Spirit of Aloha | Features | May/June 2004

Raising the Colors
By Derek Hong

Where are we going? It's a typical question every child asks every parent in a moving car. This time, Justin asks the question. "We're going to see Jerry," says his father. We're driving to Waiola Shave Ice in McCully. My sister has been coming here since her high school days. Back then, in the mid-'70s, members of the University High School Band used to stop at Waiola before a football game, grab a quick shave ice then drive to the old stadium, minutes away.

When Jerry sees my sister and the boys, he smiles and gives Justin a present, a dart set. Justin orders a rainbow shave ice, a kaleidoscope of color adorning his ice. He sits on the bench outside Waiola Shave Ice, a wooden spoon in his mouth, his dart set tucked neatly under his arm.

When Justin gets back to Washington state, he will be able to think of nothing else but shave ice. My sister will buy him a snow cone set from Fred Meyer, the local drug store, but he will call it his Hawaiian Shave Ice Kit. He will make his own syrups at home, freeze tap water in margarine containers, take his shave ice maker to the street corner in the neighborhood, set up a table and sell "Hawaiian" shave ice to his friends for 25 cents a cone. Just like Jerry. But for now, his thoughts concentrate on only two things: finishing his shave ice and opening his dart set when he gets back to Grandma's house in Nu'uanu.

Where are we going? The impact of Waiola Shave Ice reaches far and wide. When I ask Jerry about expanding, he says, "People in Japan and the Mainland want me to franchise." Besides selling shave ice on Waiola Street and at a second store in Kapahulu, he sells shave ice T-shirts in Japan; he also advertises in surf magazines and in Japan. As for franchising, Jerry isn't interested. He's happy to be exactly where he is. Waiola makes its own shave-ice syrups, azuki beans and mochi balls, all stored in containers in a refrigerator. Although he now owns the store, Jerry has worked in the shop since his high school days.

Recently, he said, The Honolulu Advertiser ranked Waiola Shave Ice the No. 1 or No. 2 shave ice shop in Honolulu. He isn't sure, and it doesn't matter to him.

"If eating shave ice is what makes customers happy, that's what I enjoy," he says.

Once, a customer came to him with a proposal and Jerry agreed. Together they buried a diamond engagement ring in a Ziploc bag under the ice cream and covered it with some shave ice. When his fiancee uncovered the bag in her cone, the customer opened the Ziploc bag, slipped the ring on her finger, fell to his knees outside Waiola Shave Ice, then proposed marriage to her. She accepted.

Another time, a regular customer told a friend of his who was visiting from the Mainland that he had to try Waiola Shave Ice when he was on O'ahu. He took a cab on a layover at Honolulu International Airport to Waiola. The fare was $62, round-trip. He had a rainbow shave ice with the works: vanilla ice cream and azuki beans. It was worth every penny.

"Shave ice is my life," Jerry tells me. "It's in my blood."

Shave ice is about more than frozen water and syrups poured into a cone. It's about families, traditions unchanged through generations; it's about 'ohana.

My sister and I are standing on Waimanalo Beach, watching over her two sons as they bodysurf the pounding waves. They slam their bodies against the water, dive under the wave to avoid the pull of the current, all under the towering gaze of a pleasant Hawaiian sun. It is high tide, so Sis gestures to her husband, who is in the water with the kids. She tells him to gather up the boys and head back in. All three ride one last wave, giggling and laughing all the way to shore, their bodies covered in sand. A wave washes on the sand, wraps around our legs and erases our footprints.

Where are we going? Wet towels, boogieboards-we load up the station wagon, drive a mile down the road until we see it in the distance: two open counter windows, a long line of people, arms folded, waiting. We have been coming here for years, so we pull over to the side of the road. Even with the car windows down, it is a hot day in Waimanalo. The boys have sunburned faces. We all get out of the car.

The menu is written with a black Magic Marker directly on the white front wall of the concession stand: teri beef, mahimahi, loco moco. Beside the first counter there is a large painted picture of a giant shave ice cone, exactly what we have come here for. A list of flavors is featured next to it. Bubble gum, liliko'i, pineapple.

We stick to the basics: strawberry shave ice with ice cream and azuki beans, just the way the locals like it. The boys go off by themselves and sit on a bench. They sip, slurp and savor the end of a day at Waimanalo Beach. Justin, the older boy, misses a bite on his wooden spoon and the shave ice lands on the dirt in front of him. He looks at the wet red spot for a moment, contemplating his next move. He continues eating, more carefully this time. Brendon, the younger one, head down and absorbed in his cone, the syrup dripping from his mouth, uses his shirt sleeve for a napkin.

My sister and her family have come back to Honolulu from Washington for a one-week vacation. We walk to the station wagon in slippers, shorts and T-shirts with red shave ice stains, and drive away as locals.

Where are we going? One Sunday afternoon several summers ago, my sisters and I walked into a small shave ice store on School Street in Liliha. I looked at the owner, and he had tears in his eyes.

"No mo' lease," he said.

I was next in line and ordered. "Vanilla," I said.

"Va-nee-lah," he repeated.

This man, a Hawaiian selling shave ice on School Street, was being evicted at the close of day-after nearly two decades of scooping ice into cones and topping them with a rainbow of colors, the fresh azuki beans and ice cream packed beneath the ice, a drizzle of condensed milk capping off the cone. More than just a tasty treat, an Island tradition was coming to an end.

I thought about Nu'uanu Stream directly behind his store, the rush of water flowing over black stones in tiers, children rolling up their pant legs, their bamboo fishing poles dipping in the cool stream. I thought about this stream, one of the last remnants of Old Hawai'i. I thought about the concrete condominium that would replace his store. I glanced at the placard on his wall. Hawai'i no ka oi-Hawai'i is the best.

I watched as he opened the freezer, grabbing a block of ice with steel hooks. He placed it onto the shave ice machine, lowering three metal screws until they lay directly on top of the ice. He flipped a switch and I watched as a shower of finely shaved ice fell into a cone-shaped cup. He shaped the shavings into a ball, grabbed a bottle of vanilla syrup and generously poured it on top of the ice, then handed it to me. I looked at him, and he was crying. He wiped away his tears with his other hand.

"Dis my last day," he said.

I silently looked at my shave ice, because I didn't have an answer.

"Where I going?"

I have spent my life following stories and seeing where they will lead. This one took me all the way to Hale'iwa. In a way it seems the most ordinary of beach communities. It is not a resort, there are no hotels to speak of. The usual corporate names cover the landscape: Ace Hardware, McDonald's, Pizza Hut, with an array of supermarkets and art galleries thrown in for good measure. Yet amid this North Shore beach community sits the granddaddy of shave ice stores: Matsumoto's. Simply put, this store has placed Hale'iwa on the map. People from as far as Japan come here for a taste that has been traveling via word of mouth. Matsumoto's is known the world over.

Matsumoto Shave Ice was started 53 years ago, by Mamoru and Helen Matsumoto. Today, it's run by their son, Stanley. When I ask Stanley what he remembers most about his years in the shave ice business, he talks about his father. "On his last day on Earth," he tells me, "he came into Matsumoto's and began sweeping the floor. He turned to Helen, an old-timer, and, in Japanese, asked her to watch out for me and my family. This store was his child. He was a good father. He always worked here in the store, he never returned to Japan. He never took a vacation." Stanley's voice is low and somber. "I wish he were alive now."

Stanley raises his eyes to mine and recounts the story of a grandfather and grandson he met a number of years back. The grandson, staying in a Wahiawa hospital, had leukemia, and liked to have Matsumoto shave ice. Strawberry, of course. That was 10 to 15 years ago. Both grandfather and grandson have since passed away.
When he thinks of quitting the business, he thinks of his father, and that grandfather and grandson, the people who have passed away and have touched his life with thoughts of shave ice. Stanley loves this old store. He then imparts his wisdom on shave ice, which is appropriate for his advice on life.

"Don't ever change."

Where are we going? When you're digging into your shave ice, searching for the dark azuki beans and ice cream, having made it past the sweet syrupy slush with the help of a wooden spoon and plastic straw, just like one of the locals, you hope you never will change.



DEREK HONG has written about Hawai'i themes for many Pacific-based publications.

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