camp Tarawa in Waimea had a large number  of Marines, and they would come down to   Honokaʻa town.

And Honokaʻa had five  bars, and my mother shared that, yeah,   in their bar, they would line up all the  glasses on the counter and start pouring,   and by the time they got to the end, they had  to go back to the beginning and pour again.

I was just 10, 11, 12, or something like this.

My title was the shoe shine boy in Honokaʻa, and I   enjoyed.

And the Marines, I made a lot  of money.

Kālā, Hawaiians say.

(laugh) I still got my shoe shine box.

This is part of my equipment that I made  money on.

So, this is an antique.

(laughs) When they built the swimming pool in the late 50s,   that was one of our best things that  ever happened to teenagers at Honokaʻa,   because then we didn't have to stay home.

We  could do our chores and then go to the pool.

(instrumental music) The Fourth of July, the business association  would have all these games for the kids,   and we'd get a dime for every  game we participated in,   except boxing.

You got 25 cents,  a quarter.

So, guess who boxed?

Growing up there I remember playing in the park,   running through the cane fields, you know,  playing in the gulches, finding the ponds.

We had our food for the day, which usually was  a bottle of bug juice, you know, shoyu, vinegar,   little bit sugar, black pepper.

So whatever  fruits we came on, you know, mango, guavas,   thimbleberries, you know, we had something to  eat and went out and played just everywhere.

A lot of the businesses here have been  owned by many generations.

Unfortunately,   we've had a few where the younger ones didn't want  to take on the family business, but they're like,   iconic places where you mention the  name, and people can tell you stories   of patronizing the business or the family members.

From my childhood and throughout my adulthood  Ikeuchi Hardware Store resonates a lot with me.

(instrumental music) Well in the town, you know, used to  have Sweet Shop.

And I remember the   old timers working there and the  old Tanaka Fountain.

And the old   T. Kaneshiro Store how these they  do the meats.

The Honokaʻa Club.

There was Ujiki store which was  across the Salvation Army.

And   they had all different kinds  of groceries, fresh produce.

I'd go there to get my vanilla popsicle with my  papa and butterscotch candy was his favorite.

(instrumental music) My dad never went to school.

6th grade is the highest he   went to school.

He had a business for 50 years.

Castillo Music Store.

He’d sell furniture,  refrigerators, music instruments, records.

All my dad had earned to feed the  family came from the plantation people.

One of the big things that happened here  in Honokaʻa was my father and mother lost   their laundry business through  fire.

When the fire was going on,   we could see from Mrs.

Awong's preschool.

Growing up as a child with my father,   he bought another commercial laundry and  changed the name to Harris Sanitary Laundry.

I just about knew everybody in Honokaʻa,  because of the business.

One of the   important things for me was I knew a lot  of wahine's.

Because, I could talk to them,   and I could talk to the mothers and and  I was very good at speaking English.

(instrumental music) My sister Colette, and my mom and my  father decided to open a shop at the   Fujino Store at the other end of town, and  they called it C.C.

Jon's Snack in Shoppe.

I do remember my parents always  saying to be nice to the store   owners, because they're letting us  charge.

We cannot pay right away,   and they let us pay as we can.

And  that's why we have to appreciate them.

One of the things that I remember the most,   and that stands out for me, memory wise about  Honokaʻa is the parades.

We always have parades.

(band playing and horns honking) It's almost like, instead of a  class reunion, a town reunion.

(band playing and horns honking) During these celebrations, they  remember all the good that came   out of their relationships and of their time  working because, you know, it wasn't easy,   but they don't spend their time boohooing,  you know, it's they're just glad to see each   other and talk story like you say, and  bring back all the good old memories.

(instrumental music) There was something about the stories  in this town that just drew me in and   made this my home and made me want to  just be solid here and stay.

I'm very   passionate about this town like  I haven't been anywhere else.

Honokaʻa is a very interesting little  community.

I think that mostly for me,   it's a village.

You know, when I  was young, I couldn't stand it.

Everybody knew what you were doing.

You went to  school if you did something naughty at school,   by the time I got downtown, my mother was spanking  me, you know, everybody knew what you did.

But   as I matured and got to be adult, I realized  that that was my, my village, protecting me.

(instrumental music) The people of Honokaʻa terrific.

They're right  on.

Many of my friends are still Honokaʻa people,   you know, that were raised here  and lived here.

That's kind of   one of my reasons that I moved back to Honokaʻa.

It's strange how when we're younger, we can't  wait to leave.

During our days in the 60s,   we called it the rock.

Oh, we can't wait to  leave this rock.

But here we are back again.

A lot of us have ended up  coming back to our hometown.

Which, of course, is getting larger and larger.

The essence of Honokaʻa is within  you, and that is why it's special.

I was born and raised in this  home here.

And now I'm 95.

My memories of the old people in Honokaʻa,  old I said is that all of them is moved out,   and all these new people coming.

I wish I could  go back 55, 60, years.

Again, to where I can   get all the old timers with a lot of heart you  know?

And yeah, I love them, and I always will.

(instrumental music) Honokaʻa and its communities big  hearted everybody knows each other,   or intertwined somehow and whenever there is  something going on, or people come together   to help or even if somebody's just sick in town  people go to their house and bring food or check   up on them and a lot of personal interest,  interaction among the people.

I'm glad to   say it's still remains even when since childhood  to now, that sense of community still is around.

Marlene Hapai / Andrade’s Honokaʻa Café Co-Owner: I think it's important that people understand why   Hawaiʻi is Hawaiʻi, and you get a feel, especially  when you go to the little towns.

I think that's   what I would like people to leave with.

We  get along, everybody has their differences,   but we have our commonalities, and,  you know, and that's what we focus on.

I'm a product of Honokaʻa,   because this is where my roots are.

And this is where my roots going stay.

You always, never forget where  you're from.

I'm grateful,   and proud to be brought up  in this little town here.

(instrumental music) Māmane Street in downtown Honokaʻa.

It’s  like stepping back in time with many of the   plantation-era buildings that are still standing.

Along that 1-mile stroll, look for these plaques.

They mark the buildings that have been added to  the National Register of Historic Places.

One of   them is home to the Honokaʻa Heritage Center,  where the town’s history is being preserved.

(instrumental music) We should preserve the stories of all  that has happened in Honokaʻa and all   the small towns along the plantation coastal  areas, because, slowly they are disappearing.

They always say if the walls could talk  I wonder what they would say, you know,   and I always think if the buildings could  talk, what would they say?

What have they seen?

The Heritage Center is just so important,  I think, for the community.

If you don't   know where you came from, you may not know  where to go.

That's important for especially   young people to know, and that's what we're  trying to do here, is tie everyone together,   whether they've moved away and haven't  come back and come back for a little while,   or have their grandkids living here.

We  want everyone to know that they started   here, or they had ties here, and so this is an  area that we can keep it all together for them.

The Heritage Center was opened in  July of 2021.

And we are community   collection of things that have  been coming to us since about 2011.

This building was built in 1927.

It was Judge  Botelho, Manuel Botelho.

And he started out with a   small car, auto repair shop.

And then he expanded  into this larger space.

It's had a lot of lives.

One of the most interesting things was the  Model T shop.

They sold brand new cars in here,   they wheeled them in through the front door, which  must have been pretty spectacular.

The owner of   the building is still in the family and a couple  of our volunteers here are related to the family.

The way they designed the building you know,  make you thinking that you walk in right into   one plantation home.

Like our home.

The  homes that we were raised in you know,   looking at some of the furniture.

Til today in  my mom's house, they still got the furniture.

We see probably 20 to 30 people a day in here.

We have discovered that half the people  that are coming in are local, which is,   to me the most exciting thing.

I think  that that's validation that we're doing   something good for the community,  because they're coming from Oʻahu,   the other outer islands, they're coming from  Honokaʻa to to see their families on the walls,   and learning and sharing and continuing  to have trust in what we're doing.

I like meeting a lot of people,  especially the old timers,   because some of them I haven't seen since  I was a kid.

And then their recognition,   like, aren't you so and so or you're so  and so's whatnot?

And we strike up this   conversation and talking about the past.

It  really brings back a lot of great memories.

(instrumental music) When you're in the building here you have that  different feeling almost like chicken skin.

That's the way I feel.

With the exhibits and you  when you walk into the different parts of the   building, and wow, and you look at all the old  pictures and that going bring your memory back.

(instrumental music) One of the walls feature Hāmākua Jodo Mission.

I'm currently the kyodan President and that's   been my family temple for over 100 years.

And I have a lot of aloha for that temple   because it has a lot of history behind  it, how it was built.

It was the first   sanctioned Buddhist temple built in Hawaiʻi.

I'm very proud of that wall there.

Because my   ancestors ancestors was part of the building  and whatnot of it.

And for many generations   on we were still affiliated with the temple.

And it's a point of pride in the community.

People walk in here all the time with their  photos, their artifacts, their memories,   their stories to share with us.

So everything on  the wall has been curated with community members.

We grew up surrounded by all of this, you know, we  grew up with the plantation, the sugarcane trucks,   harvesting the cane and all the operations  that go with running the sugar mill.

And   we took it for granted.

We never realized  that one day, it wasn't going to be here.

I have grandchildren, and so to bring them  through and walk through and the older ones,   she's 17 now and she was like, wow,  you know, Mama, the pictures are like,   do you remember this?

And I'm like  yeah and we talk about it.

Then I   can share with her the stories that  my mom or my grandparents shared,   So it's important that they come in, they  can walk through, they can look at it.

It's important that as far as the younger  generation to learn more about their roots.

We do get a lot of students that come in via  field trips.

And they get very excited when they   look on the walls, and they say, oh, Grandpa,  or aunty or uncle, and they might not know,   some pieces of history of how the town was  built or how their families were involved.

Every town needs a Heritage Center.

We have a lot  of people that come from all over Hawaiʻi, that   come from plantation, whether it be pineapple,  sugar, anything like that with the same stories.

What it's doing for people is that that pride  in who they are and who their families are.

And even if they came from, I say even if because  it's plantation labor, plantation work is not   romantic and glamorous, and acknowledging that it  was very important, and it is glamorous.

I mean,   they were hard workers.

They were very hard  workers and acknowledging that is really   instilling this sense of pride when you put  them on the wall and say you were important.

This will never get old you know, I can come in  here.

No matter if I seen um, thousand times,   I going always like wow, you know, walk in  and kind of reminisce of how everything was.

Honokaʻa is built on shared stories.

And  so we may have one family's collection,   but so many other people in the town can relate to  it.

So it is very personal.

It's personal to me,   although I didn't grow up here, but because they  entrust me with these items and the sharing of   these things and share the opportunity to  share for them, feels like such a privilege   to me to collect that and let them give in  their own special way back to the community.

(instrumental music) Mahalo for joining us.

Because of you, PBS  Hawaiʻi continues to share the stories of   our communities.

If you’d like to support  our mission, please visit pbshawaii.org   and click on the donate button.

For Home  is Here, I’m Kalaʻi Miller.

A hui hou.

(instrumental music)