Big writing influences: Ripper and Rex

Why did I become the great gadfly? Blame it on the Islands

Many of you wondered, when I arrived in 1984 with both guns a’blazin’, why I was such an abrasive, snide, contrarian. The guy you loved to hate. I was actually wondering the same thing. I just couldn’t help myself. What made me want to butcher sacred cows and rag on my new town, which was so much better than the previous one?

The answer: gay men. Two in particular. When I was about 15, living in Honolulu, I spent every Saturday afternoon watching pro wrestling on TV. My favorite was Ripper Collins, an obnoxious bleach blonde heel, who’d been doing that Andy Kaufman insult-the-natives bit since the late ’60s. He’d rile up the locals by badly mispronouncing all the Hawaiian towns and street names, like “Kamehameha” was “kammahammahah.” “Manoa” was “manura” and “Kalihi” was “kally-hi.” Everybody hated that effeminate insult machine, but his matches were always sold out, especially when he went up against local icon Peter Maivia (“The Rock”’s grandfather).

Ripper stood up to the Hawaiians- bravery to admire. He was so entertaining in match-hyping interviews, but not a great wrestler. They had to bring him in the ring with a police escort- and it wasn’t for show. The kanacks wanted to beat the fuck out of him, and he just kept taunting. Loved every second!

My other big influence was acerbic movie critic Rex Reed, king of bitchy one-liners. I watched every talk show, every day- Mike Douglas, Merv Griffin, Johnny Carson. Reed would also sometimes infuriate with his put-downs of favorites. One Reed line in particular became part of my DNA- I use variations of it all the time. He was asked about the Liv Ullman remake of Lost Horizons, and said “It’s Brigadoon with chopsticks.“ I had no idea what Brigadoon was, but I got it. “My Dinner With Andre with a Eurail pass” was my one-line review of Linklater’s Before Sunset. A ripoff? I prefer homage.

Reed also trashed the lauded Lady Sings the Blues because, “Billie Holiday didn’t get famous singing like Diana Ross.”

Reed was the first talk show guest who talked shit about big stars and huge Hollywood productions. I dug his fearlessness. Of course, later I read his reviews and the writing wasn’t as good. But he was talk show gold, even co-hosting Mike Douglas for a week.

Haole Orientation

When white people move to Hawaii, especially military dependents, they find out some hard truths from the other terrified, sheltered white kids. In hour one, we learned that we are “haoles,” muggings were “hijackings” and “You like beef?” was not a food question. We heard about kids of the Caucasian persuasion getting punched in the face on the beach without provocation. “Don’t make eye contact or you’re dead.” We were also briefed on “search-take” protocol, which is when a local asks for money and you say you don’t have any, he can go through your pockets and keep what he finds.

Then they told me about “Kill Haole Day.” That’s the last day of school, when brown kids beat the hell out of every white kid they see. And the teachers just watch!

What kind of barbaric banana republic did we move to?! “I wanna go back to Idaho.”

The waiting list for base housing was a year, so we rented a house in Halawa Valley, where there were only nine white people and they were all named Corcoran.

But it turned out most of haole orientation was bullshit, a scarecrow in a too-small Primo shirt. Never got punched and was highjacked only once- for 25 cents- by Kofe Salanoa, the toll for taking a shortcut through Pua Wai Momi public housing. Kofe gave me a look like “you know better than this” and I had to agree. Fucking laziness got me again. Kofe had full mutton sideburns and a shaved head- and he was kept off the Aiea High football team until his birth certificate arrived from Pago Pago. That intimidating Samoan was 15!

A year of no violence and diminishing intimidation got me to relax a little when I was off base. But I wasn’t going to take any chances on “Kill Haole Day” in 1972.

My sadistic parents made me go to school that day, but I got off the bus and scurried off to Mabel's Crack Seed in the Aiea Shopping Center, where I hid out, reading magazines. That was the day I discovered Creem and National Lampoon, reading both cover to cover, standing there in that foul-smelling shop. Mabel didn’t say anything- I guess she knew it was KHD. Luckily it was only half-day. Got lunch at L&L Drive-In and a group of locals came in. Uh-oh, here comes the beatdown. But they just ordered. “Kill Haole Day” was a big lie!

My first Creem cover story 1991

I’d come back to Mabel’s every month to buy the new issues of Creem and National Lampoon and I’d tell myself I was going to be the next Lester Bangs or Tony Hendra. That didn’t happen, but I did end up writing for both. Not in their prime, but those credits still looked great on the resume. How many other writers have been published by both?

Soon after I moved to Austin, I started sending pieces on spec to the Lampoon, and they published a couple- one on ways to make the Olympics more exciting, and one that was a prompter like salesmen use (“If they say this… you say this”) for calling up women for dates. Then I sent in a more ambitious piece that was accepted, for $600, which was almost half a years rent here in Austin. It was a pretty tasteless ad for “Gimpel’s,” a clothing story for the handicapped, which sold ski masks for the blind and gloves for folks who’ve lost fingers and Ampu-Tee’s (“Shit Happened”) - stuff like that. The editor-in-chief was Ratso Sloman and he apparently didn’t like my Jerry Garcia testimonial, so he killed the fake ad and sent me $150.

I made a plea for the full amount, since it was originally accepted, and Ratso offered a compromise. How ‘bout if we put you on the masthead? Fuck, yeah! That was better than $450! The magazine folded a couple issues later. But I got this!

Here’s a new web site, dedicated to 50th State Big Time Wrestling. Anybody else out there who grew up in Hawaii in the ’60s or ’70s will be very excited about this.

More Hawaii: Shit Street Memories