The Biggest Wise Guy of All

by callensensei

During "Court Martial." When the Maritime Board blames the Skipper for the loss of the Minnow, his old buddies back in Honolulu are determined to clear his name.

The Biggest Wise Guy of All

A forest of masts and blue tarpaulins rocked lazily atop the little fleet of pleasure craft in the Ala Wai Yacht Harbour, all gleaming beneath the pineapple-gold Hawaiian sun. Endless blue waves rippled in the sunlight: the nearer ones dotted by skimming surfers and splashing swimmers, the further ones by tiny, shimmering sails. On shore, the Honolulu Hilton's private lagoon was ringed with wealthy sunbathers lounging in long beach chairs. And chugging past them was a jaunty little tour boat, its thrilled passengers waving as they headed out towards open sea.

Beside the harbour, lying incongruously in the shadow of the mighty Hilton towers was a rowdy, run-down tavern by the name of Barnacle Bill's. Normally its patio was empty during the day, for the sea-dogs were a night-loving crowd, singing lusty sea-chanties under the swinging, glowing paper lanterns. But the noise that burst from the patio this noon was no song, drunken or not.

"EEEYAAAAH!"

Scraping chairs and stampeding feet rent the air. In seconds, a terrified reporter with an impressive black eye charged past the tavern's front door with two furious sailors roaring in his wake. He dashed out the gate and pelted down the Ala Moana Boulevard as though a volcano had erupted behind him. "HELP! HELP! POLICE!"

But the two sailors were soon winded and gave up the chase, the taller one shaking his huge fist in the air, while the shorter one wielded a rolled-up newspaper like a club. "Just keep running!" bellowed the tall one. "And don't quit 'til ya hit the mainland, ya bilge rat!"

Not until the reporter had disappeared 'round the bend did the two men lumber back to the patio and their beer and cigarette-butt laden table. The only other person on the patio, a huge old Hawaiian in a bright orange aloha shirt, strummed his ukulele and grinned. "Attaboy, Boss," he cheered. "You fight like King Kamehameha!"

The fist-swinging sailor, a tall, rangy man with sharp grey eyes and thick brown sideburns, snorted in contempt. "I swear, Keoki, I'd like to strap every one of 'em in a two hundred pound pack and have 'em run up and down Diamond Head – wearin' parkas!" With a curse he reefed back his chair and slumped down. The other sailor, a short, chubby, balding man with sad eyes that looked as though they had once been full of laughter, dropped the newspaper on the table and plunked into his own chair.

Keoki strolled over, his bulk rippling his shirt like a giant sail. With the ease of long familiarity he lowered himself into a third chair at their table and peered at the newspaper. "By-em-by no reporter never come here no more! What dat say, Boss? Keoki don't read."

"Ya can count your lucky stars ya can't read this rag," the tall sailor snapped, glaring at the paper. "Somebody oughtta sue!" He snatched it up and read, "MARITIME BOARD DETERMINES SKIPPER JONAS GRUMBY RESPONSIBLE FOR LOSS OF PLEASURE BOAT MINNOW!"

Keoki blinked. "You joking, Boss? Da big Kahunas blame old Skipper? No way!"

"Ya bet they did! The Brass all sat around in them air-conditioned offices, smokin' them fancy Cuban cigars, and railroaded a bona-fide war hero." The tall man slammed his fist on the table. "What kinda trial is that, where a man don't get to testify in his own defence? Don't we got a constitution no more? What'd we fight a war for, anyway?"

The balding man nodded. "What that man didn't know about the sea wasn't worth knowing. If they'd asked the Kid, he could have told them!"

"But they couldn't ast the Kid, could they?" Blinking furiously for a moment, the tall man dragged a hand across his eyes. Then anger won out. "They couldn't ast nobody who was there. But they went and threw the book at the old Skip anyway! For cryin' out loud, don't a man who fought for his country deserve a fairer shake than that?"

As the happy holiday-makers squealed and shouted from the waves, the tall man turned his glower to the sea. "Look at 'em out there. Havin' the time of their lives! But it's only because of men like the Skipper that Hawaii still belongs to the U.S. of A.!"

"Haole got short memory, Boss," said Keoki. "Hawaiians too. Hawaiian people warriors once: cross whole ocean in our canoes! Only map is star! Now look!" He shrugged in comic resignation. "Keoki play ukulele for tourist. And tourist don't remember big fire at Pearl."

The tall man nodded grimly. "That's for sure. And neither do the Brass, if they can double-cross one of their own. But when reporters like that guy come snoopin' around, tryin' to dig up some kinda dirt on the Skipper, that's the last straw!"

The balding man folded his arms and scowled. "They're always looking for some kind of angle. Trying to make out the Skipper was some kind of drunk or lost his nerve or something!"

"Lousy muckrakers." The tall man raised his voice to a wheedling whine in imitation. "'Come on, sailor! Gimme the scoop on Grumby! How much of a washout was he?'"

"Isn't it enough for them that the poor guy's in Davy Jones' locker, and the Kid too?" Now the balding man had to pause for a moment, taking a big swig of beer to loosen his suddenly choking throat. "Now they're trying to sink his reputation!"

"Look like not all sharks in water," murmured Keoki.

The tall man whacked the table with the newspaper. "I swear, the next stinkin' reporter I see, I'm gonna—"

As he spoke, a press card sailed down onto the table in front of him. The three men blinked and leaned forward, peering at the tanned, thirty-something face that smiled up from the square of paper. "Excuse me, gentlemen. Mind if I have a moment of your time?

Now the three men's heads snapped up to see that same face smiling down at them. A true Hawaiian mix, the newcomer's jet-black hair, mocha skin and almond eyes hinted at an ancestry that spanned the seas. He pointed to the newspaper. "Don't worry. I may be a stinking reporter, but I'm not with that paper."

The tall man's eyes narrowed as he surged to his feet, fists balled. "One's the same as the other, as far as I'm concerned. You've got your nerve, Mac!"

"Mo bettah you take it easy, Boss," soothed Keoki, raising a huge hand like the flipper of a seal. "No more Kamehameha, hey? Bad for business."

But the reporter calmly stood his ground even as the tall man grabbed the collar of his shirt. "Yes, I've got nerve. So did Skipper Jonas Grumby. His courage and seamanship are legend in these islands. There's no way he's responsible for this tragedy. The Maritime Board's got it all wrong - and I intend to prove it."

The tall man's jaw fell open. So did his friends', and for a moment the foursome remained in perfect tableau. "Wha...what did ya say?" the tall man gasped.

The reporter smiled. "You heard me. And I usually explain better with a beer in my hand, rather than my shirt in someone else's."

As though his hand had acted on its own, the tall man blinked, stared at it, and let go. The moment he did, the reporter laughed, seized that hand and shook it. "Gosh! I could have picked you out of a crowd of thousands, Boatswain George Wokowlski! Boy, Pop sure described you to a 'T'!

"Pop?" The tall man echoed blankly.

Grinning wildly, the reporter seemed not to hear him. "You're too much! No wonder Captain Grumby survived everything the Japanese threw at him if you were there to back him up!"

"We were there, all right," said the balding man before his friend could answer. "Pearl Harbour, Guadalcanal, Midway..."

The reporter beamed down at him, thrusting out his newly freed hand. "And Gunner's Mate Scott Entwhistle! Pop still goes on about what a couple of wise guys you two were! Always pulling some kind of prank!"

"Pop?" Entwhistle looked as confused at his friend, but suddenly his face lit. He scooped up the press card with his free hand. "Hirokawa...well, I'll be! You must be Old Masabu's boy Jim! Oh, my gosh, I remember when you could barely peek over the counter in your dad's shop!"

"Jim!" Wokowlski gasped, and then a smile spread across his whole face. He laughed and slapped the Jim on the back so hard that the young man nearly sprawled over the table. "Son of a gun! We ain't set eyes on you since your dad sold up and moved to San Francisco twenty-five years ago!

"Been a long time, hasn't it?" laughed Jim. "But Pop never forgot you. He told me to be sure to say hi." He glanced down, his smile widening. "And that includes you too, Keoki."

Keoki's homely face split in a grin. "L'il Jimmy! You live San Francisco, but you still kama' aina!"

As his hand disappeared inside Keoki's huge paw, Jim shook his head fondly. "You've hardly changed!"

"Jus' a little more fat, a little more grey, Jimmy! But look at you! You fine man!"

"You're a chip off the old block," cried Entwhistle.

"Thanks, Scott. It's great to see you all again!"

Wokowlski gestured to a chair. "Have a seat, kid." Once they were seated, Wokowlski looked him up and down, his craggy face now wreathed in smiles. "I just can't get over how long it's been. How's your old man doin', anyway?"

"He's great. Never happier than when he's puttering around the bay in his boat. But when his friends here called to say what they'd read in the paper, he sputtered so much he could barely speak English." Jim's Californian accent suddenly switched to Japanese. "'Baka yaro! Usotsuki! You go Hawaii, Jimmy! You find truth! Skipper was man of honour – and brave man too!'" Jim shook his head in quiet wonder. "And I remembered him too. Pop didn't have to ask me twice."

"Nobody ever forgets the Skipper. He was a man amongst men." With a sigh, Wokowlski waved to the waitress. "What are ya drinking, kid?"

"Budweiser. "

"Ya got it." Wokowlski waved again. "Hey! Leilani, honey! A Bud for my new little buddy, here!"

As the smiling waitress swayed off, Entwhistle shook his shining head. "Little Buddy. Boy, that takes me back. Remember how the Skipper used to call the Kid that?"

"Yeah," said Wokowlski as he gazed wistfully into the distance. "I remember when the Skipper bought the Kid his first beer when he turned legal. It was right here."

Jim frowned slightly. "The Kid?"

"Seaman Recruit Gilligan." Wokowlski smiled in spite of himself. "What a stringbean! He woulda made ya look like Charles Atlas."

Jim nodded. "Oh, of course – the paper did talk about him. Served with the Skipper on his last tour, and then got hired as first mate when the Skipper started the charter business. No Christian name mentioned, though. Just Gilligan."

Keoki smiled too. "All anybody call him. And Skipper could shout it pretty loud, too. Remember?" He suddenly bellowed, "Gilligan! Nincompoop! Doop! Gilligan! No! Stop! Gilligan!" The old Hawaiian laughed 'til his belly rolled like the ocean waves.

"Is that so?" said Jim, suddenly intrigued. He picked up Entwhistle's paper. "Because that ties into one of the accusations – I call them myths - that this paper makes against Grumby."

"Whoever wrote that scuttlebutt should get the Pulitzer Prize," sniffed Wokowlski. "For fiction!"

Jim leaned forward eagerly. "Then help me out, fellows. I'm a freelance reporter, see. I can sell stories to any paper I want: the ones here included. Now, Pop's a great character witness, but he wasn't as close to Grumby as you are, and he never even met the Kid. But with the three of you pooling your memories, maybe we can print the truth – and give the papers a story that'll make these islands ring!"

The two sailors and the old Hawaiian looked at each other. "Count us in!" said Wokowlski. He and his friends squared their chairs as though going into battle. They barely noticed the beautiful waitress who set down a beer by Jim. A little miffed, she sniffed and sauntered off.

"Fire your first salvo, Jim," urged Entwhistle.

"Right." Jim checked something off in his notebook. "First off - about this Gilligan. Some of the papers say that Grumby hired an incompetent first mate out of sentiment." He whistled, still looking at his notes. "This is pretty ripe stuff, all right. 'Disaster looking for a place to happen. Walking Bermuda Triangle. Worst maritime menace since the Titanic iceberg!'" He looked up. "Come on fellows, dish. Nobody could be that bad – could they?"

There was an awkward silence.

Jim blinked. "Could they?"

Wokowlski's chair shrieked as he twisted suddenly. "Naw, naw, or course not. That's nothin' but bilge."

Keoki looked sideways at him. "But Boss, you remember...first time they take da Minnow out? Old Skipper tell Kid – be nice to customer?"

"Keoki..." Wokowlski growled.

"Kid nice to customer, all right," chuckled Keoki. "Say hi, shake hand. Help people get on boat – say, OK, Skipper! All hand on deck!"

"Come on! It was the Kid's first time!" Wokowski stopped fishing in his pocket for a cigarette. "He couldn't remember everything!"

"That for sure! Him forget get on boat!" Keoki began to laugh. "Him still on dock! Little Minnow sail away – Kid remember! Jump in water! 'Wait for me, Skipper!'" Keoki was quivering with laughter now.

"He always was a great swimmer," murmured Entwhistle. "Sure was that day – lucky for him!"

"Aw, come on, you guys!" snapped Wokowlski. "Whose side are ya on?"

Tears were leaking out of Keoki's eyes. "Then tourists shout, "Stop, Captain! Man overboard!' We shout on dock. "Stop, Skipper! You lose crew!' Finally, Skipper hear! Him madder than volcano goddess!'" Keoki was nearly bent double now. "Kid maybe swim to Maui if tourists don't see!"

"But that was a tourist racket," grumbled Wokowlski. "The Kid was ex-Navy. He knew how to handle himself on a boat, all right. You shoulda seen how he could slap that wheel around!"

"Tied a mean knot, too," said Entwhistle.

"Him never remember tie rope to anchor," said Keoki. "Skipper remind him – over and over! 'Gilligan! Lamebrain! Ship not car! No got brake!'" He roared again.

"Keoki, for cryin' out loud—" began Wokowlski.

But the big Hawaiian was as unstoppable as a north shore wave. He clutched Jim's arm in his beefy hand. "Kid never tell left from right either. One time, other side Oahu, Minnow going to dock at long pier. Plenty Navy men on pier that day. Minnow going pretty quick too! Old Skipper say, 'Gilligan, hard to port!" But Kid turn to starboard!'" Keoki was rocking with laughter now. Skipper yell, 'Gilligan! I said port! Look at pier!' But pretty soon, there no pier! Kid go straight through!'"

"He crashed through the pier?" Jim's jaw dropped. "Was anybody hurt?"

Keoki shook his head. "No. Navy men know: see Kid, jump mighty fast!" His laughter slowly subsided to a deep-throated chuckle. "Him worse than typhoon!"

"Aw, Keoki, for the last time, knock it off!" Wokowlski snapped his cigarette in two without realizing it. When he did, he scowled at the two halves and tossed them away. "It was just the one time! The Skipper reamed him out, and it didn't never happen again. The Skipper ran a tight ship – ya know that! And he kept a real sharp eye on the Kid." At his friends' dubious looks, Wokowlski raised his eyebrows a little self-consciously. "Well...Okay. Ya kinda had to. But the Skipper never woulda hired him if he thought the Kid was a danger to his ship. I mean, the Skipper was kinda soft-hearted, but he was no patsy. And you can take that to the bank."

"All right, fellows. If you say so." Jim cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Still...is it possible the Kid – I mean, Gilligan – could have panicked during the storm?"

Entwhistle shook his head. "No. We've hashed this out many a time, Wokowlski and I – you know, trying to picture what happened. We don't think the Kid broke. He had nerve. You wouldn't have thought it to look at him, but he did. I've seen him dive in when men fell overboard. He didn't hesitate for a second."

"Him good at water rescue, too," said Keoki, sobering. "Keep his head. Get man breathing. Him don't panic."

"Ya could count on the Kid when things got rough," insisted Wokowlski. "I'll admit that sometimes it didn't seem like he was sailin' with a full complement, but he could react like a snap. He saved the Skipper from a rogue depth charge once."

"A rogue depth charge?" asked Jim.

"Yeah. Broke loose from its moorings and went barrellin' down the deck of our destroyer. We could all see it was gonna mash the Skipper flat. We was all screaming at him, but he couldn't hear us. I thought for sure he was a goner."

Entwhistle nodded, his eyes as faraway as his friend's. "Then the Kid just flew across the deck – I've never seen a man run faster. He tackled the Skipper and brought him down just as that monster went crashing past. It was the bravest thing I ever saw."

Wokowlski sighed. "The Kid got a medal for that. But did this rag mention that? Did the Maritime Board of Enquiry? Heh! Are ya kidding?"

"Wow." Jim was scribbling furiously. "That's incredible! I can't believe they didn't mention that!"

Keoki winked at his friends. "Look at him write! Punahou school make good student, heh? Too bad Keoki don't go! I be president now!"

When his friends burst into laughter, Keoki drew himself up a little. "We get president from Hawaii someday, Boss. You see."

"Sure, Keoki. Sure." As soon as Jim finished writing, Wokowlski nodded in approval. "Full speed ahead, boy!"

"Right." Jim flipped a page or two back and circled something with his pen. "Myth number Two: They say that Skipper Grumby was very superstitious, and that perhaps this interfered with his ability to sail a ship and command men. On the level, fellows. Did Grumby really go in for all that mumbo jumbo?"

Entwhistle shifted uncomfortably. "Well...he sure did set a lot of store by the old native stories, all right."

"Aw, come on," Wokowlski cut in. He turned to Jim in appeal. "I mean, what sailor ain't superstitious? Goes with the territory, ya know?"

"Boy, could he tell some tall tales about the voodoo magic in these islands," said Entwhistle, shivering. "Make your hair stand on end!"

"Voodoo Caribbean, not Hawaiian, boss," said Keoki. "Navy sailors don't tell difference."

"And anyways," Wokowlski continued, "You remember how the Skipper used to rag on the Kid for carryin' a rabbit's foot or wearin' a four leaf clover? 'That's all nonsense, Gilligan! How could you believe such malarkey?'" Wokowlski drew himself up and drew a triumphant drag on his cigarette.

"Skipper don't believe Haole superstitions, but he believe Hawaiian," said Keoki reverently. "Him respect Hawaiian gods: Kane, Kanaloa, Pele. Respect Hawaiian traditions too. Speak Hawaiian like kama'aina. Why all Hawaiians love him." Keoki stretched his great arms behind his head and sighed. "Many time we go out in outrigger canoe together with my sons. So many strong arms! We fly through waves like dolphins! I teach him how old Hawaiians sail wide seas. Watch waves, birds, stars – they show where islands are."

Wokowlski blinked a little at this recital before scratching his forehead. Then he sighed, lifting his shaggy eyebrows towards Jim. "Like my pal said," he insisted, leaning back as he took another drag, "What the man didn't know about the sea wasn't worth knowin'."

"Fair enough." Jim's pen fairly flew over his notepad. "Okay – myth number three – and I've got to admit that this one seems the most muckraking of them all." He sat up and cleared his throat. "It...uh...it seems that..."

"Go ahead, Jim," sighed Entwhistle. "We've heard them all."

Jim nodded gratefully. "Well, it seems that there was a beautiful young starlet that sailed on the Minnow's last voyage, and word has it that Grumby was something of a ladies' man. The article says that maybe he was paying too much attention to this starlet and not enough to the sea."

Wokowlski snorted so loudly that a nearby seagull flapped off squawking in fright. "Yeah, right! A storm's tossin' him up and down and he's down in the cabin givin' the eye to some broad? That sure makes sense!"

"Are they kidding?" Entwhistle rolled his eyes to heaven. "Next they'll be saying he fouled up because he was too busy giving the time to the mermaids!"

"Besides, the Skipper wasn't no Don Juan," said Wokowlski. "He liked the dames, sure, but no dame ever had a bad word to say about him."

Keoki shook his head. "Skipper play around too long. Should have picked one wahini long time ago. Get married, have lots keiki to call him Papa. Skipper love keiki."

"He sure did love kids," said Entwhistle. "He was great with all the guys' kids. Used to play Santa Clause at the Christmas parties. He was a riot."

"I remember when he used to come into Pop's barber shop," said Jim with a fond smile. "He was the biggest man I'd ever seen! And all that blond hair – he was like a big, golden bear! But he had the biggest, jolliest laugh I'd ever heard too. And he always had a stick of candy for me and my sisters. He knew how to make a hit with kids, all right."

"Too bad he never had none of his own," said Wokowlski. "Ya know, sometimes I kinda think the Kid was the son he never had."

"Yeah," said Entwhistle. "He sure thought the world and all of the Kid."

Keoki guffawed. "Skipper like Mama whale. Never let calf go too far!"

"He was a mother hen, all right," said Wokowlski, and he and Entwhistle flashed a sudden grin.

Jim caught it, and his eyebrows flew up like dark wings. "What do you mean?"

Wokowlski shrugged and chuckled. "Well, the Kid turned twenty here, but ya'd have thought he was still in knee-pants and a beanie, the way the Skipper mothered him. Ya shoulda seen the time we thought the Kid was gonna get transferred to another ship. My mother didn't give me as big as sendoff when I went to Korea. 'Oh my gosh. What's he gonna do? Who's gonna take care of him? Where's his clean handkerchiefs?' I swear I thought the Skipper was gonna launder them for him." He shook his head. "The Skipper needed a few handkerchiefs of his own that night, the old softie. Lucky for him the Kid stayed."

"The Skipper had real strict rules for him, too," said Entwhistle. "Not like for the other guys. No smoking, no drinking, no girls...the Kid might as well have been in a monastery!"

"And...I take it the two of you didn't take that lying down?"

Keoki grinned. "You kidding? Couple of wise guys!"

"Well..." Wokowlski shifted about, trying to find the words. "We kinda broadened his horizons."

"With broads, for a start," said Entwhistle.

Wokowlski leaned forward conspiratorially. "We snuck him out one night to this fabulous luau, see? Tiki torches, moonlight, gorgeous girls doin' the hula...brother, could they shake that grass around!" He closed his eyes. "Mmmm, mmm. 'Specially this one – I swear she could snap those hips of hers back and forth like a pair of windshield wipers. And the rum punch was flowing...boy, oh boy."

"Punch flow a little too much," said Keoki. "Kid don't hold his liquor like Skipper."

"Yeah," said Entwhistle. "Turned out the Kid kinda liked punch...and this stuff was spiked so much it could have pickled a pineapple. It sure pickled the Kid, anyway."

"It did?" said Jim.

"Yeah," said Wokowlski, a little shamefacedly. "The Kid toppled over into my lap before the first dancer came out. Later we had to tell the Skipper he had flu."

Entwhistle nodded. "He'd have pulverized us if he thought we got the Kid tipsy...again."

"I see," said Jim, popping his pen behind his ear. "I think we'll leave this off the record. So...what else did you do?"

"What about horses?" urged Keoki.

Wokowlski jerked. "Oh, no, Keoki. We ain't tellin' that story! The woild ain't ready!"

Jim's eyes lit as he rested his chin on his hand. "I'm a reporter, remember? Stories are my business. Try me."

Wokowlski and Entwhistle looked at one another nervously, until Entwhistle took the plunge. "Well...you see, the Skipper didn't want the Kid gambling."

"Yeah," said Wokowlski. "Only because our fearless leader'd already lost half his commission to poker and pool tables! The Skipper thought he was a lot better than he was."

"But we thought there was no harm giving the Kid a try at it," said Entwhistle. "So we told the Skipper we were gonna take the kid out to the countryside to see some nice horses. The Skipper was fine with it – thought we were goin' to one of the ranches around here."

Keoki waggled a finger at them. "But you not go see paniolos, eh, Boss?"

"No, Keoki. No cowboys." Wokowlski looked up at Jim a little sheepishly. "We took him to the race track!"

"He'd never bet before," said Entwhistle. "We had to teach him everything: what win, place and show were, what a long-shot was."

"He thought boxin' the horses meant puttin' them in the stables," said Wokowlski. "And when he went up to make his first bet, he said, 'I want two dollars on Billy Joe to win!"

Entwhistle was laughing now. "And the clerk said, 'That's the jocky, sailor!"

Wokowlski was laughing too. "So the Kid gets all embarrassed. Then he tries to look annoyed and says, 'Well...what horse is he sitting on, then? Put the money on him!'" He slapped his knee at the joke.

"Boy, Pop was right about you guys," said Jim, his brown eyes glinting with merriment. "So how'd the Kid do?"

"Well," said Entwhistle, "we lost him at one point when he went to the concession stand, and we looked for him high and low. Finally found him down in the paddock, making out like it was a petting zoo. He was talking to all the horses like they were old pals."

"Kid love all creatures, great and small," said Keoki. "I see him with seagulls on dock. They sit around him like he preach a sermon in Haole church. And wild turtles eat from his hand."

"So, how did he do at the track, then? Did he make much?"

Wokowlski shook his head. "Well, naw, not much. Seems he got confused when we said, 'Bet on a horse ya like, Kid.' He did – but afterwards he said he bet on the ones he thought were the friendliest, and I guess they wasn't necessarily the fastest."

"That, or he'd bet on the ones with the funniest names," said Entwhistle. "He needed a system. But we have to get back to when he was in the paddock, Wokowlski. That was the funny part."

Wokowlski nodded, eyes wide. "It was funny afterwards. I thought the old Skip was gonna murder us at the time!"

"Why? What happened?" Jim was tipped so far forward in his seat by now that the back legs of his chair were off the ground.

"Well," Wokowlski explained, "The trainer musta liked the Kid or somethin' – he was lettin' him hold the bucket of feed for one of the guide ponies. Not the racehorses – they're worth millions – just one of them slow, quiet ones they use to lead the racehorses out onta the track. Well, the kid was standin' there in the aisle when we found him, pleased as punch, and that pony was stretchin' out his long snoot to that bucket, when all of a sudden we heard this almighty bellow: 'GILLIGAN'!"

Entwhistle nodded, twiddling his thumbs in embarrassment. "We never were too good at giving the old Skipper the slip."

"And he yelled?" gasped Jim. "In a stable full of high-strung thoroughbreds?"

"Yep." Wokowski blew out a stream of smoke. "And when he did, I dunno who screamed loudest: the horses, the Kid, or the two of us. Anyways, the Kid just about jumped outta his sneakers. Then he started to run. He took off outta that stable like a torpedo, and the Skipper took off after him. They ran straight onta the track and just kept on runnin'. And the Kid still had that bucket."

"Full of feed," murmured Jim. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes," said Wokowlski. "That pony wanted that feed. He took off after the Kid. And then the other horses saw the pony take off and thought somethin' was up, so they took off after him. And the next thing you knew..."

"There was a whole herd of horses in coloured silks thundering down the track after the Skipper and the Kid," said Entwhistle. "And the little shrimp jockies pelting after the horses."

"And Entwhistle 'n me bringin' up the rear," finished Wokowlski. "What a show. We made the front page. The Advertiser and the Star Bulletin!"

"Not to mention the 6:00 and 11:00 news," said Entwhistle. "Our buddies were here watching on the TV. They couldn't believe it."

"I bet ten dollars on Kid," laughed Keoki. "Him way out in front! Six furlongs!"

"Wow. What a story – and I missed it!" Jim was shaking his head in disbelief. "So what happened?"

"Horses run, jockies shout, Skipper and Kid shout, 'AAAGH!' And crowd roar and laugh!" Keoki clapped his hands in delight. "'Skipper! Stampede!' shout Kid. 'Doop!' shout Skipper. They run like Hawaiian mountain chicken. I never see Skipper run so fast!"

Entwhistle nodded. "We thought they were going to be trampled for sure. Thank goodness some trainer on sidelines shouted, "Drop the bucket!"

"Exactly," said Wokowlski. "That's all them horses wanted. Just the feed in the bucket."

"So when the Kid finally did come to his senses and drop it—" began Entwhistle.

"The horses stopped," said Jim, with a clap of his hands.

"Like they was stuck in glue," said Wokowlski. "Just munchin' away at that feed all over the track. But the Skipper and the Kid kept runnin' – straight out through the grandstands!"

"We all got warned off the turf after that," said Entwhistle. "And the old Skip sure was sore at us. He bawled us out somethin' awful – the Kid too. But we all had a good laugh afterwards."

Caught up in their laughter, the men hardly noticed when the waitress Leilani wafted up with refills. "Sounds like you're having a good time, boys. Anybody for more?"

Wokowlski stretched luxuriantly. "You read my mind, sweetheart," he murmured, reaching for a cold beer. "Count me in."

As the men cracked the bottles open and the foam fizzed up, Leilani brushed a long black tress over her tawny shoulder. "It's nice to hear somebody laugh around here again. Brings back good memories. Share the joke?"

"We were talking about the old Skipper and the Kid," said Entwhistle. "And the scrapes we used to get into."

"Huh." Leilani tossed her black mane, but she was smiling. "Like the time you switched the signs on the beach changerooms so the Kid would walk into in the wrong one? He couldn't face me for a week, poor guy."

"Sorry, honey. We didn't know you was in there." Wokowlski put down some extra tip.

"'Couple of wise guys," she tisked. "But it sure is nice to hear you laugh."

As she strolled off, Wokowlski chuckled. "Even the Skip thought that one was funny."

Jim took a sip of his beer as he joined in their laughter. "Come on, guys. I need to get my story! The hotel bills here in Honolulu aren't cheap!"

"What? Ya stayin' at one of these joints? Ya must be payin' through the nose!" Wokowlski shook him by the shoulder. "Ya gotta come and stay at my place!"

"No, Boss, you got no room!" said Keoki. "Besides, you take all Jim's money in poker game, wiseguy." He turned to Jim. "You come stay in my hale. My wife and daughters fix you real Hawaiian luau!"

"Wow!" said Entwhistle. "Can we come?"

"With my daughters? You wiseguys? I send them to other island!" At the two sailors' fallen faces, Keoki broke into a huge belly-laugh. "I just kidding, Boss! Of course you come!"

Jim couldn't help laughing at the way the sailors' crestfallen faces suddenly transformed. "Boy, things sure are a lot more hospitable around here now. I remember a time when they weren't."

"What do you mean, Jim?" asked Entwhistle.

Jim's voice grew more serious. "Well, when I was a kid, right after Pearl, there was one night when Honolulu was anything but friendly – and I learned just how brave a man Skipper Grumby was."

Wokowlski and Entwhistle sat up as Keoki nodded. "I know night you mean, Jimmy. But you tell story. My old memory not so good."

Jim put down his beer, and his dark eyes narrowed, as if trying to see into the distant past. "I was only about five at the time. It was one night just a few days after the attack on Pearl Harbour. Word had gotten 'round that the Japanese were responsible, and we were all pretty nervous down in our part of town – turns out with good reason, too. Normally we'd see all kinds of white people around the shops and restaurants, especially sailors...but just after Pearl our neighbourhood was a ghost town."

Jim took a deep breath as his listeners leaned in. "I remember that night like it was yesterday. Pop had locked the door and barricaded us in. He made Ma take the girls upstairs and I could hear them up there, whimpering and crying. When the Skipper knocked, Pop grabbed my baseball bat, but then we heard his voice, and yours, Keoki, and Pop knew it was okay. But when he let you both in, I shivered like it was monsoon time. 'Cause I'd never seen either one of you look so serious."

"Was serious, all right," murmured Keoki. "Like volcano wake up under our feet."

Jim nodded gravely. "The Skipper looked like he needed a seat in Pop's chair for a good shave and a good sleep. He didn't look like he'd had either for days. 'I'm off duty tonight, Masabu,' he told Pop. 'Just came by to see you folks were okay. There's been some ugliness brewing around town over this.'"

"Entwhistle and me was on duty that night," said Wokowlski. "I heard there was some ruckus in town that night, but the Skip never said much about it."

"Something about a riot?" said Entwhistle.

"You've got it," said Jim. "The Skipper and Keoki had only been with us a few minutes when we heard a roaring and crashing like a tsunami had hit. We looked out the window to see this writhing dark mass with flaming torches and two-by-fours. They were breaking windows, smashing doors, and women and kids were running and screaming. And the mob was howling, 'DOWN WITH THE STINKING JAPS! GET THEM BEFORE THEY GET US!'"

Jim shuddered at the memory. "They were scarier than the tengu demons Pop used to tell us lived in the mountains. I ran and hid behind the counter. I was curled up in the corner as Pop came up with his coal-oil lantern. 'What did we do, Pop?' I whimpered. 'Why are those men so mad at us? Are they gonna hurt us?'

Pop started to say something, but the Skipper just eased himself by – he could move so gracefully for a big man. He crouched down and put his big, reassuring hand on my shoulder. 'You didn't do anything, son,' he said gently. 'Those folks are just mixed up, that's all. Now, you two stay here, and Keoki and I'll set them straight.'

'I coming too,' said Pop.

'Look, Masabu, don't be a fool. Stay here with the boy, and that's an order!'

Pop wasn't very tall, but he drew himself up as tall as he could. The roars and screams were getting closer, and the light from the flames threw weird shadows on the walls. "You not on boat now, Skipper. This my shop, my home, my family. I go with you."

The Skipper balled his fists and looked as though he were about to fight, but then just sighed and tipped his hat. And he and Keoki and Pop walked straight out into the street to face the music."

"Geez," said Entwhistle and Wokowlski softly.

"Pop told me to go upstairs and stay with Ma, but of course I didn't." Jim shook his head a little. "I guess I had a nose for a good story, even then. So I crept out the door and snuck along behind them until they stopped in the middle of the street, just yards from that flaring, shouting mass, and I hid behind a big barrel of rainwater 'near the old bait shop. I could see the Skipper and Keoki and Pop outlined in the light of the flames. They were standing there side-by-side, like a wall. Then the Skipper bawled at the mob in a voice they could have heard on the mainland. 'NOW HEAR THIS!'

That swaying mass stopped. A couple of men in the front hung back. The Skipper strode forward, arms akimbo, and Keoki and Pop went with him. "So – I suppose you think you're men because you can bully a lot of women and kids! Well, anyone who thinks he's man enough: come up and have it out with me!'

Nobody moved. The Skipper laughed that big laugh, but it was harsh, not jolly. "I thought so! You – you in the front! Is that you, McCluskey, you big blowhard?"

Now I could see that one of the men in the front was Joe McCluskey, one of the local dock workers. He shambled forward, trying to look tough. 'Yeah, it's me, Grumby! What are you doing here? I didn't know you was no Jap lover!'

'Why don't you come over here and say that?' growled the Skipper in a low voice that made the whole crowd shrink back.

'I don't need to,' yelled McCluskey, though he certainly wasn't getting any closer. 'Ain't it obvious? You standing there with a Jap, all buddy-buddy! Me and my crew nearly got blown up by the Japs!'

'And my crew did!' The Skipper towered in the firelight and hellish smoke. 'My ship was the Arizona! Don't you dare talk to me about what you nearly lost, you sea-slug!'

That shut the mob up good. Then the Skipper turned to them all. "Now hear this, all of you! You've got every right to be scared. But you've got no right to forget you're American!'

'What? We ain't forgotten we're American!' yelled McCluskey, and the crowd started to murmur in protest. He stabbed a finger at Pop. 'But he ain't! Just look at him!'

'What for? What's an American look like, anyway?' said the Skipper. 'You want to go by what a man looks like, maybe we should all be wearing feathers and carrying bows and arrows, or maybe the Mayflower should have stayed in Plymouth Harbour!'

"What are you talking about?" McCluskey was a bit out of his depth by now.

'Don't you know any history, McCluskey?' The Skipper pointed to himself. "Take me, for instance! My people came from England. They came because there was something in America they believed in. And you know what that was? Freedom!'

The crowd was still quiet. They were milling backwards, away from McCluskey now.

The Skipper took another step forward. His voice boomed over the crackling flames.

'They heard of a place where it didn't matter if a man was rich or poor or high-class or low! What church he went to or what kind of politics he had. If he believed in freedom and was willing to work hard, he was an American. And when we went to war against England, my people knew darn well whose side they were on!'

Now Keoki stepped forward too. 'Skipper tell me many people cross great sea in boats, come to America. Crossing hard and dangerous, but people come. Seek freedom. My people do same thing. My people leave Tahiti because of evil king. He sacrifice men to false gods. So we leave that place – sail across great sea, follow stars. We know there must be island: island where we can be free. We reach Hawaii, and men of many tribes live in peace.'

'That's right,' said the Skipper, clapping Keoki on the shoulder. 'And now the Hawaiians are Americans too. Don't you people see? It doesn't matter what a man looks like! It's what a man believes in that makes him American!' Now he clapped Pop on the shoulder too. 'And Masabu and his neighbours have worked mighty hard to build this place. Their sons have joined our forces and are some of the bravest fighting boys we've got – laying down their lives for this country. And you say they're not American?'

The crowd was looking at their shuffling feet now. The Skipper kept on. 'Look – if we start fighting one another, we're finished. It's like Benjamin Franklin said: 'United we stand!'

'This land can be paradise,' said Keoki. 'But no man find paradise. Must make it.'

I couldn't stand it any longer. I ran out of hiding and clutched my father by the hand. 'Jimmy! What you doing?' Pop gasped.

The Skipper smiled down at me and tousled my hair. 'Folks, this boy's name is Jimmy. He calls his dad Pop. He loves licorice sticks and baseball. Can you get any more American than that?'

This time a gentle laugh rose from the crowd. The Skipper waved them off. 'Go on home, folks. It'll be all right. The United States Navy's here to protect you, and there's no better fighting force on this earth.'

The crowd all gave each other one last look, and began to shuffle off. McCluskey looked back at me for a moment. 'Sorry, kid. No hard feelings, huh?' he murmured, then doused his torch in the sand and trailed after them." Jim drew in a huge sigh. "And to think I wasn't old enough to sell that story to the papers!"

"You sure got good memory, Jimmy," remarked Keoki.

Entwhistle and Wokowlski had sat spellbound. "Well, I'll be," murmured Wokowlski. "What a hero! And the Old Skip never even said a thing about it!"

"I'll bet he never even told the Kid," said Entwhistle. "But I'll bet that's how he looked, there, on the deck of the Minnow, facing off against that storm. I'll be he never lost his nerve for a minute."

"I sure hope he went first," said Wokowlski softly. "I sure hope he didn't watch the Kid go before him..."

His voice choked up and he clenched his gnarled fist. For a few moments the four men sat looking out towards the glittering, white-capped sea, seeing only monstrous dark waves tossing a doomed ship, and hearing voices crying in despair.

Then all at once Entwhistle burst out. "It was all my fault! I should have been there!"

"Take it easy, pal," said Wokowlski, patting his arm.

"No! It's true! When the Skipper said that gorgeous redheaded Hollywood starlet had booked herself a ticket, I told him I'd come over and help out! Then I went and tied one on here at Barnacle's the night before and just couldn't make it!"

"Now look, pal, I'm tellin' ya, it wasn't your fault," urged Wokowlski. "We know the old Skip! He'd a done everything he could! And he'd never a gone out if he'd a known there was a storm coming!"

"And that's the last myth," said Jim quietly. He flipped to the last page of his notebook. "The most damning one of all. That Grumby was careless. Why on earth would he have gone out with such a storm on the way?"

"Don't know," murmured Entwhistle sadly. "I was flat out in the sack all next day. Never even heard the storm."

"And I was on the mainland, visitin' some buddies," said Wokowlski. "I flew back the next day. Ya should have seen the fleet that went out lookin' for the Minnow. Like the whole of Honolulu was out on the water. It wasn't just the coastguard. All the old Navy guys was out: it looked like the miracle of Dunkirk." He sighed. "Only we didn't get no miracle."

"It just doesn't make sense," said Jim. "Don't you sailors always listen to the weather report before taking out a craft? Isn't that common maritime practice? Why wouldn't Grumby have done that?"

"He did, Jimmy," said Keoki, his eyes suddenly going distant.

The others all sat up. "What?" said Jim. "And he still went out? In a small boat, with six innocent people aboard?"

Wokowlski's grey eyes bored into those of the old Hawaiian's. "That's the one thing I ain't never been able to get straight, Keoki. Why'd he do it? That was a tropical storm – next door to a typhoon! What do ya mean, he heard that and he still went out?"

"He didn't, Boss."

"What?"

Keoki sat up, his fat hands clutching the armrests of his chair as he strove to recall every detail. "You 'member? That big storm...supposed to go other way. Pass north of us. Everybody think okay – sunny skies, calm sea."

"Yeah? And?" urged Entwhistle.

"That day, I say Skipper, 'What you do, Boss? Big storm turn this way!' And Skipper say, 'No, Keoki! I listen radio today. Haole weatherman say, Big storm miss us! No problem!'"

His three companions stared, open-mouthed. Wokowlski grasped his arm. "The radio said the storm would miss us? Keoki, are you sure?"

"Sure, Boss! 'Cause I say him, 'But Boss, look at seabird! All come ashore! They know!' Even Kid notice! He say bird sure look scared. But Skipper say, 'Ha! No superstition this time, Keoki! I trust Haole weatherman!'" Keoki sighed and shook his head. "Him never listen Kid either. And Koolau Mountain hide clouds. Once they leave...then storm come."

The two sailors and the reporter sat like statues. Then they all burst out in chorus.

"My gosh...then he didn't know!"

"The weather report was wrong!"

"It wasn't his fault! It wasn't his fault!"

Wokowlski rounded on Jim. "Jim! How are we gonna prove this? There's just gotta be a way!" He gestured helplessly to Keoki. "I mean, Keoki here would tell 'em, but the Brass is pretty stiff."

"Yeah," said Keoki. "Maybe big Kahunas don't believe old Hawaiian beach boy with ukulele."

"Old blowhards." Wokowlski smote his leg with his fist. "If we only had somethin' official..."

Jim thought furiously for a moment. "I've got it! The Navy!" he cried. "The base at Pearl Harbour. They'd monitor the weather reports every day. And the captains keep logs. Somebody must have logged this!"

Wokowlski whistled. "You're a genius, kid!"

"Leave this to us!" Entwhistle was half out of his chair. "We'll get every man stationed here in on this! We'll find that log if we have to search every ship in the Navy!"

Keoki nodded eagerly. "And Keoki talk to Skippers here at Ala Wai. Maybe they speak up for Skipper too!"

"That's the spirit, fellows!" cried Jim. "Let's get going!" He stuffed his notebook into his bag and reached for his wallet, when Wokowlski grabbed his wrist.

"There's no way you're payin', Jim Ya just bought yourself free beer whenever you're in these islands!" He threw down some bills and gestured to his friends. "Well? What are we waitin' for?"

A few nights later, Elvis' "Hawaiian Sunset," as mellow as Kahlua, rolled over the purple waves from the Honolulu Hilton as the regular crowd at Barnacle Bill's sat unaccustomedly silent. Beneath the paper lanterns, navy men from the oldest, saltiest officer to the freshest-faced recruit sat 'round a transistor radio as the announcer read the late evening news.

"In the wake of fresh evidence, the Maritime Board of Enquiry reconvened regarding the matter of the loss of the S.S. Minnow. The Board has obtained evidence that on the day of the storm, the weather reporter read out the report from the previous day. There was no warning of the impending storm. The Board finds the Captain and crew of the S. S. Minnow completely blameless."

"Hip hip- HOORAY!" The deafening roar that rose from Barnacle Bill's patio made the tourists at the Hilton sit up and tsk. A rousing chorus of, "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" followed, and the tourists tsked again, sauntering back into the sanctuary of their rainbow towers.

Wokowlski, Entwhistle, Keoki and Jim sat surrounded by a vanguard of lofted beer mugs, the foam from them flying like a mini-snowstorm. "Congratulations, kid!" said Wokowlski. "Ya did it!"

"We all did it," said Jim. He lifted a copy of the early edition. "And here's the scoop that the islands have been waiting for. Here's to the Skipper and the Kid!"

"The Skipper and the Kid," the entire patio intoned solemnly, and everyone suddenly stood to attention. The draught was drunk in silence.

Then someone took up, "Blow the man down," and the general mood began to rise.

The heroes of the hour sat looking at the arching violet sky as the last sliver of sun dipped below the horizon and the stars began to twinkle in the depths. "Sure wish I could see the Skipper again," said Jim wistfully. "And I wish I could have met the Kid. I feel as though I know them both, now."

"I wish too, Jim," said Wokowlski, staring out at the wide sea. "Ain't that a kicker? A man survives having three ships shot out from under him...and then goes down on a tiny tub like that. It just ain't fair."

"Don't give up too soon, Boss," said Keoki. "Maybe Jim meet them someday."

Wokowlski blinked. "What? What do you mean?"

Keoki turned his hazelnut brown eyes seaward. "I been thinking. Remember? My people cross wide ocean in canoes. No one believe they can do it. But they do. They follow a star and find island. And Skipper can sail like Hawaiian."

"What are you getting at?" asked Entwhistle.

"Remember Haole Christmas story? Couple of wise guys follow star – find miracle?"

Jim smiled. "That's it. A couple of wise guys. Go on, Keoki."

"Well," Keoki explained, "Old Hawaiians follow star. Star lead them to island. These islands like miracle – who believe they here, way out in middle of nowhere? But they here. Like living jewel." He stretched his wide arm towards the sea. "Many island out there. Great god Kane, friend to man, put them there. And maybe Kane put star for Skipper to follow. And maybe he find island nobody know. Maybe they there...and they make paradise."

Wokowlski gazed out to where the dark, heaving mantle of the sea was merging with the sky. "Nobody knew these waters like the Skipper. Geez, maybe...just maybe..."

"If it only could be," whispered Entwhistle.

"Maybe Skipper trick you, huh, Boss?" Keoki's few teeth flashed in his great grin. "Maybe him biggest wise guy of all!"

"Then that's our toast, Keoki," said Jim, raising his glass. "The biggest wise guy of all!"

Four big beer mugs clinked, and amid the songs and laughter, four grown men looked up and devoutly wished upon a star.