My three older sisters were already married and had families of their own so it was just my brother Jr. and me at home. Jr had graduated in 1963 and was planning to return to Pasadena College. Rev. Glen Van Dyne, then pastor of the Wahiawa Church of the Nazarene lovingly ministered to us at this time and mom found her faith in Jesus and sought to live for Him. We were active in church & were surrounded with prayer & our church family.
Here is an excerpt from some writings from Uncle Roy Higa who in 1977 wrote down many stories from his/their childhood in Makawao. Daddy was the second oldest and Uncle Roy the third child.
Thanksgiving Orgy and the Indian Chief
Uncle James was in the 7th grade and also a star performer in the Thanksgiving program. The program was an ambitious production, a re-creation of the first Thanksgiving party when the grateful Pilgrims invited the friendly Indians to a feast. The Indian Chief, you guessed it, was Uncle James. He had fashioned an elaborate costume from old burlap bags and strings of turkey and chicken feathers on his headdress & red, yellow and blue paint on his face made a believable Indian Chief. I was proud that he was my brother. The entire student body of about 700 students, teachers and some parents gathered on the grassy lawn fronting the teachers cottages. It was a perfect sun shiny day in November.
A cluster of burlap and canvas teepees and cardboard log cabins were set up on the lawn with a long dining table in the middle. About 15 Pilgrims and 20 Indians were in the show. An assortment of fruits and vegetables brought by students were scattered on the table as symbolic of the bountiful feast to come. While the Pilgrims and Indians sat at the table and pretended to eat the raw vegetables, green bananas, avocados, guavas, lemons, mangoes and other unripe fruits, the Indians led by the Chief Uncle James were supposed to entertain by dancing and hooting around the table. Then the Chief was to climax with a speech thanking the Pilgrims for the invitation and pledging undying friendship, etc. The Chief had two beautiful squaws in attendance. They stood discreetly by his side smiling with baskets of fruits and vegetables. They were visions in brown with feathers and flowers in their hair. The girls were Marjorie Iaea and Hoohila Morton. They were also good friends of Uncle James in school and they affectionately called him Jimmy. Later the friendship blossomed and Hoohila was to refer to him as my "Sweet Sweet Jimmy".
The program was well planned and rehearsed. However, the unexpected was to happen. It started innocently enough. The Komoda Store in town had completed a new store and added a bakery to their operations and decided that the school program would be a good place to publicize their bakery products. As the program was to commence, the bakery truck rolled up and unloaded an assortment of sugar and glaze doughnuts, unpuns with the ono black bean filling, snails, sweet rolls and other baked goodies. And this largesse' was spread on the table. This added exciting realism and delicious dimension to the program. The onlookers were awed and envious, the participants were awed and delighted. Chief Uncle James was undoubtedly the happiest of them all. He was thrilled and dizzy with anticipation. The overpowering aroma of the still warm pastries was knocking on his senses.
The program started, the dancing and whooping around the table was spirited, full of uninhibited joy and it was all genuine. Now they settled around the table, everyone including the envious onlookers, among them your 9 year old father to be (stories written to his daughter, cousin Ann), was by now drooling rivulets of saliva from his gaping mouth, and their eyes glued in fascination at the real goodies on the table.
As Chief James got up to speak, it was the signal for the feasting to begin. He was horrified to see all the darting fingers grabbing at the pastries. Table etiquette was ignore. It was every man for himself. His speech was scheduled to be about 5 minutes long, to be spoken in a loud authoritative voice with very slow deliberate cadence like some one who had important things to say in an unfamiliar language. But nobody was paying attention to his speech because for one thing they all heart the speech many times as he loudly rehearsed all over the campus in the last three weeks. Everybody was watching in fascination the orgy that was going on at the table. As he droned on, it became alarmingly apparent to him that the pastries might all vanish by the time he finished. I can think of some negative things about Uncle James, but that stupid, he wasn't. Of course he didn't finish the speech.
He sat right down and none to soon, and started to make up for lost time. His hands were like spears flashing in a school of menpachi fish. Joe Louis had fast hands but I'd bet on Uncle James that day. He was magnificent. In two seconds, he had snared a half dozen bruised pastries and like a pineapple cannery ginaca peel shredding machine, his two hands were cramming pastries left and right. One after the other. It was an incredible performance. Six pastries were in his mouth at one time even before he started to chew. Not an easy feat even for Martha Raye. His cheeks were distended like two balloon fishes mating, eyes protruding like frying eggs sunnyside up, and the red, yellow and blue paint on his elastic face accentuated a real live Jack O Lantern. It was superbly grotesque. Alas, while his mouth was only too willing, his throat would tolerate none of that foolishness, one digested pastry at a time or else. He suddenly stood up and went into a frenzied Indian war dance, his face fiercely contorted, it was totally unrehearsed and spontaneous, it was spectacular. I was impressed and joined the applause of approval There seemed no limit to Uncle James' s talent.
Then just as suddenly, he flipped to the ground, rolled over and started to groan, grasp, vomit and palpitate into nauseous convulsion. His teacher, Mr. Dick Shigemi rushed to his side, worked his fingers in the Chief's mouth and induced a huge glob of regurgitated mess. Then artificial respiration was applied. It was all rather deflating and undignified. When the other Indians and Pilgrims were assured that the Chief was going to survive, they rushed back and this time carefully ingested only two pastries at a time. Everybody in my class new that the rapacious Chief who almost choked to death was my brother. I went home and complained to my mother. She quietly said one doughnut should have been plenty. Mother's simple logic. Anyway this fiasco ended all such ambitious productions at our school. Komoda Store never donated free pastries after that, not even doughnut holes. ~
Just one of the many stories but this one is my favorite. Uncle Roy is 92, Aunty Judy Watanabe is around 86 & Uncle Mitsu just went to his class reunion in Las Vegas from Benjamin Parker School Class of '50 (the year I was born.)
I know Daddy would be proud of how we all turned out, would have loved our spouses, his grandkids & great grandkids (keeds). Love you, Daddy.
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