THE closing of the Kam Drive-in brings back many fond, several embarrassing and a few bizarre memories, not the least of which was when I launched a few quarts of cheap wine directly from my stomach halfway across the drive-in, getting not even a drop on the car from which I had ejected it. The sheer distance the alcohol-laced berry concoction traveled was a thing to behold. I've never done anything quite like it since, which, I've decided, is a good thing. Gut reaction to
Kam’s last picture showIn closing, Kam Drive-in joins a distinguished list of defunct local landmarks like Cocos, Woolworth's, The Willows and Tahitian Lanai. More on point, it joins the Royal Sunset Drive-in, Kailua Drive-in, Waialae Drive-in and a few others I can't name in the Dead Drive-in Hall of Fame.
People have been anticipating the death of Kam Drive-in for the last 20 years. But the venerable glorified parking lot has hung on like a stubborn terminally ill uncle on life support. And like a grubby group of bedside family members worried that their inheritance is evaporating each time the old geezer sucks in a breath, developers have been lusting after the prime chunk of aina on which Kam Drive-in sits. Considering the value of this land, just across from Pearlridge, this was probably the most overly capitalized drive-in and swap meet in the country.
WHEN I was in high school, drive-ins held an important role in a teen-ager's life. They were the only places you could take a date, where you had a reasonable expectation of privacy, if you consider sitting around with 400 or 500 other kids in cars private.
It could be a pleasure pit or complete hell, depending on who was sitting on the seat next to you. Generally speaking, if a girl agreed to go to the drive-in with you, there was a good chance that you'd at least get a kiss or two.
Nevertheless, there was the occasional date who had no in-tention of letting you get to first base, or even out of the dugout.
When I found myself with one of these girls, I felt supremely betrayed. I mean, if she didn't want to make out, why did she agree to come to the drive-in? That was a horribly sexist, blatantly chauvinistic and perfectly normal attitude for a 17-year-old to have. I'm more enlightened now.
The quality of drive-in food varied from bad to potentially hazardous. I think drive-in theaters were the last places on earth to use community vats of ketchup, mustard and relish. If you think having one large, open reservoir of ketchup to be used by several hundred teen-agers sounds like a bad idea, you are right. I mean, what a stupid, stupid thing to do! Who knows what was in those condiments after the first 10 or 20 jerks went through? Well, I guess I do, since, every once and a while, I was one of those very jerks.
When we reached the age of 18 and were given draft numbers, we figured we were old enough to drink. We were wrong. Which brings us to the incident at Kam Drive-in alluded to earlier.
Mulling over a potential government-paid tour of Indochina, I drank an entire bottle of Ripple while my buddy chugged most of a bottle of Boones Farm. I tried to help my friend finish his bottle. But when those two fine wines (90 cents a bottle, brah) met to wage war in my stomach, I proceeded to launch a liquid yawn the likes of which were not duplicated until they filmed the pea soup scene in "The Exorcist."
I always felt a little guilty about leaving that soggy puppy for the cleanup crew. Especially since my draft number was never called.
I know it's about 26 years too late, but I'd just like to say thanks for the memories, Kam Drive-in. Sorry about the mess.
Charles Memminger, winner of
National Society of Newspaper Columnists
awards in 1994 and 1992, writes "Honolulu Lite"
Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Write to him at the Honolulu Star-Bulletin,
P.O. Box 3080, Honolulu, 96802
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