For nearly 70 years, the Diamond Head sea wall fronting Tonggs Beach has been used as a public walkway. It is reached by a right-of-way leading from Kalakaua Avenue.

Steps lead down to an eroded beach where surfers paddle out to Tonggs, and, farther along the wall, more steps descend to a sandy beach where local families have for generations mingled with visitors swimming in the sand-bottomed channel that warms nicely in the sun, even on winter days with chilly north winds.

The sea wall is badly eroded by waves and use; whole sections, railings and all, have collapsed onto the reef while the state and condo owners along the so-called Gold Coast fought over who should pay for repairs.

In 2017, the Hawaii Supreme Court said the state does not own the sea wall, but does hold an easement allowing public passage. While it did not compel the state to fix the wall, the court held the state jointly responsible with the private owners to repair and maintain the wall.

The state hasn’t acted, except to erect a sign in November stating, “The sea wall is closed to pedestrian traffic by the general public.” Every day, pedestrians continue to access the surf and beach along the wall.

This neighborhood of ­single-family homes was ­developed in the 1920s, 30 years before luxury high-rise condos replaced oceanfront houses. Born and raised here, I find it ironic that the condo owners insisted the state owned the sea wall: Since I first walked there as a child, they’ve glared at me as if I was trespassing on their private property. But later, having neglected it, they wanted the public to pay for it.

Nowadays, I also get glares from vacation renters in the waterfront houses. ­Every time I walk the wall I miss the warm, neighborly local families who lived here before.

RESPONDING to my recent column about the risks of solitary surfing, Alika Neves, my fellow Tonggs surf gang member whose family owned a cottage on the sea wall from 1939 until 1974, sent some memories.

“One beautiful sunny day, all of a sudden everyone went in and I was out surfing all alone,” Neves wrote in an email. “Then the waves started to come in … small, about 3 feet, but steady … and these waves were PERFECT right tubes … I swear … with a slight offshore wind,” said the regular-foot surfer, who preferred right-handed waves, while Tonggs has mostly left-handers.

This was rare perfection for Neves, but, his rule being never to surf alone, he went in after half an hour.

The last time he surfed there, just before his family moved away, he was alone and it was flat, “But I felt that I had better go out,” he said. Suddenly, a set, though not a very big one, approached. “So I take the biggest wave. It lines up for me on the right, and I ducked under the lip and got covered and locked in (I never say “barreled”) for a second. I could feel the tube going over my back and I was inside that familiar green room for an instant (then) came out into the sunlight in a burst, without any water trailing off me.” The wave had not even touched him, Neves said, but he felt Tonggs had given him a last, light caress.

What he missed most in retrospect, though, was the sea wall during the full moon. “It was always low tide. Calm … you can see the reef and sand patches clearly through the water. I would sit alone just watching and listening to the sound of the waves breaking at Tonggs. I know you’ve seen it,” he told me, “but I saw it every month for 18 years.”

Reflecting that the other surfers in our old gang had also moved out of the neighborhood, “You are the last one, aren’t you?” Neves said. “That is quite a legacy you bear.”

I said we also bear quite a mortgage.

Neves said he hoped Don and I could hang on. “It would be right if you could stay and then your boy can carry on for all of us,” he said. “The continuing connection is what counts. It represents all of us.”

Then he surprised me with the gift of his memories. “I bequeath them to you now,” Neves said, and I felt blessed by riches beyond compare.