She was a mystery woman, who died at age 96 in 1997 at a Honolulu nursing home with no known survivors; her unclaimed ashes were unceremoniously left on a morgue shelf for three years.
Originally lost in state paperwork, her remains were eventually placed in an urn stacked among more than 300 others in a closet-size crypt for the forgotten at Oahu Cemetery.
Katsu Ishiki’s story came to light May 28, 2000, in The Honolulu Advertiser, catching the eye of Mac Yonamine, a member of the Okinawan Genealogical Society of Hawaii, who recognized the name as that of an Okinawan woman.
“It really kind of bothered me,” said the 85-year-old retired educator. “I don’t know of any Okinawans who have come here and died without a funeral service or memorial service.”
Ishiki’s journey ended March 24 when the ashes were placed in a “familial environment of harmony, peace and tranquility” at a Jikoen Temple niche in Kalihi, Yonamine wrote in an Okinawan community paper. Yonamine also found peace when his long mission came to an end.
When Ishiki died Aug. 12, 1997, at Oahu Care Facility, the state took over her body since she had no known survivors, had her body cremated — the remains placed on a morgue shelf —then eventually transferred it to Williams Funeral Services with a note to hold the ashes pending further instructions — instructions that never came, the Advertiser reported.
In 2000, Williams manager Anne Sage discovered the unfamiliar name on her list.
Sage had the ashes put into a koa urn, arranged for a Catholic priest to hold a service for Ishiki — believed to have been a man because Sage thought Katsu was a male’s name — and placed the urn into a crypt at Oahu Cemetery.
But Yonamine was not satisfied. He wanted to reunite her with family members on Okinawa if none could be found here, and got the support of the genealogical society.
So he called Sage and explained his interest.
But she informed him that a non-family member, a total stranger, could not take possession of someone’s remains because of strict legal regulations.
That’s when Yonamine elicited the help of Amy Tsuru, an experienced member of the genealogical club, to research Ishiki’s past to find clues of any surviving relatives.
Pieces of Ishiki’s life emerged from official documents, city directories, a ship’s manifest and other sources found at the state Archives, the public library and from government agencies, Yonamine said:
Born March 4, 1901, on Okinawa, she emigrated to Hawaii, arriving in Honolulu at age 20 in 1921. She was married to Kamato Ishiki, a dairy worker 20 years her senior.
By 1935 it appears they separated, whether by divorce, death or separation, Tsuru’s research uncovered. She was apparently living without her husband in Kakaako on Lana Street near Cooke Street.
“Our thinking is that he died,” Tsuru said. Or perhaps he returned to Okinawa, Yonamine surmised.
At age 39 she declared in an alien registration form that she had no children, husband or parents living in the U.S.
She was a petite woman, 4 feet 8 inches tall, weighing 95 pounds, who lived on Oahu in the 1930s, Molokai in 1951 and Hilo in 1966.
In 1951 she went by the name of Katsu Ishiki Shiroma.
It is unclear whether she remarried, but it appears she never bore any children.
The search yielded no clues of relatives except for her parents’ names — Matsu (father) and Kame (mother) Uehara, from a 1966 Social Security application.
Tsuru said the parents’ names are common. “You can’t go around asking, ‘Do you know Matsu Uehara?’ There may be thousands,” she said.
And, she said, “I don’t think the current relatives would recognize her. One hundred years ago? They’ve been away too, too long.”
After six months they came to a dead end and terminated the search.
Sally Tsuda, another club member, thought Ishiki might be a relative of hers, and did her own research but also found no relatives.
Later the Hawaii Pacific Press publisher discovered in an old directory of issei, first-generation Japanese, in Hawaii that Ishiki owned a restaurant on Halekauwila Street in Kakaako.
Despite these revelations, it wasn’t enough to help find living relatives.
“She was a mystery woman here,” Yonamine said. “Six months later she was still a mystery woman.”
Years passed but Yonamine never forgot Ishiki. When he moved two years ago to a Nuuanu condominium with a view of Oahu Cemetery, he could not rest knowing Ishiki’s urn was in a tiny vault stacked with more than 300 sets of other unclaimed remains.
“Every time I looked out the window, I would say poor Mrs. Ishiki is there,” he said.
So in January he resumed his mission.
He went to her last two nursing homes but came up empty-handed.
Yonamine then went to Diamond Head Mortuary, which had taken over Williams Funeral Services. There Bill Amigone, the mortuary director, listened and was willing to help.
Yonamine said he had to prove to Amigone it was unlikely any relatives could be found.
He came back and laid out his case, showing Tsuru’s extensive research, a written cultural expert’s opinion outlining the cultural beliefs and practices for the dead on Okinawa and on the unlikely chance relatives were found there, that it would be too costly for an Okinawan family to accept a long-lost relative.
Yonamine also explained that during World War II the bulk of records were destroyed, and family registries may provide answers but can be accessed only by direct family members.
Amigone was satisfied, obtained a favorable decision by the state and arranged for the transfer of the remains.
Yonamine related how his grandmother would always say after a funeral, “Uminaaku,” meaning what a relief.
“What she meant was, now finally she’s able to meet and join the ancestors,” he said.
“This young lady came with a bright future, and to die and be buried among the 300 unclaimed?”
Following the actions of Anne Sage 13 years earlier, Yonamine placed the koa urn holding Ishiki’s remains on the passenger seat of his car, secured it with a seat belt and drove, this time from Oahu Cemetery to Jikoen Temple, an Okinawan Buddhist temple in Kalihi. There a Buddhist priest presided over a memorial service attended by 30 or so, and the urn was placed in a niche Yonamine purchased there.
Now at last Yonamine could say, “Uminaaku!”
