Keaau Beach
June 8, `73
Last night, or more specifically yesterday afternoon, six mokes
jumped Eddy. They wanted to finish the job they started a week ago.
This time Eddy got fucked over bad. All six kicked him, while
Russell's little friend took an iron frying pan and beat him over the
head. When I arrived on the scene, another beach person was bandaging
Eddy. He complained about his ribs, but he refused to see a doctor.
His hands and arms were bleeding and his knuckles were swollen to
three times their normal size. He used his arms and hands to protect
his head. When the pigs arrived, we told them what had happened. We
even pointed the mokes out to them. They had never left the beach.
After the pigs had talked to the mokes, they drove away. The mokes
also left in their truck, but not before screaming at us, "Serves you
right. Stick around and there's a lot more where that came from." The
pigs were a big help.
Truny (Gary's wife) and the kids had just moved back to the beach.
After barely escaping the flying bullets from a week ago, I had them
park their camper in the Fogcutter's parking lot. I talked my boss
into letting them park there for a few nights. We got it stretched out
into almost a week. Camping there was a lot safer than camping at the
beach. Anyway, after the Eddy thing, Truny knew she couldn't stay at
the beach, so she packed up Eddy and the chicks and moved everybody
down to Eva beach, twenty-five miles south.
I felt bad that I wasn't there to help Eddy, but I felt good that I
wasn't part of the massacre. I was only a can of ravioli and a peanut
butter sandwich away from getting beaten up myself. I had been with
Eddy just moments earlier, and then I went back to my camp for dinner.
I was really upset about what had happened. If it weren't for my job,
I would have left this damn place long ago. I was beginning to hate
beach life, especially here in the Makaha/Nanakuli area.
I had been told that I lived in the ghetto of Oahu. This area had the
largest percentage of welfare recipients, 98%, and more homicides and
shootings than any other place on the island, (maybe all the islands,
96.6%). The Vikings did not fight to live; they lived to fight.
Apparently, it was the same here, with the one big exception that here
a good fight was six to one in favor of the mokes.
The ignorance in this area was rampant; grade school level at best. I
say this not to ridicule the intelligence of the people, but to try
and understand the nature of their violence. You couldn't talk to
ignorance. You either avoided it or controlled it. I had been
witnessing human behavior at its functioning level—if you couldn't
understand something, you destroyed it. Prejudice was instinctive
here. I'm sorry I can't say anything redeeming about the mokes, it's
just that I haven't found anything redeeming to say, unless you call
the heightened sense of "life in battle" redeeming.
On an even more ridiculous note, I just received word from Carol Sue
that she was returning to Hawaii. She was bringing her girlfriend,
Denise, and six-year-old son with her. Apparently, the three of them
plan on settling here. I wish them luck. They will need it. I pity her
son, who will have to attend school as a haulie.
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