A Chapel called 'Camden'

A Tribute to William Kauaiwiulaokalani Wallace III (Uncle Bill)

William K. Wallace III passed away on March 2nd, after a year and a half battle with cancer. Click here to read about the University's procession in his honor. Uncle Bill, as he is known around campus, made a tremendous impact on me when I transferred to BYU-Hawaii. I took two classes from him during my first semester, and I quickly began to admire the man. He had an intense zeal for life. He pushed his students, took an interest in them, and challenged them beyond the classroom.

Outside the classroom Uncle Bill became my mentor and friend. He was the captain of the traditional Hawaiian sailing canoe, Iosepa. When class got out, I would race over to the building site on my bike and help build the boat. No matter what we were doing on the boat, Uncle Bill was always teaching us. I was part of a team of volunteers that began the nine-month process of creating the Iosepa from seven large dakua, or tropical hardwood logs imported from Fiji. For more information about the Iosepa, see this article.

I will never forget chanting I Ku Mau Mau in the classroom before the start of every class while Uncle Bill, with an enormous smile spread across his face, played his Ukulele and sang. Uncle Bill treated everyone like Ohana.(family) Like my father, he taught me the importance of genealogy, and to respect my ancestors and myself. But above all else, he encouraged me to never give up on my dreams.

Click here for a great read on the abridged history of the LDS church in Hawai'i; created by Uncle Bill.

A Barbershop Setback

Had I paid more attention when I walked into this new barber shop across the street, I would've noticed a few imperative details. For one, it was a Saturday morning, and the barbershop was barren. Number two, the man who cut my hair looked like a hobo who loitered around the area and happened to find refuge this morning in the barbershop. Had I looked at him more closely, I would have noticed he had a glass eye and a severe slouch to his right. Not that I have anything against people with glass eyes, or that may or may not slouch to one side or the other, but take my word for it, the combination dramatically effects the outcome of a haircut! It wasn't until I was in front of my bathroom mirror back at my place that I noticed the ghastly wonder he did on my once beautiful head of hair. Now you are probably asking yourself why I choose to sit down on that black barber stool amidst all of these obvious red flags. To my regret, I cannot answer that question. I was not high on drugs; I was not tipsy off of alcohol. And unlike my Palestinian friend, I cannot use the "poor vision" copout. I have 20-30 vision.

I stood in front of my mirror for several minutes debating my next move. There were holes all over my head. My neckline was severely slanted to one side, and for some reason he gave me an interesting new style of bull-cut, but just on the back of my head. So I busted out my clippers and tried to fix the 16 dollar haircut with my attachments. The damage was beyond repair. The next move was simple. I knew what I had to do. With unwilling hands, I put a 1/8" blade on the machine and put it to my head. In three months time my hair will be back to normal. Fortunately, I've got a good hat collection that will be to good use during these hard times...

playing catch with Pedro

I motioned to Pedro with my freshly unwrapped World Baseball Classic ball. He gave me the "go ahead nod," so I tossed the ball out to him on the field. He caught the ball, pulled out a pen, signed it, and this video captured the part where he threw it back to me!

An Implausible Puerto Rico Adventure

DAY 1

10:45 PM: My plane touched down at the San Luis Marin International airport. I snatched my controversial pack (because of it's ostensibly large size for a carry-on) from the overhead compartment and anxiously made my way to the nearest phone book to try and find a cheap hostel or hotel for the night. After calling a handful of places with no luck, I beelined to the curbside information desk outside the terminal and started talking with some young kids in broken Spanish. They must have called more than a dozen hotels in the area, with 10 of the 12 being booked. The two that were available were $150, and were a hassle to get to. I wasn't going to pay that when all I needed was a solid five hours of shuteye! That is when things got exciting.

One of the teenage kids, suddenly decided to speak English and in a soft voice said, “You’re only going to sleep for a few hours anyways, why don’t you just sleep in the terminal with the rest of them?” Minutes later I set two rows of those chair benches, arm rests and all, next to each other, and tried to make the most comfortable bed as possible. I clipped my pack to my leg, pulled my hoody over my eyes, put in my ear plugs, and awkwardly lied down in an “S shape” on the connected chair benches. The seven other men who called that terminal “home”, appeared to be seasoned “terminal squatters.” I was honored to have been amongst them that Friday night in Puerto Rico.



DAY 2

My makeshift terminal chair-bench got old around 5:30 AM, so I decided to get an early start and find the buses that would take me to Hiram Bithorn Stadium, for the first ballgame of the World Baseball Classic. There were no stores open at that hour to break my large bills, so I had to bum 75 cents from people at the terminal not once, but twice, in order to get to the park! I arrived at the ballpark around 6:30 AM, and after spotting a clean, quiet, grassy spot, I set down my pack and used it as a pillow until I woke up two hours later. The sales booths opened outside the ballpark around 9 AM. I made my way towards the booths and stood in line as I anxiously awaited the purchase of my official WBC baseball and Dominican Republic jersey. That is when things really began to get interesting.






I was standing in line with my heavy pack still on my shoulders when a woman approached me and asked if I was backpacking around Puerto Rico. The ensuing conversation got more and more interesting as she continued to ask more questions. She was stupefied when I told her that I came here all by myself just to watch baseball. (I still don't understand why people are so shocked. They just don't get it...) I told her about my ongoing research on the role of sports as a tool of peace, providing an outlet from a life of violence. From there, typical questions ensued.

Kim and her co-worker Chuck thought I was joking when I told them that I had slept at the airport the night prior, and was planning on crashing with my pack on some local beach, or going back to "home base" (the airport) to crash after the second game of the day's doubleheader. After all, I was on a budget for this trip, and since budget often times means more adventure, I wasn't too concerned the ways things would play out. To my surprise, she responded with an invite to crash at her beach house, on her futon, where she and two of her co-worker guy friends lived.

After a poor job of insisting that I was okay with my plan, I caved, and took her up on the offer. It was afterall, a much better alternative to me searching for a "safe beach" in San Juan, or back to the brightly lit, loud, uncomfortable airport, or the alternative $150/night for a hotel. Along with the six day accomodations, came with it a set of car keys to her Volkswagen! She said she biked to work, and that I would need a car much more than her. Of course I told her that was not necessary, but just like before, I caved and gratefully took her up on the offer.




DAY 3

I woke up on my jerry rigged couch cushion bed at 10:30 AM. I was in my new friend's VW and off to San Juan by 11 AM. I found a parking spot in the old Spanish quarter of San Juan, and quickly began checking off my list of places to see. My stops were the two famous Spanish forts, “San Cristobal and El Moro.” The Spanish had built them several centuries ago to protect the island. I did not know that the United States reopened the forts in the 1940s during the Second World War. I was very impressed with the way some of the rooms, especially the dungeons, were preserved.



Next on my list was "La Perla." La Perla is a squatter community on the outskirts of Old San Juan. Before coming to La Perla, I learned that three access points exist, one through the "Santa Maria Magdalena Cemetery", one on the east side and one through a walkway right in the center of the northern wall. Historically, the community was initially the site of a large slaughterhouse. At that time, during the late 19th century, the law required that slaughterhouses and cemetaries be built far from the city center. However, in the case of La Perla, outside the northern city walls.

While La Perla was a micromachine, G-rated version of the slums I had come to know well in the megacities of São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, many of its characteristics remained the same. Like Rio, it had breathtaking oceanfront real estate, uniquely setting them apart from most squatter communities. Many people I came in contact with condemned the place, telling me it was abominable and far too risky to go anywhere near. If people would only make an effort to understand, to see past the flurry of misconceptions and stereotypes, they would see in these neighborhoods something very different. These communities are not places of "evil", or of continuous violence, they are poor neighborhoods with good people residing in them.




My intention is not to advocate "slum tourism." Squatter communities are not Disney Land, and they do pose a very real danger. Know that as a tourist you will be closely watched from the second you enter. In recent years, La Perla specifically has become well known because of its high rate of illegal drug trafficking and crime. Going near these areas at night is never a good idea. But many good things are being done to help shed La Perla's poor image. Local Salsa and Reggaeton concerts are held each week to send a positive message out to the surrounding communities. (Concerts of the sort have become commonplace for many squatter communities around the world)


1:30 PM:
I met up with Chuck, my buddy of 24 hours that I had met at Saturday afternoon’s ballgame. We got a lunch at this delicious little bakery near the marina, then went to pick up Alfonsina. Alfonsina was a Puerto Rican actress before she moved to New York to pursue a career in Opera. She had returned to San Juan for one week, which interestingly enough just happened to be the same week I was in Puerto Rico visiting. The three of us headed to the ballgame to see the Dominican Republic play Panama. During the Domican's batting practice before the game, I caught two balls that made their way into my well oiled glove in the left field bleachers. I was eager to see the design of Hiram Bithorn Stadium, so Alfonsina and I walked around the park to check things out. After walking around a bit, we found a pair of great seats between the 3rd base dugout and home plate.



When Alfonsina started asking me about my visit to Puerto Rico, things got even more interesting. I told her why I was there, and about my passion for the sport. She asked me where I was staying and my plans for the rest of the week. Forseeing where this conversation was going, I began to smirk a little bit when I told her I had crashed at the airport my first night here. I think she was a little confused after that. I then made it clear that I was not talking about the Hilton attached to the airport, but rather the terminal waiting area itself. I explained to her that I had found a place to stay after having met this girl Kim, one of Chuck's co-workers, at Saturday's ballgame. I told her that Kim was nice enough to let me crash on the futon in her living room. I could not help but start laughing when Alfonsina told me that she owned an apartment in San Juan, and would not mind at all if I stayed in her guest bedroom for the next four nights. She convinced me it would be a lot more comfortable than sleeping on the futon cushion at Kim's, and that her apartment was a lot closer to the ballpark than Kim's. As you might have guessed, I took Alfonsina up on her offer.



DAY 4
9:00 AM:

Alfonsina woke me up at 8 AM so we could get an early start on the day. First on our agenda was the Dominicans Monday practice. I had no idea how to get to their practice field, Roberto Clemente Stadium, so I am glad Alfonsina was with me. We hopped in her car and took off for the ballpark. Her and I waited for hours before the ballplayers came onto the field. It was an action-filled day the second players like Jose Reyes, Hanley Ramirez, David 'Big Papi' Ortiz, Pedro Martinez, Miguel Tejada, and others stepped onto the field. Even at the high point of their practice there were only about 50 fans in attendance. I remained the sole gringo during the five hour practice.

Below is a photo of me just after Miguel Tejada signed my ball.



Jose Reyes, Pedro Martinez, and Big Papi were the team "clowns." They were hilarious to watch during calisthenics and team drills.



DAY 5

Kim had promised to take me to El Yunque, the large rainforest on the eastern side of the island. So her and I met up in the morning and we drove out into the jungle. We ran up the trail until we summited the highest tower in the rainforest. Somewhere along the way though, my phone slipped out of my pocket and likely became the new toy of the rainforest monkeys. I didn't realize that I had "donated" my phone to the forest until several hours later at Kim's place. That made communication between my new friends a little more challenging, but it all worked out okay in the end.



We left the rainforest and went to Luquillo beach, where we stayed for a few hours. At Luquillo we found a long, beautiful stretch of sandy beaches. Kim laid out her towel and worked on her tan, and I without hesitation, dove into the clear blue Caribbean water. When I tired of swimming around and body surfing, I ran several miles down the stretch of the beach until I stumbled upon an impressive cove hidden behind a bunch of shrubs in the far stretches of the beach. I chilled out there for a while, staring off into the ocean. The panorama before my eyes reminded me of my college days back in Hawaii. The ocean is so peaceful. For me it is a place where I can go and all the pressures, and convoluted components of my life just seem to vanish.




DAY 6

It’s always interesting the friendships you make when travelling to new places. The people you meet and the things you learn. You can't put a price on the experiences and lessons learned through travel. Sometimes "travel friends" turn out to be long lasting friends with whom you maintain contact over the years. But regardless the outcome, there is always a mark made, a footprint left on each others' lives. I was once told by an elderly Brazilian woman that "minha bunda é virado pela lua." A phrase in Portuguese which means that good fortune follows me wherever I go. After this trip I am starting to believe her...Everyone I have met has been very generous and hospitable. I have learned a great deal from all of my new friends. I am going to make a conserted effort to help and serve others when I return back to DC. I’m signing off now, in about four hours the roosters outside Alfonsina's apartment will wake me up!


DAY 7

PR is a unique place. It has a foreign country feel to it, while still having most the luxuries any of the 50 U.S. states enjoy. Some Puerto Ricans expressed to me their desire to secede from the United States and become their own nation, while others maintained that their U.S. citizenship was an enormous blessing. It was entertaining to hear them talk about their feelings towards the United States. (Their country)

While Puerto Rico won't be on my short list of coming places to visit, I've made a few friends there, and I can sleep well knowing that I'll have a place to stay other than the airport terminal when I decide to return!