A salty old wheeler-dealer gave me some advice a few years ago.  “Hink,” he said, “you should never trust a man who says ‘you can trust me,’ you should never do business with a guy who keeps his car motor running and you should never eat at a place called ‘mama’s.’”  My life experience tells me that the jury’s still out on the first two suggestions and the third one is bogus.  I know it’s bogus because there’s a place in Maui called Mama’s Fish House and, for years, it was known as the finest restaurant in the pacific.  In the twenty years that I’ve been going there, the competition has toughened up.  But for great island fare and “old Hawaiian” charm, Mama’s is hard to beat.

There were eight of us on the beach behind Mama’s on January 18, 2007.  Dottie thought we were there for the food and atmosphere, but the rest of us knew that Bo had chosen that evening and that spot to propose.  For several years leading up to that occasion, Dottie was standing by Bo’s side as he fought a nightmare life and death battle with aggressive cancer.  For endless months, the outcome was too close to call.  I won’t go into it all.

But Bo made it and he came out of his ordeal with a pumped up appreciation for life and a deep--I guess I should say deeper--love and admiration for his Dottie.

Before I get to the proposal, let me turn the clock back a few years here.  The four guys on the beach that evening had known each other since we were kids; same neighborhood, same grade school, same football team, same high school.  Too many shared friends, experiences, stories, fears, hopes dreams and sins to cover in this column.  Over the years, our lives took different paths, but we never completely lost touch.  It was Bo’s show-down with the grim reaper that pulls us all to that beach in Maui to celebrate his survival and to be with him when he asked Dottie to be his bride.

The evening was perfect in a way that only a Hawaiian evening can be. when Bo guided Dottie to a quaint wooden bench looking out at the ocean and the rest of us gathered around, she realized there was more than happiness and beauty in that moment. There was love, magic and true splendor.  Heck I get choked up just writing about it. But, to tell you the truth, all eight of us got misty.

If there weren’t witnesses, you might think I made this next part up.  But it’s true and I can prove it.  Just like magic, a gorgeous blue parrot showed up from somewhere and started flying all around us.  It was like a piece of the Hawaiian sky broke of and flew down to offer a special blessing to all of us--especially the happy couple.

Well, Dottie didn’t keep us in suspense.  She said “Yes.”  The rest of the evening is a blur of laughter, hugs, kisses, toasts, jokes and remembrance.  Mama’s didn’t disappoint.  The food was wonderful and the people working there seemed as excited about the special occasion as we were and when we left we were all--happy.

Now if you’ve been reading this column, you know I’m prone to get philosophical about almost every little thing.  And there’s a lot about the stuff covered in this column to get philosophical about.  Life, love, friendship, fortitude, marriage, meals and Hawaii.  In fact, this is scheduled for the January 18, edition.  If plans carry, Mary and I will be at Mama’s with Willard and Marsha, two of the friends who were with us for Bo’s proposal, on the second anniversary of the event.  No doubt Willard and I will get soppy and sentimental as usual and Mary and Marsha will assure us that’s is perfectly appropriate for manly men to get that way--within limits.

Let me leave you with a quote from Kipling:  “God gives all men all earth to love,/But, since man’s heart is small,/Ordains for each one spots shall prove/Beloved over all.”  I can’t say that one spot on the beach at Mama’s is my most beloved.  But it ranks pretty high up there.  Oh, by the way, January 18 is not only the anniversary of Bo’s proposal, it’s also the 72^nd anniversary of Kipling’s death.  Aloha all. 

I’m Hink and I’ll see ya.

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