Every year at this time, I look back on the previous 12 months and review what I learned about Hawaii people, places and organizations in a two-part series. Some of them are substantial and some are whimsical.

Today I’ll look at a Hawaiian community on the mainland; a Beatles song inspired by a local man and his mother; Al Michael’s broadcasting career in Honolulu; the history of Spam musubi; The Trump Cafe in Waikiki in 1933; and the top 25 Oahu restaurants that are gone but not forgotten.

Hawaiian place names on the mainland

Arnold Lum, who lives in southern Oregon, told me in July that there is a town in Washington state named Kalama, which was named for John Kalama, who moved there from Hawaii in 1837.

“John Kalama worked for the Hudson’s Bay Co. (HBC) as a fur trapper. He married the daughter of the chief of the Nisqually Nation,” Lum said.

Hundreds of Hawaiians were hired as fur trappers for HBC, and many married Native Americans. By 1850, Kalama was nicknamed “Kanaka Town.” It was the first multicultural city in the American West. It is also likely the place lomilomi salmon was created.

Ulysses S. Grant was stationed at nearby Fort Vancouver from 1852 to 1853. The young quartermaster had the rank of captain at the time. We don’t know whether his numerous interactions with Hawaiians facilitated King Kalakaua’s visit to the White House 20 years later, but I like to think that it did.

Crossroads of the Pacific

In 1874, King Kalakaua went to Washington, D.C., to meet President Grant and negotiate reciprocity in trade between Hawaii and the United States.

One thing Kalakaua’s mission shared with the president and Congress made a big difference: a map of the Pacific. Hawaii was in the center. Most world maps before that had Hawaii nearly invisible, way off to one side. Inconsequential.

With a canal through Central America under consideration at the time, the map caused their jaws to drop. Hawaii was in a very significant place. It was practically the only place to stop for supplies for ships traveling to or from Asia.

Hawaii was at the “crossroads of the Pacific,” Kala­kaua told them. One map shifted their thinking. A reciprocity treaty was signed, allowing Hawaii’s nascent sugar industry to thrive.

Al Michaels

I read Al Michaels’ book, “You Can’t Make This Up,” this year. Michaels’ first real job in broadcasting was in Hawaii, working with the Hawaii Islanders at Honolulu Stadium.

“If I needed a reminder that this wasn’t quite the big time, all I had to do was look around Honolulu Stadium, which was separated from glamorous Waikiki by the fetid Ala Wai Canal,” Michaels wrote. “‘Termite Palace,’ as it was called, was a ramshackle stadium that seated about 22,000 and had been jerry-built through the years.

“It was an all-purpose stadium. Baseball in the summer. University of Hawaii football in the fall. Tons of high school football games, too. Occasional concerts. It was in constant use.

“The broadcast booth was a wooden cubbyhole up behind home plate. But the conditions didn’t matter to me. It was thrilling. A golden opportunity.

“I was a lot like many of the players, hoping to get to the majors one day. But for the moment, I was happy just to be there, getting paid to do something I would have done for free.”

Michaels and his wife, Linda, were in their mid-20s. They rented an apartment at the foot of Diamond Head for $400 a month. “It was tiny, but it was on the eleventh floor and came with a wraparound lanai and a view of the Pacific Ocean and Waikiki.

“There was a swimming pool downstairs, and just beyond the pool you could climb down a ladder into the ocean. It was heaven.

“The air smelled like a flower garden. There were these perfect evening breezes. We laughed when we thought that even if we would wind up in the majors, it might seem we’d be going downhill. Life was fabulous.”

Tommy Lasorda

The Hawaii Islanders’ big rival was the Los Angeles Dodgers’ farm team the Spokane Indians. “In 1970 the Indians came over to Hawaii. Their manager was a rotund, charismatic Italian by the name of Tommy Lasorda.”

The future Dodgers manager was ejected from several of the games and had to listen to the games on the radio. Each night, Lasorda would call Al Campanis, the Dodgers’ general manager in Los Angeles, to give him a status report.

Lasorda made his ritual postgame call to Campanis, letting him know how the game went. Then Tommy added something else:

“By the way, the Islanders have this kid who does a great job announcing the games. You might want to keep this kid in mind if there’s ever an opening. His name is Michaels, Al Michaels.”

The young broadcaster knew nothing about it, but after three years in Honolulu, the Cincinnati Reds were looking for an announcer. Somebody at NBC recommended Michaels to them. Lasorda took the credit for Michael’s career and success after that.

Expelled from Punahou

Every now and then I hear about successful people who managed to never graduate from high school: Henry Kaiser, Andy Anderson, William Matson and John Nordstrom, for example.

Bishop Museum Collection Manager Desoto Brown told me that the man who founded the Pacific Commercial Advertiser, Lorrin A. Thurston (1858-1931), not only failed to graduate from Punahou, but was expelled from it.

After just over a year at Punahou, in 1874, the school said the 15-year-old was incorrigible. He was disrespectful to his fellow students and teachers.

In an ironic reversal, Thurston was invited back two decades later in 1896 to be a trustee of the school, a responsibility he fulfilled for the following 34 years.

Bungalow Bill

This year I was surprised to learn that a local man and his mom inspired John Lennon to write a song. I love hearing that people in Hawaii had a role in something like that.

In 2022 I told readers that Paul McCartney wrote “Silly Love Songs” while staying in Portlock. John had teased Paul about his writing silly love songs. John’s “Bungalow Bill” is even sillier, in my opinion.

Chicago journalist Peter von Buol told me that in 1968 the Beatles went to India to study Transcendental Meditation with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Richard A. Cooke III, a grandson of missionaries, and his mother, Nancy Cooke de Herrera, were also there.

“Rikki” Cooke enjoyed hunting and, on an excursion, rode elephants and shot a tiger. His mom told the Maharishi proudly about the hunt. The Maharishi said he was saddened by the taking of a life.

Rikki had not considered the tiger’s loss. It was a transformative moment for him. He gave up shooting guns and took up photography instead, and became a world-class photographer.

A few months later the Beatles released what is commonly called “The White Album,” with a song called “The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill.” Some of the lyrics say:

He went out tiger hunting with his elephant and gun.

In case of accidents, he always took his mom.

He’s the all-American, bullet-headed, Saxon mother’s son.

Hey Bungalow Bill, what did you kill, Bungalow Bill?

Trump Cafe

Hawaii had a Trump Cafe in Waikiki in 1933. Eddie Lam owned it before buying the Golden Duck restaurant in McCully. The Trump name referred to card games, not a person.

Significant or silly, I love them both! On Dec. 22 I’ll share more of my favorite stories from 2023.

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Bob Sigall is the author of the five “The Companies We Keep” books. Contact him at Sigall@Yahoo.com or sign up for his free email newsletter at RearviewMirrorInsider.com.