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next day we headed out to do some exploring and visiting. Right
out front of the Visitor's Quarters is the old "Long House",
or "Callers House". It's a long, narrow room divided
by a table that runs the entire length of it. For many years,
a chain link fence ran down the middle of the room, separating
the ma'i pake, as the patients called themselves, and
the kokuas, or non-patients.
Then
in 1969 the Committee on Leprosy filed a report with the legislature
concluding that the advent of sulfone therapy in the 1940's made
the isolation policies obsolete. However, even though the legislature
acted upon the committee's report, and patients were no longer
isolated, archaic notions and stigmas still made it hard for the
leprosy patient to lead a "normal" life as an "average
citizen with a disease that needs medical treatment", as
proclaimed by the Honolulu Star-Bulletin. It wasn't until the
mid-1980's that improved cooperation between state officials,
residents, and the general public resulted in the emergence of
a new spirit of understanding for people with "Hansen's Disease".
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|  Father
Hendriks stopped by the Long House and invited us to watch another
movie at his house after dinner and so, with our evening planned,
we carried on. We went to the gift store and Gene bought a Kalaupapa
T-shirt, and then we went to the book store, and Leslie bought
"Olivia - My Life of Exile in Kalaupapa" by Olivia Robello
Breitha.
We
saw the beautiful grave of Mother Marianne Cope in the garden
of St. Elizabeth's Convent. A painted rock to the right of the
entrance says: "Peace to all who enter". When we had
watched the movie about Kalaupapa with Father Hendriks, a lovely
young actress played Mother Marianne, and I thought "How
Hollywood", but I saw pictures of her later and actually,
Mother Marianne was a very pretty woman.
In
1883, she and a small group of Franciscan sisters made the long
journey from Syracuse, New York to the Kakaako Branch Hospital
for leprosy patients on Oahu. It was located in a salt-pond swamp
and conditions were deplorable. The corrupt superintendent was
removed and Mother Marianne put in charge. Soon conditions were
so vastly improved that King Kalakaua awarded her the Royal Medal
of Kapiolani for her work and dedication.
By 1888 many patients had been exiled from Oahu to Kalaupapa,
so Mother Marianne and her sisters went there and established
the Bishop Home (built by a wealthy civic leader, Charles R. Bishop)
for women. She consoled the dying Father Damien, and five months
after her arrival he died.
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 She
arranged for him to have a proper burial, and with the help
of Brother Dutton, saw to the administration of the Boys Home
at Kalawao, founded by Damien. Despite nursing, feeding, bandaging
and bathing the sick, none of the sisters ever contracted Leprosy.
Mother Marianne died in 1918 at the age of 80, loved and admired
by all who knew her.
Just
a little further on we came to the monument to Father Damien,
donated by the people of England through a committee headed
by the Prince of Wales, who would go on to become King Edward
VII. The memorial is a Celtic cross of red granite with a marble
sculpture of Damien by the artist Edward Clifford. It was erected
in 1893, and the inscription reads: "Greater love hath
no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.
John 15."
With
all of these reminders of the injustices suffered by the early
patients, and the monuments to these selfless individuals, you
might think that there is an air of sadness about Kalaupapa.
Not so. As we walked the streets of Kalaupapa, everyone who
passed us smiled and waved a greeting or stopped and talked
briefly with Val.
At
times, Kalaupapa had a "Northern Exposure" quirky
kind of feeling: a pick-up truck passed us and Val laughed to
see a dog walk from the truck bed into the open passenger window
of the cab. We saw one resident determinedly wheeling his wheelchair
down to Elaine's Bar. Elaine had been gone on one of her many
treks to Las Vegas, but today she was back and open for business.
Val and I stopped in later for some ice cream.
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 In
the corner of one yard, right next to the street, was a small
monument. Val said that years ago, after this person had died,
the "powers that be" had decided that a memorial in
her name was required.
Apparently, this woman was, for some reason, not well liked by
the patients, and so no space could be agreed upon for the monument.
Then the good-natured man who owned this property said "Oh,
why not", and let them put it in the corner of his yard.
Looking up past the monument, next to his garage you can see a
wonderful, ancient, rusted pick-up truck with a tree growing out
of the bed....a monument itself, really.
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