All seven of us were made honorary members of the Hawaii Yacht Club, which Barbara and I later joined officially. Earlier, while still in Japan, I had joined the American Yachtsmen’s Association, which gave us outstanding help throughout our entire voyage. Soon we added still another burgee—that of the Seven Seas Cruising Association, composed of cruising yachtsmen who live aboard their craft and keep in touch with one another by means of a monthly bulletin to which all the S.S.C.A. “Commodores” contribute.
Every day brought visitors to the Phoenix. Some of them, naturally, were friends of ours, or friends of friends, but so many were people of Japanese ancestry who bowed and chatted in their native tongue with Nick, Mickey, and Moto that I sometimes wondered whether we weren’t still tied up to the dock in Hiroshima.
“I thought you said you didn’t know anyone in Honolulu,” I remarked to Moto, after several days had passed with no slackening in the steady stream of callers.
“Yes!” Moto agreed happily. “We don’t! But Hawaii people very kind, very friend.”
Indeed they were “very friend.” Day after day shiny black limousines drew up at the docks and discharged Japanese-speaking callers bringing gifts: clothes, cartons of cigarettes, baskets of fruit, flowers, cakes, Japanese delicacies of all kinds—and invitations without number.
Thus began a period during which we were treated to a hospitality such as few tourists, I am sure, have ever experienced. Our own list of haole (white) friends grew rapidly and we had no lack of invitations, which we could accept without qualms, knowing that our Japanese companions also were having a fine time. Only three or four times did our paths cross: once when we were all invited to a most enjoyable family dinner with the Japanese Consul General, Mr. Hatoyama, his charming wife, and three of their ten children; once when I was speaker at a Hawaii Yacht Club dinner; and once for a never-to-be-forgotten “Welcome Party” given by the Hiroshima Ken Society. All the guests were male (except Barbara and Jessica), and the food, utensils, and speeches were entirely Japanese. Mickey had apparently been elected spokesman for the Phoenix crew and he made a stirring speech, complete with gestures and bravado. For the first time we experienced the rafter-raising Japanese cheer, a chorus shouted at top voice from over two hundred enthusiastic throats: “Banzai!... Banzai!... Banzai!” and we were proud that our Japanese companions should be so honored.
In spite of an active social life and my own commitment for a series of three articles about our trip, we managed to make time for a great deal of work on the boat. In addition to drydocking and doing a routine overhaul, we put in a number of improvements based on our hard-earned knowledge of what was needed most. With the proceeds from my articles, I was able to install a 12-volt electrical system, which only those who have returned, however briefly, to the onerous, overheated, and smelly age of kerosene can appreciate. Not only did this remove the necessity for reaching for one’s flashlight before trying to move about at night, but it made it possible for each of us to enjoy the infinite luxury of reading in our bunks. It was an improvement, too, from the standpoint of safety, for it became a simple matter to flick on masthead light or sidelights at the first sign of an approaching ship. I also installed a Navy surplus radiotelephone which, although we had no intention of using it routinely, was a comforting thing to have around.
Changes were made in the galley, too. Previously, Barbara had had to wire her pots to the stove—a tricky and sometimes dangerous maneuver in rough weather. Now we set up the stove in gimbals so it would always remain level—a sometimes fantastic sight at sea when it often appears as if the pots on the stove are the only things tilting and that liquid must remain in them by some kind of magic. We put in sink pumps for both fresh and salt water—the latter, as Moto described it, connecting us to “the biggest water tank in the world.” And we put in two more bilge pumps, one off the engine and one which went out to the turn of the bilge and also served to empty the sink. These changes, naturally, had the enthusiastic endorsement of the cook as well as of Ted, whose galley boy work was thereby considerably lightened.
Shortly after our arrival a Mr. Yotsuda from the northern island of Kauai, had flown over to welcome us. He was a brother of the Yotsuda-san in Japan who had built the Phoenix and he had extracted a promise from us that we would visit a little “The Garden Isle” before we sailed for the South Seas.
By March Art Nelson, the local sailmaker, had completed the genoa jib I had ordered for the fair-weather trade-wind sailing we hopefully anticipated and, with all the rest of the work done, we felt we were in fair shape for sea. It seemed high time to keep our promise to Mr. Yotsuda and give the Phoenix (and crew) a chance to try her wings again.