The Comfort of Comfrey

Medicinal Plants from the Garden

By Brittany P. Anderson

The Comfort of Comfrey

Green lance-shaped leaves fall over themselves in compact clusters, with a fuzz about them like a clump of rabbit ears waiting to be pet. The leaves are coarse to the touch, while purple bell flowers dangle over the grouping giving a soft whimsy as if fairies call the place home. Comfrey is a perennial herb cultivated since about 400 BC for its healing properties.

It’s not only a potent medicinal plant for the body; it can also be used as a rich soil amendment. The word comfrey comes from Latinnames confirma, meaning the uniting of bones and confervere, grow together. Comfrey was an appropriate name for such a plant used from ancient Greece and throughout history for healing broken bones and wounds. The famous Roman naturalist Pliny the Elder details his experimentation with comfrey, noting that the water from boiled comfrey roots creates a sticky paste that can glue skin lacerations back together.

By the 1500s, comfrey was used to treat everything from wounds to respiratory illnesses, hemorrhoids to gangrene as a poultice, tea, or syrup. Comfrey leaves were added to stews and strong broths to heal internal diseases. It is only recently that comfrey’s medicinal qualities have come into question, and like all medicines, should be used with caution. Allantoin, which aids in cell formation, is the chemical compound that gives comfrey its healing abilities. Extracted or synthetic allantoin is added to modern-day lotions, cosmetics, and pharmaceuticals, but the plant itself has fallen out of favor by today’s contemporary medicine community. Permaculture enthusiasts, however, know that comfrey is the bedrock to a healthy garden. Comfrey is highly adaptable to soil conditions and does best in full sun. Because of the deep root system, comfrey leaves do not easily wilt and tolerate drought conditions. There are three notable comfrey species from the genus Symphytum. Common or wild comfrey, Symphytum officinale, native to England and favored medicinal variety, hence the “official” in its name. The most common type of comfrey found in North America is Quaker comfrey, a natural hybrid from Symphytum officinale, and prickly comfrey Symphytum asperum Lepechin. Quaker comfrey was imported in 1954 into Canada as a forage for animals, and most of the comfrey grown throughout the United States can be traced back to these cuttings. Comfrey is rarely cultivated by seed; instead, it is propagated from root cuttings, divisions, and transplanting. A mound of comfrey can be divided several times quite easily, and the transplanted sections establish quickly when root cuttings are larger. As a perennial, the lifespan of one plant can easily be 20 years. In the garden space, comfrey is notoriously pest resistant. Borders of comfrey ward off pests while their roots break up hard soils, making it easier for their neighboring plants. Another common practice in permaculture is to cut comfrey back and use the leaves as a green compost. Compared to animal manures, comfrey has much less nutrient value, but it is more bioavailable for the plants and avoids crosscontamination of produce. Permaculture enthusiasts love comfrey as an all-natural NPK fertilizer, a great alternative to chemicals for the home or organic gardener. Comfrey tea is made by steeping leaves in water for a few weeks and then used as a foliar spray to ward off pests. The tea smells terrible, but simply strain the liquid and use it in a 1:10 ratio for spraying. When flowering, a leafed stalk springs up from the mound of leaves. Small bell-like flowers hang in little groupings attracting pollinators. Flowers come in different colors depending on the species. Symphytum officinale is commonly called the “comfrey with the white flowers” in texts throughout history due to its creamy white flowers. The most common comfrey flower color is an attractive pinkish purple. Growing comfrey in the home garden on Hawai‘i Island is as practical as it is versatile. Creating a brew from comfrey leaves increases soil health and protects plants from nibbling pests. Best of all, comfreyʻs medicinal heritage is appreciated by herbalists for its potent cell regenerating properties. Was that a fairy or a butterfly that just stopped by the comfrey? Perhaps it was just the ocean breeze rustling the amethyst-colored bells of the comfrey.

Comfrey in the garden. photo by Brittany P. Anderson

Comfrey flowers in bloom. photo by Brittany P. Anderson

By Ana Kahoopii and Tanya Yamanaka

nko Hank sits at an empty picnic table

near the King Kamehameha statue on Hilo’s bayfront, the sun shining on this Valentine’s Day morn. The gold bodice of Kamehameha glitters behind him; the King’s outstretched arms seemingly mimic the feeling Hank beckons to us: Come! Come and listen.

Hawai‘i was a territory of the United States when Hanalei “Hank” Fergerstrom was born in 1949, near the birthplace of Kamehameha at North Kohala Hospital. His mother, Charmine, and father, Harry, divorced after his younger brother Samuel was born. His mother remarried twice, moving to California and O‘ahu. Raised in a military atmosphere, Hank was sent from Pearl Harbor military base to Hawai‘i Island at age 12 to have his father “straighten him out.”

Hank’s first court appearance was when he was only 11 years old. He and his brothers had gotten in trouble on a military base, playing in an off-limits warehouse. The judge interrogated the boys to ensure they knew what they had done wrong. His mother had instructed them to answer respectfully and apologize. Still, when the judge came to him, Hank responded that he had a deal to deliver newspapers in exchange for the rights to play in the Pearl Harbor warehouse. Even then, Hank’s penchant for truth was a guiding force that led to more punishment, sometimes more severe than if he had said nothing at all.

Law of the Splintered Paddle

Hank’s early years didn’t break his spirit; they emboldened him. His many years in and out of the justice system gave him legal experience and know-how that couldn’t be learned through books or school.

During those years, Hank’s guiding principle was

Māmalahoe Kānāwai (The Law of the Splintered Paddle).

The law was enacted in 1797 before Kamehameha unified the Hawaiian Islands and remains the law today, as Article 9, Section 10 of the Hawai‘i State Constitution.

Māmalahoe Kānāwai protects the vulnerable during times of conflict. This would apply to his personal life, as well as being a single parent of a disabled

child. Hank’s son, Michael Keali‘i lawe mai iao eloko i kapo (the king who brings light into darkness) was born on August 26, 1979. Hank credits his son with keeping him focused on his kuleana (responsibility).

Hank’s adherence to Māmalahoe Kānāwai led him to become an early member of Na Koa. “Na Koa O Pu‘ukohola are the warriors from the mound of the whale [at the heiau in North Kohala]. The restoration of Na Koa was the first time in 200 years the warriors of Kamehameha the Great had assembled,” says Hank. The Na Koa warriors were a perfect fit for Hank with their guiding principles of protecting the land, resources, and people. Hank took the kuleana to serve and protect seriously. It is Hank’s commitment to this kuleana that shaped his decades of activism.

Hank is best known for his annual vigils held at ‘Iolani Palace. Conducted on the palace grounds since 2000, these four-day vigils held at the Hawaiian nation’s power center commemorate two critical historical events: Lā ho‘iho‘i Ea (Sovereignty Restoration Day) in July, and the illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom on January 16. Hank offers an open invitation to come and join him, saying to the crowd in front of the palace, “There is no question that the need for true unity is of the utmost importance, especially with all the hewa [wrongs] surrounding us—Mauna Kea, Haleakalā, Ho‘opili, Kualoa, Pōhakuloa, rail, military build-up. We have to put our heads together and bring all of these things to a head by chopping the legs they stand on. No annexation. No treaty. No land deeds. No kuleana. Let’s explore the many ways we can prepare to act in unison and how each island can support the others. This is the time!” The vigils are an opportunity for the community to attend workshops, share mana‘o (ideas), and raise awareness. When Hank isn’t preparing for the Palace vigils, he is intensely involved in protecting Mauna Kea. Hank was first introduced to the beauty of Mauna Kea by his father, who was a rancher in the area. Later he would become a practitioner of the Temple of Lono, leading him to spend days and sometimes weeks in solitude on the mauna. He was one of many kūpuna (elders) assembled on the Hawaiian Homeland’s Mauna Kea access road from July, 2019, until the moratorium in December, 2019.

Perfect Timing for Pu‘uhonua

The late morning sun becomes overcast with shadows as Hank begins to talk about his healing journey. He speaks with great tenderness recalling the loss of his only child in 2017 and his recent diagnosis of lung cancer in 2021. Cancer hasn’t slowed Hank down in the least. His mind is as sharp as ever; his enthusiasm to explore healing modalities and to find meaning from this experience dominated his consciousness. While working with traditional medical treatment, Hank also studied alternative therapies and was treated by some profoundly gifted local healers and practitioners. Although the cancer in Hank’s lung has grown in size, he is feeling

Hank (second from right) participates in ceremony, welcoming His Holiness the Dalai Lama

in Honolulu in 1994. photo courtesy of Hank Fergerstrom

Hank attending commemoration of the illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom

Rev. M. Kalani Souza and Hank talk story about a variety of issues facing Hawaiÿi, Hawaiians and humans in their video series Unko Hank Question Everything.

photo courtesy of Julie Stowell

better than he has in many years. This is due to the support of many friends that have made the exploration of alternative treatment possible.

Hank’s indomitable spirit pushes him to find the light of a situation. The gift of his grief at losing his son and his illness was the vision Hank received in 2021 of a healing pu‘uhonua, a sanctuary, a place imbued with mystical power, a place of forgiveness. Hank’s vision showed him a healing pu‘uhonua that was not a select place or building, but the entire moku (island). Hank says, “We probably have more healers per square foot than any other place on Earth. Our island is a place of healing, and our people, malihini [newcomers] and locals alike, are magical.”

“It is perfect timing,” Hank continues. “We had just learned our lesson regarding our dependence on tourism following the pandemic. We also had the unexpected gift of witnessing the ocean, the forests, and wildlife benefit from an unencumbered space. Why aren’t we utilizing the mana and magic of our island and people by becoming a pu‘uhonua for the world? A place of healing, spiritual renewal, and restoration?” Hank asks aloud, into the sky. Hank elaborates that this restoration includes Hawai‘i Island being a place of agriculture as a part of healing the body and spirit, and that this is true hospitality.

“Aloha is the foundation of our culture. Although that word is overused it has deep meaning and significance. Living aloha is healing. On the surface, aloha denotes a simple greeting; however, it also includes the deeper aspects of our cultural values, sharing, kindness, respect, tenderness.” Hank’s voice trails off softly, as his eyes are directed toward a kōlea (Pacific golden plover) flying overhead, offering a short silence to take in the wisdom shared. As the kōlea lands in the grass beside him, Hank continues, “Many Hawaiian cultural practices such as ho‘oponopono and lomilomi are specifically geared to maintain balance and a stable sense of health and wellbeing. Rather than being an undefined tourist destination, it is time to define who we are, what we are about, and what we have to offer our global family.”

Ready for Everything

When asked what he’s up to now, Hank’s eyes light up. He taps on the computer he pulls out of his bag. “This,” he says, as he sets his iMac on the rustic picnic table. In 2021, Hank teamed up with Rev. M. Kalani Souza to present Unko Hank Question Everything, short videos of Kalani and Hank discussing long-time issues like Red Hill and newer events like Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Their lively and animated conversation usually starts with a pointed observation or

Hank on Mauna Kea in 2019 with Leinaÿala Sleightholm, Dhiresha McCarver and Abby Laden at the height of demonstrations to protect the sacred.

photo courtesy of Francois Waikoloa question and aims to be thought-provoking and insightful. Unko Hank asks us to question everything, diving deep to explore the narratives we play in our own minds. In defining who we are, individually as well as collectively, we often start with foundational assumptions that we aren’t always aware of because we’ve held them for so long. “Stay tuned, there is so much ahead. We need everyone involved to turn our moku into a pu‘uhonua. The best is yet to come. Kalani and I will be bringing it!” Hank’s enthusiasm is infectious, and he is clearly ready for whatever’s next.

The Healing Journey Continues

Hank’s healing journey continues and is a testament to living with courage, passion, and authenticity. It encompasses a sense of wholeness integrated with the sacred which cycles back, and is expressed in physical healing. Hank’s medicine is a personal relationship with the gods, strengthened with culture and ceremony along with an indestructible passionate connection to the ‘āina (land). He has found his own unique way of overcoming segregation, violence, trauma, and grief and has taken his well-earned place as one of Hawai‘i’s most cherished kupuna. 

For more information: http://olohana.org/index.php/uh-unkohank-question-everything/

Māmalahoe Kānāwai, 1797

E nā kānaka, E mālama ‘oukou i ke akua A e mālama ho‘i ke kanaka nui a me kanaka iki; E hele ka ‘elemakule, ka luahine, a me ke kama A moe i ke ala ‘A‘ohe mea nāna e ho‘opilikia. Hewa nō, make.

Law of the Splintered Paddle

Oh people, Honor thy god; respect alike [the rights of] people both great and humble; May everyone, from the old men and women to the children be free to go forth and lie in the road without fear of harm. Break this law, and die. KeOlaMagazine.com | May – June 2022

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By Emily Gleason

hen you walk into Hiroki and Setsuko Morinoue’s home, the first thing you’ll notice is the art. Beautiful paintings, prints, and sculptures cover the walls and all available shelf space. Their own work comingles with that of other renowned artists from around the world. As founders of Kona’s Donkey Mill Art Center, the couple have hosted countless visiting artists in their home who come to historic Hōlualoa village to teach, share, and collaborate. The Morinoue’s home, which sits on the same property as their gallery, Studio 7 Fine Arts, are both important pieces of living history. Finished in 1923, the building was first constructed as the Japanese Community Association Hall. It was the passion project of Dr. Harvey Saburo Hayashi and dozens of Issei volunteers (first generation Japanese immigrants) who envisioned a special place for Hōlualoa’s community to gather.

A Very Historic Home

Built using recycled wood, the one room, single story building hosted community events, martial arts classes, and maybe even theater performances—two ticket windows were discovered by the front entrance during a home renovation. Another gem discovered in the home is a wooden plaque, covered in elegant, hand-painted Japanese characters denoting the building as “Nihonjin” (Japanese people) “Kaikan” (association place). The plaque records the date the building was completed, the names of the carpenters who worked on it, and the names of the association officials. It was hiding in a crawl space above the ceiling, still attached to the main post of the house, untouched for more than 60 years. The story of how the Morinoues came to call this historic building home begins with Hiroki’s grandmother, Mitsuru Mizukami, a Hōlualoa coffee farmer. She bought the building in the late 1940s, after World War

Hiroki and Setsuko Morinoue at entrance to Hiroki’s family home since II. During the war, the building had been taken over by the government and used as a library. It is a wonder that the building survived, given the times.

World War II’s Impact

Following President Roosevelt’s Executive Order 9066 in 1942, many important Japanese cultural sites were taken over or destroyed. As a historically Japanese town, Hōlualoa was targeted. Most tragically, Order 9066 resulted in the unjust incarceration of 120,000 people of Japanese ancestry across the United States, with some 2,000 persons detained in Hawai‘i. Detainees from Hawai‘i were held at several different camps across the islands, including Kīlauea Military Camp here on Hawai‘i Island, and Honouliuli on O‘ahu. Maki Morinoue, Hiroki and Setuko’s youngest of two daughters, recalled a conversation with an aunty who witnessed men from the community being detained as a child, “She remembered looking out the window, waving and smiling at familiar community faces on a bus, they were being taken somewhere. She was a kid and didn’t

understand what was going on—that it was a bad thing. She remembered her mother facing the wall, trying to hide her tears from her daughter.” Millie Grand, granddaughter of Dr. Hayashi, remembers that the military came to detain her grandfather, but he was very sick and elderly so they did not take him. He passed away in 1943 after a long life of service.

Dr. Hayashi, the Man Behind the Building

In addition to building the Japanese Community Association Hall, Dr. Hayashi was a positive force in the Hōlualoa community, including serving as its only physician (he made house calls on a horse), to starting the Kona Echo—the community’s first Japanese-English newspaper. “He was a really hard worker,” said Millie of her grandfather, who, with her grandmother Matsui, had 12 children. “He would be out all day seeing patients and then would come home and work on the paper by kerosene lamp light.” Millie recalls playing in the old abandoned print shop of the Kona Echo when she was a keiki growing up in the 1940s and 50s. Her mother, Lillian Towata, wrote stories and delivered papers for the Echo as a child, later going on to write a column for West Hawaii Today for 20 years. They lived across the street from the Morinoues. Her grandfather’s house was the gray twostory building where Malama i Ka Ola Holistic Health Center is located today. (For more on Dr. Hayashi’s life story, read his biography Kona Echo, by Jiro Nakano.) Back to the story of the Morinoues’ home and gallery: after Hiroki’s grandmother Mitsuru Mizukami purchased the old Japanese Community Association Hall in the late 1940s, the family moved

in, including his grandmother, mother, father, and three of six siblings. Hiroki was just three years old at the time. Soon after, the family built the Morinoue Laundry and Pool Hall on the same property, which houses Studio 7 Fine Arts Gallery today.

A Family Business

Hiroki’s mother, Ayako Mizukami-Morinoue, ran the laundry. Back then, a wash, dry, and press was only 10 cents. Ayako was also a seamstress, and always had a tape measure around her neck. Hiroki spent a lot of time in the laundry with his mom as a child, drawing on craft paper that was used to wrap

up the freshly laundered clothes. “I can still remember the smell of the kerosene,” he said, talking about the old-school gas powered washing machine. In the pool hall, Hiroki’s father Sakuichi Morinoue was something of an inter-island legend. Story has it that he was unbeatable at a game of billiards and loved to gamble. Men traveled from other islands to challenge him. In the 1970s, when Hiroki had art openings on O‘ahu, Maui and Kaua‘i, elderly gentlemen who had played pool with his father would recognize the Morinoue name and stop to inquire about Sakuichi and reflect on epic matches, lost. In 1970, Hiroki Morinoue and Setsuko Watanabe married. In 1979, they turned the old pool hall and laundry into an art gallery. Studio 7 Fine Arts is the oldest, continuously open modern art gallery in Hawai‘i. In its first two decades, the gallery promoted local emerging artists such as Chiu Leong, Wilfred Yamasawa, Nick Mitchell, Megan Mitchell, Diane

The original Morinoue hale, circa 1923. photo courtesy Millie Grand

This plaque, covered in hand-painted Japanese characters denoting the building as “Nihonjin” (Japanese people) “Kaikan” (association place), records the date the building was completed, the names of the carpenters and the association officials. It was hiding in a crawl space above the ceiling, still attached to the main post of the house, untouched for

Hiroki’s mother, Ayako Morinoue-Mizukami. photo courtesy of Hiroki and Setsuko Moinoue, by photographer Megan Mitchell

Moore, Randy Takaki, Gerald Ben, Nora Yamanoha, Glenn Yamanoha, Jan Bovard, Jeera Rattanangkoon, Catherine Merrill, Moses (master paper hat maker), Clayton Amemiya, and others. Today the gallery showcases the extensive work of Hiroki Morinoue, Setsuko Wantanabe-Morinoue, their daughter Miho Morinoue, as well as other notable Hawai‘i-based contemporary artists and master craftsmen. Their daughter Maki runs the gallery since returning to the island with her husband and child in 2016, after retiring as a modern dance choreographer in New York City. Maki’s son Kenzo is now the fifth generation living the next chapter of the story.

Preserving Hōlualoa History

Sitting at their kitchen table, Hiroki and Setsuko speak about the importance of preserving the history of the home and gallery and the history of Hōlualoa Village. Hōlualoa is home to many historic buildings that still stand and many more that have been lost—like the Kona Art Center, founded in 1967 by Hiroki and Setsuko’s mentors Bob and Carol Rodgers. The art center, housed in an old coffee mill previously owned by the Onaka family, was painted hot pink and used to be where the community parking lot is now. The Rodgers had a 1935 Sampan which the art students would cruise around in. “That’s where I got my start,” said Hiroki. He was 19 years old when he took his first art classes at the old Kona Art Center, which inspired him to go to art school.

This sign at the entrance of the current Studio 7 Fine Arts gallery shares with visitors that the pool hall was on one side and the laundry on the other side. photo by Emily Gleason

“It’s very important to save our historic buildings. The pink hotel, Paul’s Place, the old post office, the old movie theater... we should hold onto our history as long as we can,” said Millie, who remembers working at Paul’s Place scooping ice cream as a teen, serving patrons of the old movie theater. “We don’t want to lose it,” said Setsuko of the history held in Hōlualoa’s historic buildings. “We all need to know where we are from, to know who we are, what we are going to be.” History informs identity. Identity informs creativity. Creativity is

Exterior of the building now, on Old Mämalahoa Hwy. in Hölualoa Village. photo by Emily Gleason what makes the future. In the early 2000s, the Morinoues renovated their historic home. “We gutted it and for the first few days before we put the walls up, we saw the building in its original stage, it was pretty remarkable,” said Hiroki. They recycled pieces of the original wood and saved as many of the fixtures as possible. The front doors are from the original building, as well as the home’s redwood exterior. Hiroki opened up the ceiling, getting rid of the attic crawl space and installed modern details like larger windows and, of course, a giant granite countertop that is perfect for entertaining. Nearly a century later, their home is still serving the same purpose as it did all those years ago—a gathering place. So, what is it like living in a piece of Hōlualoa history? “It feels good,” said Hiroki, smiling. “This building was made to be ‘the people’s place’ and you feel that energy,” added Setsuko. “We try to keep that alive.” 

For more information: studiosevenfinearts.com

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C H E C K U S O U T

Sonny’s Healing Journey Began with Music

By Carole Gariepy

f you’ve stopped at Punalu‘u Bakery in

Nā‘ālehu on a Thursday or Saturday, you’ve likely had the pleasure of enjoying the mellow music of Sonny Ramos. His Hawaiian and American melodies fill the air and provide an ambiance of relaxation and love. It’s music that compliments the beautiful environment the island offers. It’s not only residents and visitors who benefit from Sonny’s music—it benefits him also, and he is grateful to Connie Koi at the bakery for inviting him to play there for the last five years. Music gives Sonny peace, a feeling many war veterans need, especially those who went to Vietnam.

Sonnyʻs Story

Sonny was one of 13 children. They lived in the Maula Camp on the hillside above Pāhala, which was for Filipino families. C. Brewer & Company had brought his father and many other young Filipino men to Ka‘ū to work on the sugarcane plantations. When Sonny was 11, he moved to O‘ahu to live with his brother and attend Leilehua High School in Honolulu. It was there that his musical life began. Receiving his first ‘ukulele at 14, he taught himself how to play, and his natural musical ability blossomed. His playing has always been “by ear.” He reminisces, “I listened to music on the radio and record player, and if I liked a song, I learned to play it.” He sang in the school choir and was selected to join the Leilehua Magical Singers, an elite group of the top sixteen singers from the choir that performed on all the islands. O‘ahu was (and still is) surrounded by military. ROTC was

Sonny playing at Punaluÿu Bakery in early 2022. Inset: A vistor to the bakery gifted Sonny with this medallion. On the back it says, “Your nation proudly salutes you.” a requirement in grades 10–12 for every boy and optional for girls. Sonny was a master sergeant which entitled him to be a squad leader when he enlisted in the Army, two days after his high school graduation, in 1967. He and more than 300 other graduates from the islands enlisted. They all felt good about doing their patriotic duty. Sonny’s first military assignment sent him to Maryland for 13 weeks of training to be an optical repairman. He learned to clean and repair binoculars, telescopes, and range finders. He also learned to calibrate the telescopes on big guns. When his training was completed, he was sent to Vietnam. The only thing he brought from home was his ‘ukulele. Right away he was dispatched to a Marine artillery unit at the demilitarized zone (DMZ). It was North Vietnam’s door to South Vietnam, the front line where the worst fighting was taking place. What a shock for a young high school graduate from Hawai‘i! Sonny worked in an air conditioned dust-free section of a van, an environment that was necessary for his optical work. The van was located in a trench along with the temporary housing shacks that were constructed with wood from ammunition boxes. They had to change locations often—the bulldozer would dig out another trench for them to set up new quarters. Sonny was in Vietnam for a terrifying year. He liked his work, but every day was filled with shooting, seeing people wounded, seeing people killed, mortar attacks, hearing machine guns—all day long and intermittently at night. Sonny wasn’t trained as a fighting soldier, but if a red alert was sounded, which meant the enemy was near, everyone had to drop whatever they were doing, put on a flack vest and helmet, grab their weapons and defend their position. It was close-up fighting. Sonny said, “Sometimes I was so scared, my whole body would shake.” His ‘ukulele was his source of stress relief. In the evenings he went outside to play the ‘uke and sing his soothing

Sonny in the living quarters in Vietnam, made from ammunition boxes.

Hawaiian music. Some of his buddies would sit around and listen. He said, “You’re free when you’re singing. There’s nothing else in your mind.” Another great comfort came from radio station KGMB on O‘ahu. Disc jockey Aku Head Pupuli had a music broadcast for GIs every Sunday. It meant so much to have that Hawaiian program to look forward to. Sonny remembers some Marines had guitars and played country music. He didn’t like that music because the songs were sad but he watched them play and taught himself. Now the guitar is his main instrument. Seeing comrades being wounded and killed, hearing artillery fire, and living in a life-threatening place for a year took a toll on the strongest of people. The war left lasting effects on Sonny, as it did on many war veterans. He developed the condition called PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. Sonny said he had flashbacks of being back in Vietnam. He’d

Sonny in Vietnam. feel shaky, scared, would cry like a baby, be hostile to people, and would swear at them. He explained that an episode could be triggered by sounds, the smell of diesel fuel, shadows, bad dreams, “Every month for 12 years I’d end up in the ER from warrelated problems.” The trauma from the war wasn’t the only thing causing Sonny’s problems. The war trauma was magnified when he came back home. Like most Vietnam veterans, he wasn’t His actions were frightening and after he got over an episode, he’d be quiet, take his ‘ukulele and go off by himself. She called the VA and pleaded with them to help him but they were not very responsive in those early years. No therapy was offered. Getta told herself, “I need to watch and learn what causes his episodes.” Without any professional help, she began to understand that all he was going through was not his fault. She said, “I saw his heart. He is a really good person. He will be the best husband. He will be the best father.” Their daughter, Nani, was born, a welcome additon to the family. Getta learned how to avoid situations that triggered an episode and the children learned, too. She said, “There were days when we all had to walk on pins and needles, but my goal was that we would be one.” Getta did not want a divided family, and after Vietnam veterans got the acknowledgment and therapy they needed, she could proudly say, “Sonny became the man I always thought he would be. He treats me like a queen. My judgment of Sonny was right.” In 1992, an Army unit commanding officer made a difference in the lives of Hawai‘i’s Vietnam veterans. When the officer received an invitation from the Hyatt Regency at Waikoloa Resort (now Hilton Waikoloa Village) for a lu‘au to honor the military people who served in Kuwait, the officer responded— they would come if Hawai‘i’s Vietnam veterans could come, too. That officer realized how unjustly those veterans had been treated and should at long last be honored. The hotel welcomed the idea. It was an occasion that made a difference. Sonny said, “We were treated like kings.” Their service to the country was acknowledged. They finally felt the pride they

welcomed home as a hero, as he and all veterans should be. Vietnam had become an unpopular war, and the innocent soldiers returning home were blamed for it. War protestors met him at the airport with threatening signs and words, people threw stones at the house where he lived, they called him names, the worst was being called “baby killer.” Instead of being able to hold his head high and feel proud for serving his country, he felt ashamed, rejected, and depressed. He kept very much to himself.

Healing Journey

Three things helped Sonny survive—his wife, the Veterans Administration (VA), and music. Life changed when he moved back to Hawai‘i Island and met Getta. She was not prejudiced against Vietnam veterans. They fell in love and married. It wasn’t until they had their first baby, a son, Robert, that she witnessed the toll the war had taken on him. When the baby woke up in the nighttime crying to be fed, the sound jolted Sonny awake and he was back in Vietnam ready to fight. Getta didn’t know about PTSD. Sonny and Getta in front of their home.

Operation Homecoming where the veterans were honored for their service in 1992 at the Hyatt (now Hilton) in Waikoloa Resort.

should have felt many years earlier. VA counselors came from Kona to Nā‘ālehu every week for 12 years to hold meetings with veterans. Sonny said, “There were lots of us who needed help. The group meetings helped a lot.” “Music helped me to stop thinking negative thoughts,” Sonny said. “At first I played for my own pleasure and then I started to get asked to play for restaurants, wedding receptions, and parties. I play peaceful quiet music and I only play for small groups. I still can’t handle big crowds and confusion.” Most days, Sonny wears his Vietnam hat. Many people thank him for his service. One person gave him a medallion with “Thank you for your service” on one side, and “Your nation proudly salutes you” on the other. The hat also attracts veterans, some who are still suffering from that war. He offers them support and tells them, “Go to the VA and get help. It’s there.” He said, “People see me as happy-go-lucky. They wouldn’t know what I’ve been through. I’ll never forget the war, but I’ve learned how to deal with the effects from it.” Music played a big part in his recovery. As Sonny said, “Music makes the mind relax,” something a veteran needs to be able to do.

Whether you have the opportunity to greet Sonny at the bakery or you see another veteran in your travels, remember the commitment they made to their country and what they may have been through. Say, “Thank you for your service.” It will mean a lot. 

All photos courtesy of Sonny and Getta Ramos Getta and Sunny flying the Vietnam Veterans flag at home.