Paved Paradise (Gold & Ukuleles, Kaimuki)

I spoke to the woman who owned this pawn shop. She was gregarious, deeply tan, her silver hair coiled into an expert bun. At first she was hesitant when I asked permission to take pictures of her store sign. “What are the photos for?,” she said. I explained in a rush that I was documenting the wonderful old storefronts around Kaimuki, that I had grown up in Moiliili, that I had done a film about the sugarcane plantation workers…  She relaxed and said she was just checking if I was “someone from the city or one of those agencies taking down records of people’s signs.” She said to take all the pictures I wanted.

I asked if many people came in with ukuleles. She said yes, but the store only accepted “the really high-end ones, you know, the really valuable ones.”

She had one of those old-time Hawaiian faces with indeterminate, mysteriously blended multiracial features. She seemed part Portuguese, part Hawaiian, and part black. She told me the store had been in business for more than 30 years, and I sensed she would have been happy to chat longer.

I would love to put her on film and hear her stories of people coming in and pawning their diamonds and ukes.

It was hard for me to get this photograph. Before entering the pawn shop, I had been so nervous that I created a pretext and first bought some deep-fried sesame balls at the Chinese restaurant next door.  Holding the white paper takeout bag like a ticket of legitimacy and good intentions, I ended up snapping some pictures of the old Punchbowl autobody place across the street. The woman stood idly in the doorway of the pawn shop, watching me. An anxious chatter occupied my head; it went something like, “She’s probably thinking I’m casing their joint and taking photos to plan a robbery…they must be suspicious…that’s why they have that prosecutor election sign up!” I finally got in my car and furtively took some shots as I glided by the store. But then, as I was about to pull onto Waialae Avenue, I imagined K scolding me for my lack of nerve. So I reversed direction, re-parked the car, and went into the shop to talk to the woman.