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I’ve been talking to Carol Hoshiko, a dean at Kapiolani Community College. The college is celebrating its 75th anniversary this year. One topic that came up in our conversation was the Cannon Club, the officers club at Fort Ruger, where KCC is today.
KCC’s Culinary Institute of the Pacific has opened Phase 1 and is working on Phase 2 on the former site of the Cannon Club. In a nod to the site’s history, the lounge in the future restaurant will be named Cannon Club.
The Cannon Club opened in 1945 during World War II on the slopes of Diamond Head. It had a magnificent view of Waikiki and the Pacific Ocean.
Many of my readers remembered it. Wendy Tolleson said, “OMG! The Cannon Club! The Air Force had the Hickam Officers’ Club, the Navy had the Pearl Harbor Officers’ Club, and the Army had the Cannon Club.
“It was a very formal place — a tie always, and a suit coat, long pants, closed shoes, if you weren’t active duty — no aloha wear!
“If you were active duty, then you wore your uniform. We sometimes asked my parents along. My father, who was still in the Navy, wore his whites and once his dress uniform, my hubby his formal green.
“Because dad was a high- ranking officer, we got really great treatment. The food was awesome and it was such a treat! I really miss the place. I cried when they tore it down. It had sat empty, and I really hoped the National Guard or someone would save it.”
Michael A. Lilly said, “I used to go to the Cannon Club. What spectacular views of Waikiki! Truly spectacular. I especially liked dancing there.
“The dance floor in the middle of the restaurant was open to the sky. I remember seeing a full moon lighting Diamond Head crater, which could also be seen through the hole in the roof.”
Niki Landgraf said, “My father was a civilian at Camp Smith in the late 1960s, so was technically not qualified to use the Cannon Club. The secretary of defense at that time was Clark Clifford.
“My maiden name was Clifford, and when my father called to make a reservation for ‘Mr. Clifford,’ there was no argument! It was a great dinner!”
Back in time
“Going to the Cannon Club was like walking into a 1930s movie,” Mac McMorrow told me.
“A band played on the patio, where we danced under the stars as the coconut trees waved above. You could look out to the ocean and the lights of Waikiki.
“As I write this I can hear ‘Sweet Leilani,’ and if I squint my eyes I can see Bing Crosby floating by.”
Growing up at Fort Ruger
“I used to go to the Cannon Club pool regularly when I was a kid and lived at Fort Ruger around 1956-58,” Norborne Clarke wrote.
“As I recall, the dining room was open toward Waikiki and Monsarrat Avenue. One drove up the driveway and entered on the side of the club, in the Blackpoint direction, then down a short hallway toward the dining room.
“This was an officers club, not the Colony Surf! It was Hawaii in the 1950s, so certainly not luxurious. The decor might be best described as ‘unremarkable, forgettable or utilitarian.’ The location and view were truly its charm.
“My wedding reception was held in the main dining room, which had been rearranged to accommodate the event. The dining room was rather large, but this might have been because it was open on two sides. There were probably fewer than 50 at my party. It was comparable in size to the Pacific Club’s main dining room, I think.”
Parfait
Bruce Graham said, “I celebrated my 13th birthday at the Cannon Club. By then Dad was a reservist and had access to the club. My grandmother was visiting from Ohio. It was a big deal, coats and ties and starched shirts.
“We had a window table. But, when it was time for dessert, I couldn’t get a parfait (which was the big dessert) because, the server explained, all parfait glasses were being reserved on the off-chance that a general’s party might all want parfaits.
“Rank had its privileges, and Dad was not only not a general, but only a reserve officer. So, no parfait glasses for his table. The server brought the same dessert in a bowl and called it a sundae.”
Slot machines
Graham also told me his father was in charge of getting rid of the slot machines at the Cannon Club. Most military clubs had these “one armed bandits” in their bars and derived much of their income from them.
“Dad’s job was going around from post to post doing final accountings and transitioning the facilities to a peacetime world. The Cannon Club was one of those assignments. I think it was his last before being discharged in 1946.
“The slot machines were destroyed that year. Dad said they had to be rendered unworkable and then were junked.”
In 1947 the Honolulu Liquor Commission ordered the removal of all slot machines from territorial premises licensed to sell liquor.
Four years later in 1951, President Harry S. Truman signed a bill that banned slot machines from military bases.
Evacuation center
In 1964, Carole Richelieu said, she lived in an apartment on the beach next to the Elks Club, when an Alaska earthquake caused a tsunami alert to be issued.
“Although civilians, we were evacuated to the Cannon Club, where we spent the night camped out watching and waiting for the tsunami, which thankfully did not show up on our shore.
“We only had time to grab a few things before being evacuated. Odd what one takes on short notice as important at the time.
“What I distinctly remember bringing were my favorite record albums, including several by Martin Denny; music of Spain; and movie tracks like ‘El Cid,’ ‘Exodus’ and ‘How the West was Won.’ Odd.
“I recall that it was very crowded and we stayed most of the night. Not real comfortable. But nice view of the city lights.”
Extraordinary memory
Joan Huber told me that she and her husband, Bill often dined at the Cannon Club before it closed in 1997.
“There were many great dinners, but what stands out in our minds was the valet parking.
“We would get out of our car and turn it over to the head valet. We were never given a ticket to identify our car, and when we left, that man would look at us and instruct one of the parkers — ‘the 1990 Buick … over there … second from the end’ … and, sure enough that same car would be brought to us! He never made a mistake and brought us someone’s Porsche!”
The head valet was Marcelino Tacub. Former newswoman Lois Taylor wrote about him in 1976.
“Marcelino Tacub can’t really explain how he does it, but on any weekend evening, he will park 300 cars at Ft. Ruger’s Cannon Club and have each one at the entrance as its owner leaves,” Taylor quoted Tacub as saying.
“This is all done without claim checks or written identification pairing the car and the owner. As he talks about it, however, it emerges that Tacub has instinctively combined a talent for acute observation with what appears to be a photographic memory.
“When I can, I match the people and their cars by the women. Men all dress pretty much the same, but I’ll remember something about the way a woman is dressed.”
I’m happy to hear the old Cannon Club hasn’t faded from our rearview mirror and that KCC will keep the name alive for the next generation of islanders.
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Have a question or suggestion? Contact Bob Sigall, author of the five “The Companies We Keep” books, at Sigall@Yahoo.com.
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