Clyde Aikau was a standout at all of the North Shore’s heaviest waves, including Sunset Beach, pictured here. Photo: Dan Merkel
The headlines were almost all the same: “Clyde Aikau, younger brother of legendary Hawaiian surfer Eddie Aikau, has passed away at age 75.” Which is only to be expected, when your older brother is perhaps the most legendary Hawaiian surfer – that particular adjective able to apply literally to a hero who disappeared while attempting to rescue stricken crew-mates following a disaster at sea. Rendered immortal by deed and a million “Eddie Would Go” bumper stickers.
And yet, the headlines and bumper stickers go only a small way to defining the life of the youngest Aikau sibling, who, when he passed away peacefully in his Waimanalo home on Saturday, May 3, left a legacy that should transcend the pervasive shadow under which he lived his life. A champion surfer, lifeguard, University of Hawaii graduate, slack-key musician, longtime “beach boy” and professional surf instructor, Hawaii Department of Education liaison and advocate for the homeless; Clyde Aikau lived a life that deserves to be celebrated for its own merits, beyond the tireless stewardship of his older brother’s enduring fame.
During the making of the 2014 documentary Hawaiian: The Legend of Eddie Aikau, I shared many hours of conversation with Clyde. As was his way so many times in the years following Eddie’s disappearance, he spent much of it talking about the meaning of his more famous older brother’s life; his spirit, his contributions. But today, upon the passing of this equally legendary Hawaiian cultural icon, I thought not to write about Clyde, but to let his own words, culled from those many hours of interviews, paint a more eloquent portrait of the man and his times. This, and to say, hele pelekana, brother Clyde. Safe journey, into the eternal sea that was your home.
ON GROWING UP
Our family was, I’d like to say, a real Hawaiian ohana family, because everything we did, we did together. Mom, Pops, Freddie, Myra, Gerald, Eddie, Solomon and me. After moving from Maui to Oahu in 1959, we lived in my uncle’s house for about a year, which was right across from the Pahoa Valley Elementary School. And immediately right next to that was a Chinese cemetery called Yee King Tong Cemetery. It was a nine-acre property, and my dad swung a deal with the Chinese Association president so that the family, all of us, could live in the cemetery rent-free, as long as we maintained the nine acres. This was in 1960, and we’ve been there ever since. Still there. When we first went to the graveyard, the grass was like 10-feet tall, and we had to use sickles and cane knives to chop it. Because we had no money for a lawnmower.
ON THAT FIRST WAVE
Pops was kinda hep because he knew we loved the ocean. So, he always said, “Okay, do the yard first. Wash the cars, do this, do that.” And all of us kids, we’d try and do everything as fast as we could so we could get in the water. By that time the Aikaus was well established as one of the premier families at Kapahulu Groin. We actually called it Walls. And Eddie and I didn’t really start to bond, to be brother partners, until we started paipo boarding at Walls in Waikiki.
But I can still remember my first wave on a surfboard. I caught it at Canoes, right in front of the Duke’s restaurant. I caught the wave and stood up, and it was like the peripheral vision of the water going by so fast…after that, oh man, you were hooked, you know. Surfing there in Waikiki made us feel like kings.
ON THE WEIGHT
This is what puts tears in my eyes even today. During those early paipo board days, statehood had kicked in. Pan American Airlines was bringing in tourists in by the truckloads. Hotels were being built on Waikiki Beach and all the Hawaiian music and luaus was going on. ‘Cause you had to give the tourists the beach, the coconut trees, the luau deal, right? But what sucked was, as kids, walking on the beach in Waikiki, wanting to watch the luaus and listen to the music, us kids was not wanted on Waikiki property. And, that really, really hurt. Being a little kid, 12-years-old, and you try to go and hear the Hawaiian music, and have a big security guard coming down with his hands on his hips and telling you, “No.”
For a while there, in the early years, there was the feeling that maybe being Hawaiian was not a good idea. Like, maybe I shoulda had blonde hair and blue eyes. And what really sucks, it’s what’s happening even today in 2011. You know, if any local person even goes on a hotel property, the security guard is already there, just like when we was kids. It makes you feel like a criminal
ON FEELING THE MANA
In 1976, the protests of the Kaho’olawe bombing began. The military was using the island for practice, and destroying our Hawaiian graves there. Hawaiians made a stand to stop the bombing, and then Hōkūle’a voyages came after, and that’s when a lot of Hawaiians really started to understand our heritage, and where we came from. And it really kicked in, this spirit in your body, in your mind, of really knowing who you were as a Hawaiian.
ON DESTINY
You need to understand that my family’s Hawaiian heritage goes back 200 years ago, to Kahuna Nui Hewahewa. The word kahuna means an expert at something, like you’re an expert at fishing, or canoe building. But a kahuna nui, like my great-great-great-great grandfather, is multi-faceted, an expert at many things. And so, 200 years ago, King Kamehameha entrusted the care of Waimea to my relative. I’m talking the whole Waimea area – the forest, the cliffs, the falls, the river, the beach. The bay. Two-hundred years ago. We’re talking destiny here.
Clyde, at the mic, running the fabled Invitational at Waimea Bay.
ON THE LEGEND OF THE HONU
When I first heard about the Quiksilver contest to be held at Waimea Bay, I said, “Oh, man, right on, what a great way to honor Eddie.” And I really wanted be part of it. But I didn’t even have a big wave board at the time. So, when I got invited, I actually surfed Eddie’s board, his favorite Waimea board, a pintail gun shaped by Peter Twombly.
The day was big, but kinda onshore wind, and a lot of the other guys weren’t too comfortable. But I’ve surfed Waimea many, many days like that, so I felt really comfortable. Anyway, as I was paddling out, half-way out there were these two honu, sea turtles. And they stick their heads up and kind of wriggle them at me. I’m lookin’ straight at ‘em, and I’m going, “Whoa, okay.” Then the turtles turned around and headed out to sea, passing everybody else in the regular lineup. So, I follow them. I don’t know what made me do that, but I follow them. And I sat out there, the only guy out in the middle of the ocean, and lo’ and behold, set of the day comes. I pick ‘em up, ride ‘em all the way in to the beach. Get a high score.
Paddle back out, and there’s the turtles again, looking me right in the eye, and they’re saying kinda like, “Hey, Bruddah Clyde, follow us.” So, I followed them again, and the same thing happens, big outside set wave. And then a third time it happened, and that was it, the heat was over. And that’s how I won the Eddie in ’86. Was they the spirit of Eddie, and Jose Angel, maybe? But hard not to believe.
ON CARRYING IT FORWARD
In the early years when we lost Eddie, it was like being in limbo. You know, I didn’t know what to do, like nothing really mattered. But what eventually made me persevere in his name was the idea that the family must go on. It’s just a privilege that so many years later people still recognize Eddie and, you know, recognize him for the guy he was and for the sacrifice that he did. And if we all can express what Eddie’s spirit is all about, his, his aloha of giving and not expecting anything back, and if we can continue to reach people and express that…well, that’s what really has mattered the most to me.
