1.
It started in school when his father gave him a bunch of old suits he hadn’t used in a long while. It’s also when his father showed him how to tie a tie and how to shine his own shoes.
“We can just go to Fort Street and see the shoe shine man,” he mentioned.
“No, this is something you want to do yourself,” his father countered. “When the time comes, you want to show your own son how to do this.”
His father also explained why it was important to match the color of his tie, shirt, and coat. The sorts of slacks and shoes also mattered. “You’re graduating from high school soon. Therefore, if anything, when you’re out in the world, you want to look like a gentleman. Presentable, no matter where you go.”
“People are going to think I’m making ho’oio,” the boy protested.
“Why do you care what people think?” his father chided him. “They’re not wearing your clothes, or working at the sandwich shop, are they?”
“No,” Kamuela replied. “Nobody else I know dresses like this.”
“Nobody else matters,” Mark reminded his son. “You’ll be treated like a gentleman if you dress like one.”
Mark stepped forward, adjusted Kamuela’s tie, and removed a tie clip and a pin from his breast pocket. “Today, you use the tie clip to keep it in place. The pin has the same purpose.”
Mark handed both items to Kamuela and let him put the tie clip on himself.
Kora watched the interaction while she prepared lunch in the kitchen. Of course, she could have taught Kamuela the same thing, but it was Mark’s place to do it. This one rite of passage meant a lot to her, as her father, known as the mean old Hawaiian man on the street where she grew up, taught her, as her own rite of passage, how to defend herself, not just against other girls, but against boys and men who got fresh with her.
“Your modesty is yours, not anyone else’s but yours,” Pali Limahana said sternly. “One day, Papa might not be there to protect you; that’s why I’m teaching you to protect yourself.”
“Yes, Papa,” Kora knew the seriousness of what her father emphasized and took his instructions to heart. Mark is teaching Kamuela the essentials of gentlemanly attire. Mark was wholly unaware of his wife teaching their son the gentlemanly art of self-defense.
“You’re learning this to protect yourself,” Kora said to Kamuela. “As well, to protect your loved ones.”
Mark’s patience in explaining the intricacies of the Windsor knot was evident as he stood behind Kamuela, placing his hands on his son’s as they both went through it. “Keep practicing again and again, that’s the only way you’ll learn. Once you’ve mastered it, I’ll teach you other tie knots.”
Kora went to her record player and keyed up the best of Sam Cooke. His music gave Kora a natural smile while she prepared the cucumber salad to complement the sandwiches. The tea sat in the miniature cooler, chilling to the right degree.
Mark finally got Kamuela’s fingers to relax while holding one end of the tie with his right hand, and his left hand put everything together to complete the Windsor knot. Kamuela wasn’t quite getting it, but he wouldn’t give up. That was the true value of the lesson for Mark, that his son not give up. He couldn’t help but smile. However, something happened that distracted Mark. It was coming from the kitchen. The second he heard it, he immediately followed a sound that flooded the whole house. A smooth male voice accompanied by actual musical instruments.
“Darling, you send me. I know you, send me. Darling, you, send me. Honest you do, honest you do, honest you do.”
Mark floated to Kora and embraced her around the waist. Kora reciprocated by leaning back into Mark, where she tilted her head to one side, telling Mark without words that she wanted him to kiss her softly until he reached the back of her ear. By instinct, Mark obliged until Kora turned to him and met his lips with hers. They kissed deeply, until with a natural instinct, they let the music sway their bodies back and forth, looking into one another’s eyes, smiling and drinking deeply of their desire for one another.
“You’re a good father,” Kora’s eyes swam with tears of happiness.
“Thanks for letting me be one,” Mark smiled.
“Lunch is almost ready,” she said, giving Mark a soft pat on his butt. “You go finish up your lesson.”
Mark turned and went back to the large mirror where Kamuela was finally getting the hang of it. “Not sure if this is it or not? Can you look? Let me know?”
“It’s a bit wide, but that’s basically it. The more you practice, the more you’ll figure out how to make that diamond shape a little smaller and tighter according to the situation.”
“The situation?” Kamuela squealed.
“It’s something you’ll learn on your own,” Mark reassured his son. “No matter how I try to explain it, it will come out wrong…Mom says lunch is ready.”
“How come every time Mom plays that song, you just disappear no matter what you’re doing, like just now?” Kamuela looked at his father for a pertinent answer.
“That’s another thing you’ll have to learn on your own,” rubbing his son’s shoulders briskly, he hoped that Kamuela would drop the matter.
“Is it like your love song, for you and Mom?” Kamuela asked.
“Yes, you can say that,” Mark nodded.
“Gross,” Kamuela shook his head. “That means that you and Mom probably do gross things together.”
2026
Kamuela nursed a Vietnamese tea drink while staring at the spot where the old African American man once shined shoes for anyone who cared to have their shoes brilliantly shone from heel to tip. It was the routine he and his father followed on Saturdays after a trim from the local barbershop. All these years later, and there’s not a trace that Maurice’s shoe shine stand was ever there.
1974
Maurice stood out with his dark skin and shock of white hair. As courteous as Maurice was to Kamuela’s father, Mark always treated Maurice with more respect than he was being given. Kamuela learned by example that this is how one behaves while in the company of elders. Kamuela was never allowed to call Maurice by his first name; he had to refer to the shoe-shine man as Mr. Tennison.
“You are not his equal,” Mark instructed his son. “So, you call him Mr. Tennison.”
“How come some people call him Shoe-shine man?” Kamuela asked.
“Some people don’t know any better, but you do,” Mark pointed out. “So, you act like it, you understand?”
“Yes, Papa,” Kamuela nodded.
Mark and Mr. Tennison would talk while Kamuela had his shoes shined. He knew well enough not to interfere with their conversation, lest he receive that look of disapproval from his father.
“One day, it was bleeding hot,” Maurice began. “It’s that Alabama heat that leans on you, makes you feel it. I had to take a break and sit on a log right on the side of the road for a bit. I had my father’s old water canteen with me, and as I took a few sips, I heard footsteps, people coming up the dirt path about to walk past me. I raised my head to give these people a proper greeting, and there was nobody there, but the sound of their footsteps walked right past me and up the rest of that road.”
“Oh man,” Mark sighed with disbelief.
“Did you know,” Maurice chuckled. “I got my narrow behind to church every Sunday, and Wednesday after that? I did, I surely did.”
“How did you find your way here, to Hawai’i?” Mark asked.
“I was a civil servant for the state of Alabama, and one day an opening came for a civil servant job at a place called Schofield Barracks in Honolulu, Hawaii. I was a driving instructor,” Maurice laughed. “I’m retired now, of course, collecting benefits, but you know what they say about idle hands. Therefore, here I am doing the work that I used to do with my father as a little boy, shining shoes.”
Kamuela noticed that Maurice always dressed nicely, in slacks, a dress shirt, dress shoes, and a tie. The old man was possibly the most dapper shoe shine man in all of Honolulu. “Mr. Tennision,” Kamuela said at the right moment in the conversation between the two men, so it wouldn’t seem as if he were being kīko’olā. “That’s a Windsor knot on your necktie.”
“Why yes, it is,” Maurice replied as he placed his fingers on the knot. “Now, how would you know about something like that, young sir?”
“My Dad has been showing me how to tie one,” Kamuela pointed to his father.
“To prepare him for life out of high school,” Mark began. “He dresses well, and he’ll be received well.”
“I learned the same way from my father,” Maurice agreed with Mark. “And he from his father, and so on.”
“My dad teaches me the Windsor knot, and we listen to Sam Cooke on the record,” I offered.
“Sam Cooke?” Maurice was genuinely surprised. “Now, what would a young man like you know about Sam Cooke?”
“My Mom and Dad have a favorite Sam Cooke song,” Kamuela began. “It makes them dance together slowly, and they hug a lot.”
“I’ll bet you I know one thing about Sam Cooke that you don’t know,” Maurice smiled.
Kamueal was struck with wonder. “What is it, Mr. Tennison?”
Maurice reached behind the chair where Kamuela sat and removed an old black-and-white picture of Sam Cooke, dressed in a sharp coat and tie. In the background stood another man. “That white man standing back there in this picture is a man by the name of Ed Sullivan. Sam Cooke is the gentleman here in the front. Sam is singing on The Ed Sullivan Show. Look closely now, what kind of tie is Sam Cooke wearing?”
Kamuela looked closer at the picture, and his mouth flew open wide. “That’s a Windsor Knot!”
Turning to Mark, Maurice asked, “What does Kamuela mean?”
“Samuel,” Mark smiled. “Or Sam for short.”
“You see that?” Maurice nodded to Kamuela. “You were named after Sam Cooke.”
NOW
It was quite the revelation for Kamuela way back in 1974. Maurice promised that one day, when Kamuela had completely mastered the Windsor Knot, he would teach him the double Windsor. A couple of months later, when Kamuela could tie the knot with his eyes closed, he and his father made the trek to Fort Street Mall. The shoe shine stand was closed down, and without the presence of Mr. Tennison, the place gave off a sad, empty kind of feeling. The man who ran the birdcage elevator, Seville Harrison, saw Mark and Kamuela and made a point of going out to tell them the news.
“You’re looking for that shoe-shine guy?” Harrison quacked.
“Yes, Mr. Tennison,” Mark confirmed. “Maurice Tennison.”
“Oh, that old nigger died of a heart attack right there while he was shoe-shining,” Harrison pointed to the closed stand. “Scared the hell out of his customer. The nerve, right? Just dying like that.”
It was the first time Kamuela saw his father commit an act of violence, and it was something he never forgot. Mark let go with a front kick between Harrison’s legs. The force of it lifted the elevator operator off his feet and brought him crashing to the ground. Mark mounted Harrison and grabbed him by the back of his head and landed three solid punches on the orbital bone. Surely, he’d wake up the next morning with a swollen shiner.
“That MAN’S name was Maurice Tennison, and he was ten times the human being you’ll ever be,” Mark firmed his grip on a tuft of Harrison’s hair and gave a hard shake. Standing up, Mark took Kamuela’s hand, and they walked back to the car, which was parked one street over on Bethel.
How, 52 years later, a space that had long been bereft of a shoe-shine stand and its owner could evoke a memory so visceral that Kamuela felt as if he had traveled back in time was beyond his comprehension. He inhaled air now as he took a sip of his Vietnamese tea drink. He shook the cup a bit as he looked for a trash receptacle. The nearest one was being molested by a homeless person who flew its contents everywhere in a manic fit. Kamuela decided on the one near the Basilica’s steps. Walking over to it, he tossed the empty plastic cup into it and took a seat on the steps. Behind him, Kamuela heard a deep hollow creaking sound and turned to see the basilica doors opening. His friend, Clark La’anui, came walking out. They scheduled a catch-up lunch that couldn’t be too far away, as Clark had his wedding rehearsal in an hour or so. The two walked to the nearby Golden Arches, which was crowded for a Saturday. Receiving their order was quick, and they found a place to sit.
“I didn’t know you were Catholic?” Kamuela asked.
“I’m not,” Clark nodded as he stuffed fries into his mouth. “Dora’s Catholic. I’m doing it for her. Her mother thinks that after we’re married, I’m going to take Dora and her daughter away somewhere. I dunno where she got that idea.”
“Oh, so what are you gonna do?” Kamuela inquired.
“Her mom’s gonna come stay with us,” Clark said as he took a swig of his tea. “The woman doesn’t have to worry, and we’ll have a live-in babysitter and peace of mind.”
“And…” Kamuela leaned forward. “There’s more, I can tell.”
“And for MY mother’s sake, Dora, agreed to a Hawaiian wedding,” Clark nodded. “Her mother is not too thrilled about it, but that was the deal.”
“Peace of mind was the deal?” I asked.
“All around, everybody is happy. That’s all that matters.” Clark took another sip of his tea.
Kamuela didn’t notice it at first because Clark wore a black tie. However, as he looked closer, he saw it. “That’s a double Windsor Knot.”
Clark briefly ran his fingertips over the knot. “Yup, Windsor two times.”
“How’d you learn how to tie it?” Kamuela asked.
“My papa,” Clark replied. “He learned it from the guy who used to shine shoes back at that place, across from the Basilica.”
Kamuela gave Clark the once-over. “You mean Maurice Tennison?”
“Oh, I dunno,” Clark answered. “He’s coming to the ceremony. You can ask him after.”
The wedding festivities are in full swing. Kamuela paid only slight attention to those in attendance during the church ceremony. With his head down, as if in prayer, Kamuela was really swiping through his phone until he found the Galaga game he downloaded the day before. Audible sobbing filled the vast interior of the Basilica, which Kamula could not understand. It was a wedding ceremony after all. Perhaps those people were the designated criers, regulars at weddings and funerals. Finally, the moment arrived when the bride and groom kissed.
Kamuela let out a sigh while unintentionally uttering, “Shit, finally.”
Tucking his cell phone into his coat pocket, he looked up and realized that the whole congregation now stared at him with ill intent. Most especially, Clark and Dora, who glared at him from the daias. Shrugging his shoulders, Kamuela mouthed, “Sorry.”
By the end of the night, after all the celebrations, speeches, and throwing of the garter, Clark and Dora quietly slow danced to their favorite song from an obscure Michael Pare movie about a 60s’ singer who drove off a New Jersey pier on a quiet early morning and was never seen again.
Hey, little girl,
Take me by the hand,
walk me down this boardwalk
one last time again
See those pretty pier lights.
hear those carnival sounds…
Kamuela sat at his designated table, treating himself to the pasta salad with the giant black and green olives. On the plate were also a pile of finger-sized sushi, corned beef hash, and shoyu chicken. A trusty can of cola helped wash the food down and made the experience all the more gratifying. The reception hall catered the same food for funerals, which was so good that no one complained. From his periphreal, Kamuela saw someone coming toward the table. When he looked up, it was a much older gentleman in a new suit that seemed a bit too youthful for his age. No matter, Kamuela never judged people.
“Mind if I have a seat?” The older man asked.
“Please do,” Kamuela replied. “Are you hungry? Would you like me to make a plate for you?”
“No, no,” the older gentleman protested. “I’m fine. I’m Seville Harrison, by the way. You can just call me Harrison.”
Kamuela noticed a sunken indentation under the older man’s left eye, but didn’t call any attention to it. “Clark tells me you’re interested in knowing about the double Windsor knot?”
“Oh, my apologies,” Kamuela put his fork down and wiped his hands with a napkin before extending them to Harrison. “I’m Kamuela. Clark and I have been best friends forever! You’re his Papa!”
“Clark’s grandparents took me in many years ago.” Harrison adjusted himself in his chair. “Clark’s grandmother was a nurse. Well, she was the nurse who took care of me while my orbital bone healed up.” Harrison pointed to the indentation under his left eye. “As you can see, it didn’t heal all the way.”
“What happened?” Kamuela asked.
“I used to operate the birdcage elevator at the old hotel across from the Basilica. One day, a man who had his little boy with him punched me in the eye over something I said.” Harrison explained.
“What did you say that was so bad?” Kamuela asked.
“You see, what that man didn’t understand was that there was a shoe-shine man who had his station right in front of the hotel. He and I had been together for a long time, but back then, being Gay, being two men of a different color, black and white? You could never publicly come out and claim it like you can today. On the day I got punched in the eye, I was mad with grief and just mad in general that he up and died and left me like that.” Harrison looked at Kamuela seriously, still heartbroken. “So when that man came that day and asked me what happened to the shoe-shine man…I referred to him as a nigger because I was so mad at him. It doesn’t matter what the reason was; it was wrong of me to use that word against the man I loved."
“Mr. Tennison,” Kamuela confirmed. “Maurice Tennison.”
Harrison gasped, tears filling his eyes, not knowing what to say. He appeared as if he were going to have a heart attack. “I was that little boy.” Kamuela began. “My father was the one who punched you. I’m sorry for that. My father loved and respected Mr. Tennison. We went there all the time after I got a haircut, and he and my father would just talk about everything and nothing. One day, he said he was going to teach me how to tie a double Windsor Knot. When we came back the next time, well, you know.”
“I taught him how to tie a double Windsor,” Harrison pointed to his chest. “I couldn’t have him teaching driving courses wearing a knotted tie that he couldn’t untie at the end of the day.” Harrison looked at Kamuela for a second. “Did you ever learn how to tie a double Windsor?”
Kamuela lied while shaking his head, “No, I never did, but I’d like to learn.”
“Alright,” Harrison removed his own necktie. “Come sit next to me and follow closely.”
Removing his own necktie, Kamuela sat next to Harrison and followed as closely as he could, even though he already knew how to do it.
The reception hall emptied out its last few patrons. Kamuela thanked Clark and Dora, wishing them a long life of happiness. “The Hawaiian wedding his next,” Dora said to Kamuela. “You better not be playing on the phone, you understand?”
“I promise,” Kamuela bowed.
“My papa was happy to meet you,” Clark told Kamuela. “Hopefully, he can make it to the Hawaiian wedding. He said he taught you the double Windsor, even though you knew how already.”
“What do you mean?” Kamuela asked.
“He said you were already wearing a double Windsor, but he appreciated you indulging him. It meant a lot.” Clark patted Kamuela on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Kamu, just like your Dad.”
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