by RJ Krause
Chapter 24
The Gift of Aloha
While Paniolo Pete was always ready to help a friend, the reverse was also true. Pete had friends everywhere he went who were just as willing to lend a hand. I remember the time our mill burned down and we lost over two thousand pounds of coffee. By that time we had a lot of obligations to meet from all of the orders Noelani and Auntie Pukilani were receiving for Pete’s coffee. There has always been stiff competition in the coffee business, and if we were unable to meet the demands, Paniolo Pete’s reputation would have been in heaps of trouble.
Now you and I know the type of man Pete was. His word was his bond, but the folks buyin’ coffee off the shelves or through the mail didn’t know Pete except by his brand of coffee. If they sent in their money expecting some good Kona coffee, I reckon they had the right to receive it. Although we could never prove it, I suspect some of those competitors played a hand in the coffee mill fire. I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes if the truth is ever found out.
As I was sayin’, we lost over two thousand pounds of coffee beans and we were in a sorry state indeed. The morning after the fire we were all pretty sore and tired from tryin to save the mill. Although everyone worked throughout the night, we lost the mill and the coffee inside. We could rebuild the coffee mill, but the beans couldn’t be replaced until the next harvest season. It’s one of the few times I’ve ever seen Pete at such a loss over what to do. No matter how we tried to figure it, those lost beans would prevent us from filling the orders from our customers.
The next day, the family was sitting around the table not talking much when a knock on the front door interrupted our thoughts. Pua answered the door and returned shortly with a strange message.
“Paniolo,” she said, “you got one keiki outside that say he like talk to you.”
Pete went to the front door and was surprised to see a small boy about seven or eight years old standing there clutching a brown paper bag like he held the king’s jewels.
“Morning son,” Pete said to him, “what brings you by the Double ‘P’ Ranch so early in the morning? We’re not looking for any cowboys at the moment.”
“Mr. Paniolo, my mom told me to give you this before I go school. She say it not much, but maybe it help little bit.”
Inside the brown paper bag was about five pounds of Kona coffee beans.
“Son, I can’t accept these beans. Please tell your mother I appreciate the offer, but I can’t take her coffee. It will be months before I can replace it.”
“Mr. Paniolo, my mom told me you say that. She told me to tell you she no like ‘em back and I gotta make sure you take ‘em. I no like get rough with you, but I no can go home with these beans.”
Pete looked down at the small boy standing there in shorts, t-shirt, rubber slippers, and two missing front teeth. He chuckled softly and said to the boy, “Well son, I guess I’d better accept your mother’s gift. I certainly wouldn’t want to get you in trouble, and I know enough to not want you to get rough with me. I thank your mother, and I thank you.”
Well, I’ll tell you, that little boy’s chest just puffed right up and he strutted off toward school. We had all gotten up from the table to see what this keiki wanted and had overheard the whole conversation. Pete turned to our astonished stares, gave us a wink, and informed us he was headed for town to build a new coffee mill.
Throughout the next few weeks, that same scene repeated time and time again. We would return from working on the new mill to find stacks of packages of coffee piled on the table inside the house. They had been delivered by hand, sent through the mail, or dropped off by boat in town. All of Pete’s friends throughout the islands heard what had happened and sent whatever coffee they had to help out. None of the packages were very big. I think the largest one held about ten pounds of coffee, but they came in a steady flow. All of the other growers who knew Pete sent whatever they could.
We never recovered the total loss, but at least we were able to meet all of our obligations. Because all of the packages were addressed to him or delivered to him by hand, Noelani and Auntie refused to open them. When we returned in the evening from working on our new mill, the two women would be anxiously waiting for Pete to open all the bags so they could begin grinding and packaging the coffee to fill orders. I asked Auntie Pukilani why she and Noelani didn’t just open the packages during the day while were were away working.
“No can, Bill, I no like being niele (nosey). Besides, these people send to Pete, not me or sista. How you like come Christmas, I went open all your presents?”
Well, I reckon I’m a little old to worry much about Christmas presents, but I got her point. Everytime someone would stop by with a bag of coffee, whether at the work site or at the ranch, Paniolo Pete reacted as though it was the only bag he’d ever been given. He acted like they were bestowing a great trust in him and it was a very solemn moment. No matter if he was hammering nails at new mill or shoeing a horse back at the ranch, he’d stop whatever he was doin’ to receive the gift of coffee and thank its giver.
Also during this whole period, Pete refused to drink a drop of coffee. From the arrival of that first bag from the little boy on his way to school until the next harvest was complete and we had repaid everyone we knew, Pete didn’t take a sip of coffee.
“It just doesn’t seem right, Bill,” he told me, “all these people giving me their coffee to help out. How can I sit here and drink a cup of coffee when they are going without? No Bill, I’ll just have to wait.”
Needless to say, we all agreed with Pete’s thinking and gave up coffee for a spell. Let me tell you folks, it’s a darn good thing I never found out who burned Pete’s mill. Going without coffee for a few months is about the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Matter of fact, to this day when I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t sleep, I take a walk down to the mill and just kind of check on it. Relaxes me a might I reckon, knowing it ain’t burned down. Then I can go back to sleep knowing I can wake up to a steaming cup of Paniolo Pete’s Pure Kona Coffee.
Funny how we take the little things in life for granted until they’re gone. Suddenly that little thing becomes an all important big thing. Well, back to my story…the building of the new mill became a community effort. As a result, Pete donated the new mill to the town and many of the townspeople still work there and maintain it. It worked out well for all of the small growers in the area as well as for Paniolo Pete’s own coffee business.