by Phil Jarratt
‘Well, he would have been here, sir, but he’s so busy at the Plunge. He told me to tell you he’s got a board for you when you get down the coast, and he has a special place just like Castle Surf he wants to take you, right near Redondo.’
‘You tell him I got my own special board and I’m ready to go catch a few, so he better start practising,’ Duke said.
‘Yes, sir …’
‘Paoa.’
‘Yes, Paoa, I’ll tell him.’
‘And tell him maybe I’ll come swim that rough-water event, too, so he’d better get you ship-shape if you want to beat me.’
‘Yes, sir … Paoa.’
Duke hugged the kid and sent him off, suddenly homesick for his little brothers.
The Hui Nalu team departed San Francisco on Southern Pacific Railroad’s overnight express to Los Angeles on the evening of 10 July, arriving at Union Station in time for a quick breakfast before joining a connecting train for San Pedro and Long Beach. Although Duke had devoured three eggs and a steak at Union Station, he allowed Mr Rawlins, sitting opposite, to buy him a corned-beef sandwich and a soda. ‘Plenty of gas in the tank now,’ he said, wiping his mouth, staring at the oil wells that dominated the Los Angeles Basin.
‘See that hill over yonder,’ said Bill Rawlins. ‘Well, just beyond is Redondo Beach where George is.’
This sparked Duke’s interest. ‘Really? That’s where the good waves are. George and me are going to surf a secret spot, just us.’
Rawlins smiled. ‘I think our hosts might have other ideas, but you’ll certainly get to shoot some waves, you can count on that.’
The team was met at Long Beach by a delegation from the Los Angeles Athletic Club (LAAC) and bundled into a small bus for the short ride to the beach, their boards strapped haphazardly to the roof. A couple of blocks from the shore young boys began running alongside the bus as it slowed for intersections. ‘Duke, Duke!’ they cried. When they pulled into the beach parking lot the fans came from everywhere, jumping up to peer through the windows at the Hawaiians, who were astonished to see thousands of people lining the sand.
Duke was mobbed by children as soon as he alighted. He displayed his usual good humour but was relieved when the LAAC men restored some order, and he, Lukelai Kaupiko and Curtis Hustace were able to haul their boards down off the roof. The men donned their swimwear in the clubhouse, then carried their boards through the cheering crowd to the surf, which was a fairly dismal collision of competing swells and cold, brown water. It wasn’t Castle Surf, but they were not about to disappoint the crowd. The Hawaiians pushed through the break and paddled out.
Duke was the first rider to his feet, receiving a tremendous ovation as he angled the heavy redwood plank across the break, his arms casually folded in front of him. But when Curtis Hustace (the best surfer of the Hustace boys) paddled into a bigger one and rode on his head all the way to the shore, the big crowd erupted. Smiling and waving his appreciation, Curtis paddled back out and did it again, and again.
The Hawaiians surfed for almost two hours, a few of the gamer locals joining them from time to time, and barely a soul left the beach. The crowd began to disperse only when the Hawaiians finally disappeared into the clubhouse for lunch. Later, Duke fell into a deep sleep on the train ride back to Union Station, but after a couple more sandwiches he was ready to perform at the opening carnival of the Southern California tour, a star-studded affair at the plush Los Angeles Athletic Club, downtown at the corner of Seventh and Olive.
Duke had been honoured at the LAAC a year earlier as a returning Olympic champion, just a couple of months after the club had opened on the former site of the Hotel Baltimore, and he had been amazed to discover that it had a huge plunge pool on an above-ground floor, the first building in California to house such a wonder. But that wasn’t the only amazing thing about the LAAC; funded by the small but fast-growing city’s business elite, including oil magnate Doheny, the railroad man, Huntington, tobacco-industry giant Kinney and newspaper owner Chandler, the club was also home to the town’s newest industry in neighbouring Hollywood, with actors Rudolph Valentino, Douglas Fairbanks Jr and Mary Pickford among the members. Duke’s favourite actor, Charlie Chaplin, actually lived in an apartment within the club, but much to his disappointment, Chaplin was not in the capacity crowd that night to see him win every event he contested, nor was he at the reception for the swimmers after it, although Mary Pickford was.
The following morning Duke and Curtis Hustace gave another surfing exhibition in front of Abbott Kinney’s Venice canal estate just south of the Santa Monica Pier, before being driven down to the Redondo Plunge on South Bay, where Duke was finally reunited with George Freeth. Another huge crowd had gathered on the beach in front of the Plunge, and Duke had his tongue firmly in cheek when he said to his friend, ‘Come on, brudda, let’s sneak off and go ride that secret spot like Castle Surf.’
Always obliging performers, the Hawaiians didn’t sneak off anywhere, shooting waves for more than an hour directly in front of where the crowd had gathered, joined for a time by George’s young swim stars, Ludy Langer and Dolly Mings, neither of whom were particularly adept on the board, but were applauded rapturously by the crowd. At an impromptu press conference at the Plunge after the exhibition, Duke praised the abilities of his friend, George, while taking polite aim at the board of the Amateur Athletic Union who, he believed, were making it impossible for Olympic athletes to make a living, and conversely, for professional athletes to represent their country.
‘George Freeth is one of the world’s greatest divers, and would surely have won a medal had he been allowed to compete in Stockholm,’ he said. ‘We could have dominated the board as well as the pool.’
Following his record-breaking performances in the pool in California, Duke’s first attempt at a long-distance rough-water race was eagerly anticipated, as was his clash with young Langer. The Los Angeles Tribune reported:
Thousands of people lined the shore and the pier was crowded from one end to the other with spectators, impatiently awaiting the appearance of the Duke. The performances of the great Hawaiian swimmer in the meet at San Francisco recently and his record-breaking stunt at the L.A.A.C. Thursday night awakened the interest of the sporting public, and hundreds of people made their way to the beach particularly to see Kahanamoku. Even though the Duke attracted a considerable amount of attention, Ludy Langer, the popular little student of George Freeth, came in for his share of applause.
With the crack of starter Les Henry’s pistol the line of swimmers dived into the blue and the long grind was on. After the first 50 yards the race developed into a fierce struggle between Duke and Ludy. George Freeth led the way for the swimmers in a row boat, and as they receded into the distance he waved his oars in the air, indicating that Duke and Ludy were still swimming evenly. George was still waving ten minutes later as the two champions reached the final hundred yards.
‘A prettier century dash has never been seen off Ocean Park,’ the Tribune reported. ‘Both applied every ounce of strength left in their bodies, and when within fifteen feet of the end Kahanamoku put on a sudden spurt and flashed across the line, winner by less than the length of his body, amidst the cheers and applause of a little band of Hawaiian rooters perched on a platform at the side of the pier.’
Duke’s brilliant performance in open water at Redondo ‘squelched all doubt as to his ability to take a winning part in a long distance race’, the Tribune noted. While outside the world record, Duke’s time of 16 minutes and 36 seconds was world class. It seemed there was nothing he could not do on water.
After the race, Bill Rawlins and most of the Hui Nalu ‘little band of rooters’ returned to San Pedro to take the Sierra home. Duke stayed on to pick up the steamer’s next run, and two days later he and George were driven south along the coast through rich farmland to an escarpment, where they climbed through a pass and looked out onto a rock-li
ned bay with long lines of large waves marching shoreward from its corner. There was no-one to be seen. The two friends took a knapsack of food and water and hiked to the bottom of the winding track, then surfed alone all day.
Almost a year to the day since he had been met at the dock by thousands of fans, Duke got the royal treatment again when he arrived in Honolulu two weeks after the rest of the team. Most of the Hui Nalu was there, singing along with the official quintet, and after being garlanded with leis, Duke was carried off the dock by his teammates. Duke was more interested in the inevitable luau that would follow, but on his best behaviour at the obligatory press conference, he told the Advertiser that, ‘California is swimming mad, and surf-riding is becoming a great fad among the people who are fortunate enough to be able to use the beaches.’ At Los Angeles they had given an exhibition of surf-riding that amazed a crowd of 20,000. Kaupiko was the star, Duke said. ‘He drove them spellbound by coming in through the surf standing on his head on a board.’
On 18 September 1913, Australian Swimming Union secretary Bill Hill announced that Duke Kahanamoku would visit Australia to compete in Sydney and Brisbane at the 1913–14 national championships. According to Hill, Bill Rawlins, president of the Hui Nalu Club, had written to him confirming Duke’s desire to tour and noted that on his recent San Francisco trip, ‘he broke many records, among them the 100-yards record held by your Wickham’. Rawlins wrote that, following another visit to California in October for the Portola Festival swim meet in San Francisco, ‘We will start for Sydney the first week in November.’
But for reasons never made clear to Australian officials, Duke then announced he was unavailable, and the tour was formally cancelled by a cable to the Swimming Union in early December. Adding to the mystery, Hill visited Honolulu in December on his way back to Australia after having refereed rugby union matches in California and was given the fairly lame explanation that ‘private business’ had prevented Duke from making the tour. This didn’t stop Duke from showing Hill a good time, taking him surfing at Waikiki and beer drinking with the beach boys at the Moana Pier. Somewhat to Duke’s surprise, he developed a friendship with the big, gruff, plain-speaking Australian.
On New Year’s Eve, the Sydney Morning Herald published an uncredited article on Waikiki and Duke, based on a recent interview by a visiting Australian, most likely Bill Hill. While the article covered little new ground, it suggested that a Kahanamoku tour of Australia had now been confirmed for December 1914, with the author commenting that the straightaway hundred-yard course at the Domain Baths could well see Duke break more records. Sydney’s legion of swim fans had heard it all before, of course, but this time it really looked like the Duke was coming.
Chapter 8
The Hui
Hui Nalu team in San Francisco, 1913. Bill Rawlins (front left), partly obscures Duke. Press clipping courtesy Outrigger Canoe Club.
By the beginning of 1914, the Hui Nalu had a strong and growing membership and an international reputation for its wealth of talent in swimming and surfing, largely thanks to Duke’s performances on the mainland. But unlike the Outrigger Canoe Club, fast becoming the biggest club in Honolulu, the Hui Nalu had no money and no clubhouse. Key members, including Knute Cottrell, Edward ‘Dudie’ Miller and Duke, decided to raise funds to buy land and build a clubhouse on the beach.
The first major fundraiser would be two performances of the Hui Nalu Follies, to be presented at the Honolulu Opera House. The follies were staged on 12 and 13 February, and the press reported capacity crowds had ‘an evening of riotous fun’, with one of the most popular numbers being a dance by Duke Kahanamoku partnered by one Ned Steel, ‘dressed like an up-to-date chorus lady’.
As much fun as the follies must have been, a more sustainable means of raising money for the club and its members came with an agreement negotiated by Dudie Miller with the management of the Moana Hotel that formalised the provision of beach-boy services. For several years now Hui Nalu members had provided a variety of services for Moana guests, ranging from teaching them to ride a surfboard to serenading them with ukuleles, and whatever evening social activity flowed from there. (While most residents were amused by the beach boys and considered them good for tourism, some members of the missionary elite were appalled. ‘They are a bunch of lazy male prostitutes who make their living off mainland divorcees,’ one haole businessman commented to a newspaper.) There were loose price structures in place for these and many more services aimed at adding value to a Waikiki vacation for the growing number of tourists, but the beach boys often found themselves at the mercy of the visitors’ generosity in tipping.
Dudie Miller was a visionary, surfer, fisherman, beach boy and band leader (he played piano and several stringed instruments) who saw the earning potential in expanding these existing services into a legitimate beach concession. Since the Dudie Miller Band played several times a week at the Moana, he already had a good relationship with the hotel management, and it didn’t take much to convince them to give him and Hui Nalu the exclusive concession. As well as providing surfboards and canoes for supervised guest use, the beach boys were soon distributing beach towels and head rests, taking group photos and keeping the Moana beach free of ‘riffraff’, such as drunken sailors.
Dudie Miller managed the business, collected the money, took a cut for himself and the Hui Nalu and divided the rest between the beach boys who had worked that day. In peak seasons, some of the beach boys were making up to five dollars a day, which was more than Duke Halapu made as a police captain. Under Dudie’s supervision, the beach boys wore smart clothes, kept smiling no matter what, and were forbidden from drinking on the job, although there would often be an off-duty group drinking beer and serenading the sisters out on the Moana Pier on balmy nights.
The older Kahanamoku brothers were important members of the Hui’s beach-boy collective, but they were by no means the only colourful and multi-skilled characters who congregated under the hau trees. Among the leading early beach boys were Sam ‘Steamboat’ Mokuahi, ‘Panama Dave’ Baptiste, Joe Akana and Dudie protégé William ‘Chick’ Daniels, who would go on to become one of Hawaii’s best-loved band leaders. Duke could swim, surf, canoe, sing and play ukulele, so he could hold his own in this company, even sinking a few beers when the occasion absolutely demanded it. But he was a champion athlete, and as much as he loved having fun with the boys, training came first. That was what set him apart.
In mid-February the best of the mainland swimmers that Duke had swum against the previous season, plus some new talent, arrived in Honolulu for the Mid-Pacific Carnival. Since no-one wanted a repeat of the American Athletic Union’s 1911 refusal to accept Duke’s record times, three surveyors were hired to measure the race course at Alakea Slip and their measurements were then checked by the head of the Geographical Surveys department. Bill Rawlins was adamant: since records were bound to topple, nothing should be left to chance.
Duke won his first race, the 440-yards freestyle, in front of an enthusiastic crowd of more than 6000, then had them gasping as he set a new world record in the 100 yards, improving his own record time by two-fifths of a second. In the 50-yards sprint, however, despite holding Hawaiian and American records, his early lead was pulled back by George Cunha and unknown San Franciscan Bob Small, then Small stormed home to win, equalling the world record.
Duke was philosophical about it. ‘You can’t smash records every time you get in the water, and sometimes you can’t even win,’ he explained. But for his critics this was further proof of his erratic form, brilliant one swim, ordinary the next. Some on the mainland even put it down to the lack of discipline of the Kanaka, a rather severe judgement considering that Duke had broken a world record at the meet and won two of his three events.
One carnival spectator was the remarkable Australian athlete and entrepreneur, Reginald ‘Snowy’ Baker, who had represented his country as a footballer, boxer, swimmer and diver, and had mo
re recently taken over the Sydney Stadium boxing venue from Hugh McIntosh. Baker reported home that he ‘had the pleasure of a long yarn with the world champion swimmer, Duke Kahanamoku’, noting Duke’s pleasant demeanour, swimming technique and anticipation of his coming visit to Australia. Baker also mentioned to his friend, Bill Hill, that the carnival was promoted by ‘life-like pictures of Kahanamoku shooting on a surf board’ and that the same poster would be ideal for the Sydney carnivals. (The poster featured the artwork of Duke’s ‘chorus girl’ dance partner, Ned Steel, and Hui Nalu member Lew Henderson surrounding the photograph.)
Hill telegraphed Baker requesting that he secure rights from the photographer before leaving Honolulu, which Baker did by marching into Gurrey’s Art and Photo Shop, just up the street from the Alakea Slip, and making photographer A.R. Gurrey a modest offer for the use of the splendid image of Duke standing bare-chested on his board as he sped along a wave, lightly flexing his muscles and smiling at the camera. ‘This picture will fill the grandstands with excited girls,’ Baker joked as he paid Gurrey in cash. Alf Gurrey, another Hui Nalu member and the first real surfing photographer in that he actually ventured out into the surf to capture his spectacular images, was cash-strapped trying to fund the publication of The Surf Riders of Hawaii, his seminal photo collection. He had no time for jokes. He just took Snowy’s money and headed back to the dark room.
Although Snowy Baker was not a surfboard rider, he was a surf bather and body-shooter who loved the beach lifestyle, and he recognised immediately the power of Gurrey’s image of Duke. Gurrey was not a particularly gifted photographer but he had gone where no man had gone before, canoe-surfing next to Duke on a wave so that he captured the man full frame, showing every contour of his athletic torso. By this time surfboards had been ridden in Australia for at least five years, and some reasonable photographs had been taken (including O.B. Notley’s depiction of a Tommy Walker headstand at Yamba), but no-one had ever seen surfing represented like this. Baker knew instinctively that while the Kahanamoku tour was principally about swimming, the image of a Polynesian god standing defiantly on a surfboard was what would sell it to the public.