July 15, 2008

A recent poignant story on a local television news channel  profiled an unemployed former Aloha Airlines employee and her struggle to survive. The sole bread winner for her family, she relies on a relief fund created by donations from the public. Perhaps you, like Edna Kehau, wonder how a once thriving local institution came to such sudden ruin while the Superferry continues to slam back and forth between Maui and Oahu sucking down petroleum products at a prodigious rate. We taxpayers, of course, were very generous with the subsidies that shadowy and powerful Republicans implemented through their minion Linda Lingle. And, to be fair, the management at Aloha did not have the wherewithal to hedge their fuel costs like their rival, Hawaiian Air. Nonetheless, since bailouts are all the rage these days, you might ponder the merits of having provided some sort of governmental assistance for what was, after all, a vital link between the islands. I do not know, but can only provide some antidotal evidence. 

I was on Oahu shortly after the demise of Aloha, and, foolishly obedient to old habits, dashed out to the airport at noon to catch a ride home. It was startling to see the empty, abandoned Aloha counters, but I took my place in the queue at Hawaiian. It was slow going. Of the nine employees that I counted, only two were dedicated to helping passengers. The rest had affected a kind of insouciance – puttering about, reading, or, in one case, filing her nails. When my turn finally came, I was blithely informed that of course there were no seats that day-tomorrow perhaps. I felt a slight panic beginning to rise.

After a short hike to the lesser terminal, I approached the Go! counter and stated my requirements to a young lady working the computer. She stared at the screen for a long time before making a few tentative pecks at the keyboard. She stared some more and was joined by a second employee. More pecking. A third girl arrived! Their expressions were blank, bovine. I began to initiate a breathing technique that I employ when faced with intransigent incompetence. The little gaggle eventually attracted the attention of The Supervisor who glanced quickly at the screen before jabbing at it with a shellaked fingernail. “You see that symbol?” she reprimanded. “That stands for Lanai. There is no flight to Maui.” The first girl looked up at me. “Sorry,” she said.

I quickly aligned myself with Island Air where I detected a whiff of brisk efficiency. “Yes, sir, we have one seat left on the 4:30 flight.” “I’ll take it. Oh, yes. Yes! Thank you.” With a couple of hours to kill, I settled in with a good book. Time passed in a perfunctory way, and the shadows were noticeably longer when our flight was finally called. The engines turned over and we began to taxi when, a moment later, they were abruptly shut down. A conference ensued in the cabin, and the attendant  emerged to announce that we would have to “de-plane,” but, not to worry, the delay probably wouldn’t be long. There were mysterious flashing lights. The computers needed re-booting or something.

I trudged back to the terminal and reported immediately to the bar where I ordered an eight dollar beer and resumed my reading. After an hour or so, I happened to glance back at the lobby to see our little band out on the tarmac, reboarding. I hadn’t been informed! I took a last warm gulp, threw down a tip, and caught up in the nick of time.

At last I was on my way, having spent five and a half hours at Honolulu International. Maui might as well have been Aukland. The flight, at least, was mercifully uncrowded, and Oahu was dazzling in the late afternoon sunlight. We crossed the channel and began to descend.

Descend? It seemed somehow premature, and then I realized that a stop on Molokai was unavoidable.

An enormous crowd had gathered there, most of them seemingly intent on boarding our small airplane. My very large friend Lowell appeared in the cabin doorway, gave a cry of recognition, lurched down the aisle, and heaved himself into the adjoining seat. Nearly crushed against the inner fuselage, my spine was forced to conform its arc. At least Lowell was able to regale me with stories of the wedding, or funeral, or baby luau, or whatever family event he had attended.

It had been a very long day when we landed in the gathering twilight, and I wasn’t even home yet. I haven’t been back to Oahu since that trip. It’s just too far away.

Phil Swatek