Hotel Honolulu

16 Chip

In her three-dot column in the Advertiser, Madam Ma wrote in the hollow bonhomie of press-release prose about restaurant openings and celebrity sightings and parties at which she always seemed to be guest of honor. She claimed to know Hawaii's elite, had jogged with Willie Nelson on Maui, sung a duet with Bette Midler, clinked glasses with Tom Selleck at the Black Orchid, had years before made a cameo appearance as herself in an episode of Hawaii Five-O. "Jack Lord is a very private person," she told me when I said he seemed an oddball — he wore makeup whenever he left his house. "Jack's an old friend." The widow of Boris Karloff, another local resident, was a dear friend. I mocked the column by reading it aloud until Sweetie objected, saying she liked it. For Sweetie, Madam Ma was sophisticated. "She went go to the mainland all the time! Was regular in Vegas! Was up to Yerp! Was one class act!"

I was familiar with hack work, but this sort of journalism, an adjunct of the public relations industry, was new to me. Madam Ma was always on the receiving end of free concert tickets and merchandise, wonderful meals, press junkets, complimentary hotel weekends, and neighbor-island hospitality. What looked like freeloading was standard practice for the newspaper, which did not reimburse her for expenses. She received more invitations than she could possibly accept and was deluged with T-shirts and baseball caps from resort logo shops, bottles of wine, crates of avocados. Baskets of fruit were always arriving at Reception and being sent up to her room. She was a welcome guest wherever she went, because she was so profligate in her mentions.

Buddy Hamstra said we were lucky to have Madam Ma as a resident: "The Hilton would have killed to get her." Her column appeared in the Advertiser every day. It had once been headed "Around Town," and then "My Islands." Now, under a dim passport-sized photo of her, which, however flattering, I knew to be a bad likeness, it was just "Madam Ma."

Neighbor Island Getaway. . I leave my cozy nest at the Hotel Honolulu for the fabulous opening of the Maui Lodge and Ranch with its view of Lahaina and environs. . Scrumptious dinner with Chip studying the extensive wine list (he opted for the Mondavi Fume Blanc, 1987), served by Chef Erik on aptly named Sunset Deck.. Rising Son crows, "We lucked out again, Mom!" and as the chef (trained on the mainland) makes his signature dish, crepes suzette. . Glimpses of Don Ho and Jim Nabors at Honolulu eateries. . Wonder what they're hatching?. . Rumor Mill:

Sly Stallone said to be putting his Kauai mansion on the market, a bargain at $7 million, probably inspired by the sale of Jimmy Stewart's ranch on the Big Island. . Chip: "Go for it, Mom!" so I bought a ticket in the 'Frisco lottery. Wouldn't you?. . Memory Lane: The Niketown Building now occupies the spot where we used to get plate lunches at Auntie Anna's. .

Also staying over for the Maui opening were the Russell Wongs and the Ray Taniguchis. . Memo from Chip: Don't forget the Punahou Carnival comes earlier than usual this year. . Chip will scream, "Mother, your waistline!" as I chow down on a plate of mochi and Spam musubi. . After luxuriating at headquarters, Chez HH, back to Maui on Aloha Airlines Friday with the kid again, sampling Chef Hans's caviar pupu platter while waiting for the charity fashion show — to benefit At-Risk Teens — at the Grand Hyatt. . Chip says, "Get me one of those, Mom!". . No, not the elegant Lynette Sadaki fashions, he was pointing to the ethereal models from Poetry in Motion modeling agency, Maui's own. . "Down boy," I sez. . But I couldn't blame him.. Swimsuits to die for. . This is Lynette's Spring Collection. . You will recall that Lynette and hubby Rob did the costumes for the Honolulu Opera Theater's production of Tosca, the Rising Son's favorite opera, unless you count Annie. .

And so on. You could not miss the grace note of Chip's name and Chip's boyish witticisms. In fact, delete Chip's name from the column and there was hardly anything of substance in it. In the crudest way, Madam Ma was doing what fiction writers did all the time: she assigned her sayings to him; he spoke for her. Chip was the clever one and Madam Ma was merely recording what he said. He accompanied her wherever she went and always had a bright remark.

In the column Chip was a high-spirited kid, full of beans, a bit of a rebel, something of a traveler, impatient, exuberant, with a sweet tooth and a big appetite. Irrepressible himself, he would reprimand Mom in an admiring way for being a fuddy-duddy. He dared her to go for swims, jump into Jacuzzis, try new drinks or a new dance. "My dance partner!" Madam Ma sometimes wrote. Chip famously played the guitar and surfed on the North Shore. He knew a thing or two about wines.

Chip was harum-scarum (an expression Madam Ma often used) but he was lovable, not always punctual but someone you could rely on. It was Chip who recognized the celebrities' names that Madam Ma dropped in her column, and Chip who knew the source of quotations: "Sound and fury' — I thought it was Faulkner but Chip tells me it's Shakespeare. King Lear?

What do I know? How about Queen Lear? Now there's a challenge for the girls at Manoa Valley Theater. ." Chip was a snappy dresser. Chip loved fast cars, though it was impossible to know whether he owned one, or whether he was even old enough to have a driver's license.

Chip's age was a mystery. From most of his remarks you would have taken him to be a pubescent teenager. He was forever drooling over pretty girls ("At the Hooters opening at Aloha Tower Marketplace I had to caution Chip not to step on his tongue. ."). He gobbled ice cream ("devours Chunky Monkey at Ben Jerry's") and liked nothing better than "chomping a thick juicy steak, preferably Ruth's Chris Steakhouse, Restaurant Row — reservations suggested." Chip could dance, he knew how to juggle, he had been a Punahou School cheerleader. He was "the kid," or "the eligible bachelor," or "the man about town," or "my hapa son" — a reference to

Madam Ma's husband, Harry Ma. He was often "the Rising Son" or just Chip, as familiar to the reader as a close relative.

Chip quoted poetry. Chip could sing. Madam Ma mentioned how he might be on the mainland "auditioning for a part in Phantom" or a revival of South Pacific. Madam Ma mentioned how spruce Chip looked in a sailor suit, and his personal traits: his late nights, his hatred of getting up in the morning, his love for Starbuck's coffee and Mauna Loa chocolate-covered macadamias ("Chocolate Chip") and Sunday brunch on the poolside lanai of Hotel Honolulu, "which is prospering under the new general manager from the mainland" — that was the sort of plug that she thought would have me eating out of her hand.

When Michael Jackson gave a concert in Honolulu, Chip had a seat in the celebrity box with Quincy Jones — "and Mr. Jones remembered Chip's singing ability and suggested he look him up next time the Chipper is in LA. . 'Will do!' said the kid. ."

Chip was the vitality of the column, the guiding spirit, the spark of life, all sunshine.

Which was odd, because I got to know Chip well and pitied him as a quarrelsome, sometimes violent alcoholic who had lost his driver's license in a tragic DUI case and was even more foulmouthed than his mother; who had made himself unemployable and had not finished school; who boasted and lied and went on crying jags; and who was in an abusive relationship with a middle-aged florist, Amo Ferretti, who was himself married and a compulsive drinker.