Unconventional visit to
Hawaii’s convention centerCity's expensive new gathering place
By Tomi Knaefler
is great, but only if you're invitedEditor's note: The Hawaii Convention Center will be open to the public from noon to 4:30 p.m. Saturday. Tomi Knaefler says she is not likely to miss it.
I drive past the new and spectacular Hawaii Convention Center quite often after my swim at Ala Moana Beach. The center is always closed without a trace of anyone around, not even workers cleaning the extravagance of top-to-bottom glass walls that dominate the entrance.
One morning several weeks ago I let out a whoop when I saw a crowd of people milling about the center, most of them looking like casual Waikiki tourists, with conspicuous tags instead of leis hanging around their neck.
"Great!" I thought, now I can go and take a look at the center. I drove into a mini shopping area across the street and parked in front of a cafe-deli called "You Hungry?" featuring local grinds.
I walked across the street with a cheerful blond from Kansas City. She said about 5,000 government workers from all over were assembled for this conference.
"I'm having a great time," she said, and looked it. I walked through one of the open glass doors with her and took in the sea of people talking and laughing in the spacious lobby area that opened to a glass ceiling high above.
My main interest was to see the art work commissioned for the center. I took the escalator to the second floor of meeting rooms and took note of the high noise level resulting from the sounds below bouncing off the glass walls.
I poked around the rooms and checked out the first grouping of art installed in the marvelous expanse of corridor. I loved the display of children's art, Rick Mills' striking glass mural of the ocean, Jay Wilson's complex mosaic, and a handsome adjoining mural on the origin of Hawaii.
I came to John Wisnosky's controversial Hawaiiana painting that a reviewer had blasted. Just as I settled down to seriously study the work to see if the harsh criticism directed at the UH art department chairman was warranted, an attractive young woman wearing a security guard's badge on her crisp white shirt approached me.
"Are you a member of the convention?" she asked with a nice smile.
"No," I said, smiling back.
"Are you here on any business?" she asked, again with a smile.
"I want to see the art work," I said, again smiling back.
"Oh," she said, "I have to ask you to leave. Vice President Gore is coming here soon and the Secret Service wants to make sure only convention members are here."
"OK," I said without a smile.
"Which way did you come in?" she asked, still wearing that nice smile.
"One of the front doors," I said.
Just as another female security person came to escort me out, I heard Miss Smile say triumphantly into her cell phone: "I found her..."
The second security guard was not only not a smiler, she was plain rude. Each time I paused to see a bit more of Wisnosky's painting, she would say something like, "All right, all right, get going. Hurry up! You've gotta get outta here right now."
She kept making me feel like a prisoner. Finally, I said: "Listen, I'm entitled to walk through here and see the paintings. I'm helping to pay for this place."
"No, you're not," said Miss Officious. "The hotel room tax paid for this center." (State bonds for the center construction are being paid for by a portion of Hawaii's hotel room tax.)
"That's still money that belongs to the people of Hawaii," I said as I rode down the escalator and was met by two security type men -- one tanned local and one pale of face.
Boy," I said to the husky local fellow. "This is no way to treat a citizen. I feel like a criminal."
"Oh, no," said Mr. Local, "we don't want to treat you like that."
"She does," I said, motioning my head toward Miss Officious.
"The vice president is coming and the Secret Service guys want this place cleared out," said Mr. Local. "Come back Oct. 3. Open house for the public," he said, as he walked me into the courtyard. He jerked his chin up, the very local body speak for "OK, eh, no hard feelings."
I responded with a jerk of my chin -- "OK."
Tomi Knaefler is a former Star-Bulletin writer
and the author of "Our House Divided: Seven Japanese American
Families in World War II," University of Hawaii Press.
