April Winchell

Don Ho died yesterday. He was 76.

The first time I went to Hawaii was about 15 years ago. I was hellbent on doing every touristy thing possible, so I convinced Mick to spend a few days in Waikiki.

Don Ho had a long-running dinner show there, at a domed theatre built especially for him (I’ve always referred to it as “The Ho Dome”, but I don’t want to upset Condoleeza Rice).

Anyway, I insisted we go to the show, and Mick reluctantly agreed. I immediately went and bought tickets, so he couldn’t back out.

I remember entering the theatre and being given two drink tickets for something called a “Chi-Chi”. By the time we got to our table, both drinks were sitting there. Clearly, they knew something we didn’t.

The layout was what I like to call, “bar mitzvah” seating; long rows of tables that put you in direct proximity to people you would never, ever be sitting with under other circumstances. I recall sitting across from a very boisterous woman in a mumu, who swore to me that I was the exact double of her cousin. It was almost enough to start a conversation.

To make it all happen faster, I downed both of my Chi-Chis in rapid succession. I don’t think there was much alcohol in them, but I did get a buzz off the corn syrup.

When the curtains finally parted, we were treated to the spectacle of a large papier-mache volcano, pulsing with orange lights. The unearthly glow plainly illuminated the visible chicken wire along the rim, filling us with terror.

And we were not disappointed.

Resplendent in tinted aviator glasses and Hawaiian shirt, the natty Ho (see what I did there) took the stage with all the excitement of someone processing forms at the DMV. He began the show by saying he hated doing it, and was sick of all the songs he was about to sing.

He then made his way to the side of the stage, where he seated himself on a white wicker chair. A small table was brought out for him, on which was placed a stack of cassette tapes he would later sell, and a big, fat glass of wine. He remained there for most of the evening, reminding me a little of Dr. Gene Scott.

I don’t remember much about the rest of the show. I do recall that there were fire dancers, some kind of cringing audience participation (a fat guy with a sunburn was dragged up on stage for some reason), and a huge finale with flashing lights and a fog machine behind the volcano. I also remember thinking that Don looked like a salamander, and that I was aware of the sound his dentures made as he sang.

The real joy came after the show, when it was announced that Mr. Ho would be taking photos in his dressing room. Before the announcement was over, Mick and I were at the head of the line, shimmying with anticipation. Sure it was $10, but it would have been a bargain at half the price.

I wish I had the resulting photo here to share with you. It’s notable for a few reasons.

First of all, I have a tan. That never happens. I get hot and then I burn. After that, I get a rash. So the fact that I look almost healthy in this picture gives it historical value.

Secondly, moments before the picture was taken, Mick turned to Don and said, “I LOVE you, man” with such intensity that he actually frightened him. Don Ho looks terrified in this picture, flanked by two grinning idiots who are completely oblivious. There’s something about that tableau that captures the moment for me forever.

A while ago, I found a version of Shock The Monkey by Don Ho, and played it on the radio. At the time, I didn’t see how it could get better than that.

Then I found the video.

Mahalo, Don. I’m sad to see you go, but you left at the perfect time.

If you had lived much longer, they would have made you change your name to “Don Fine Young Woman”.