As I have put down some of the memories I have of the early years of my life, I am reminded that those years were filled with strong individuals who Ke Akua used to mold my view of the world and fill out the person I have become over these many years. Before going forward with the chronological account of my early years, I’d like to pause to highlight a few of the personalities and adventures that stand out in my journey to adulthood.

In addition to my mother and father, I would say my two maternal uncles, Uncle Bill and Uncle Alfred Chock, were particularly important in my early years. For much of my life up to my teenage years, my father was often stationed overseas either in Alaska or Korea, and these two men often filled in the gap. Uncle Bill Chock (or Chuck as he often spelled it), was Mom’s older brother and lived in San Francisco. He had left Hawai‘i in his youth to join the Merchant Marines, served on various merchant ships, and then settled in the Bay area in the Fillmore District at 2517 and 1/2 Sacramento Street (funny that I still remember the address after all these years). He was married to a lively and very kind Englishwoman, Blanche, who had an adult daughter, Kathryn, who suffered from epilepsy and depression. Uncle Bill was half Hawaiian, half Pake, and knew enough Chinese to get around Chinatown and Chinese restaurants (more on these adventures later). He was also a very gifted house painter who was highly sought after for his painting skills. I used to watch him cut edges in rooms perfectly and with great speed. Uncle kept an impressive array of painting and general hardware supplies in perfect order and prided himself on being good at his painting profession, something he said he got from Grandpa Ah Fung Chock, the plantation painter in Kohala.

I remember Uncle Bill and I had a shared addiction to watermelon. As we were about town, we’d often find a truck filled with watermelon for sale and immediately Uncle would be pounding on various green spheres to finally come up with a couple to take home. As soon as we had finished dinner, it was a mano a mano contest between Uncle and me over who could devour the most red flesh from the green spheres. Plenty fun and great bonding.

Uncle Bill with his cars and the pose that defined him

Many images of Uncle Bill fill my mind. He was square and solid in built. He wore khaki pants and shirts when not dressed in his white painter overalls, and was rarely seen without a cigar in his mouth. To this day, the smell of a cigar triggers positive memories of Uncle Bill and his generous spirit. He loved to drive and would not blink at going several hundred miles out of his way to take a soldier he picked up hitchhiking to his home in another state. I remember one time when Dad was sent to Korea, Uncle Bill drove his 1954 Oldsmobile all the way to Pennsylvania so that he could drive Mom and me across the country. The fishing in trout farms in Colorado, the stopping in Tombstone to visit all of the abandoned buildings, and the frequent stops at fruit stands to refresh our car stash were some of the exclamation marks during the crossing of the country with Uncle Bill. The trip was filled with his persistent questions about the names of state capitals, history, and the geography of the continent. He was a man who engaged those about him with humor and good will and he made sure his nephew (me) was a constant focus of interaction.