Mahalo for the memories

I’ve mentioned before that one of my more recent stops on my journalism journey was in Hawaii.

Being that this week marks 13 years since returning after a 12-year stint, I thought I’d share how I got there.

It was 1999 and I was sports editor of the newspaper in Kingman, Ariz. It was not a job I enjoyed so, after seeing an opening at the daily newspaper in Kona, HI, I thought I’d apply. But did so while thinking that everyone and their grandmother would be sending in their resumes. Who wouldn’t? The thing is, I had always seen myself as a western state kind of guy. But hey, Hawaii is west, right? Just very far west.

Much to my delight, after a pair of interviews I was given the job. Now, while I was sad that I’d be leaving family and friends, I knew that at the age of 30, it was an opportunity I might never get again.

But I didn’t quite get the warm aloha greeting I had seen on TV shows like when the Brady Bunch came to the islands. Keep in mind, I had never been to Hawaii at that point. So, when I stepped off the plane, I was immediately hit with very high humidity. It left me asking myself, “Why do I have to chew my air before breathing it?”

As I waited for my luggage to come out on the carousel, I noticed a bag, half-opened, with underwear hanging out. I thought, “I feel bad for that poor sap.” As you can probably guess, that poor sap was me. Sadly, someone had opened my suitcase and stolen a bag full of coins, about $50 worth. Again, I don’t recall that happening to Greg or Peter Brady. All they had to deal with was a cursed tiki necklace.

The newspaper which, coincidentally, would eventually be owned by the same company as the Review-Journal, put me up in a hotel on the beach for a week. Not too shabby. Since the hotel room did not have a refrigerator, I had to eat out a lot that first week or buy a few things at the store. One of those items was a bag of poppy seed bagels.

The day before I was to start, I had to take a required urine drug test. It was then that it hit me. I had just eaten a poppy seed bagel for breakfast and I had flashbacks of the “Seinfeld” episode where Elaine failed her drug test because of poppy seed chicken. I almost had a meltdown. Here I was given the opportunity for a dream job, which I feared was going to quickly turn into a nightmare because of all things, poppy seeds.

I went to the clinic for the test, and brought the bag with the remaining poppy seed bagels, aka evidence. The clinician said, “Hey, nice of you to bring breakfast for us.” To which I said, “Funny story…” He could sense my panic as to what I had done. He laughed and assured me that testing had been updated and that poppy seeds would barely register and to not worry. Phew!

Life in Hawaii was great but you are 3,000 miles from home and on a big rock on the middle of the ocean. Island fever is a real thing. The Big Island, home to Kona, is the size of Connecticut. Now, I’ve never been to Connecticut but it made the island sound a bit bigger than if I were to tell people to think of Gilligan’s Island on steroids.

As mentioned, I was there for a dozen years and got to meet a lot of great people, especially those I worked with. Most of us were in the same 10-year age range and were from the mainland, so we gravitated toward one another. We worked and played hard. At a couple of our favorite hangouts, the bouncers knew us all by name and the owners would often send us free drinks. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.

I also got married. We had worked together, while there and sadly, divorced as well.

It’s hard to believe that I have now been away longer than I was there. I’ve often been asked if I would ever go back. While I’ll never say never, after 12 years I was ready to move back to the mainland. The divorce had something to do with that. While living in Hawaii was a wonderful experience, obviously I had my reasons as to why I was ready to move. The distance from family and friends being top of the list.

Would I go back? Maybe. Twice I’ve been offered jobs there in the last five years. I do think about it. I do have two nieces who live in Hawaii. It’s sort of like how some women forget the struggles of carrying a child and the pain of childbirth but wish to have another. Kind of like me when I eat a bowl of Cap’n Crunch after a long time and then regret it.

Even if I never make it back to the islands, I will forever have the memories of being a tanly-challenged kid from Boulder City who got to live the tropical dream. A dream that now in my mind does not include an underwear-leaking suitcase.