WAIKIKI

By Dennis Oda, Star-Bulletin
The fireworks set off by people on Waikiki Beach got so loud
and smoky that many people had to cover their ears and nose.
This group is in front of the Royal Hawaiian. At midnight, it
was shoulder to shoulder on the beach.

On Waikiki
streets, smiles
outlast smoke

It isn't the bash of bashes
some expected, but it's a happy
party for the folks
who are there

By Burl Burlingame
Star-Bulletin

THE scariest thing about the streets of Waikiki on the cusp of 2000 is how quiet it is. At 11 p.m., it could be a Friday night anytime during the year. Easy parking, wide open on the sidewalks.

"Oh, it'll pick up at midnight," assures Ropi Tialavea, who's been on his feet since 2 p.m., guarding the entrance to International Market Place. "Sure, it's quiet -- most of the stores packed up at 7 -- but midnight will be crazy time around here. Always is on New Year's."

But while the streets were quiet, thousands of people stood shoulder to shoulder on the beach watching the fireworks off of Magic Island and hoping to see a laser light countdown on the slopes of Diamond Head.

By Dennis Oda, Star-Bulletin
Last dance at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel closes out
a memorable night, above.

Heavy smoke obscured the countdown. But at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, Gov. Ben Cayetano launched an electric pineapple that ascended a flagpole to count down the final 10 seconds of 1999.

"As we say in Hawaiian, 'Hauoli Makahiki Hou.' Happy New Year to the World," proclaimed Cayetano.

Back on Kalakaua Avenue, there are people yelling "Toga! Toga!" and they're wearing, yes, togas, like a living outtake from "Animal House." They wander by, whooping. "See?" says Tialavea.

A trio of cops are leaning against the freebie magazine rack. How's it going?

"Excellent!" says one.

"Couldn't be better!" says another.

"We don't allow noise in Waikiki," says the female cop.

By Dennis Oda, Star-Bulletin
Lacey and Ryan Williams, both from Maui, are still partying
on the beach at Waikiki an hour after midnight.

As if in punctuation, there is the sound of a bottle breaking and their heads swivel in unison. Somebody dropped a full beer. Tragedy.

At the Moana Hotel (where ground was broken to build it exactly a century ago, in January 1900) Myra Marche and 4-year-old son Shaquille are rocking in the New Year. Literally. They've acquired a couple of rocking chairs, and are watching the street parade pass by. "We're from the Bahamas, and we usually bring in the New Year the same way, with fireworks and parties," said Myra. "But we went to church today at the Salvation Army and now we're content to sit here and watch.

On Kalakaua, Pearl Harbor submariners Dustin Clark and Karl Schroedel park themselves on the edge of a planter. "Man!" says Clark, consulting his watch. "It took exactly one hour to walk here from Pier 2, by Aloha Tower. Why? To see what all the fuss is about."

By Dennis Oda, Star-Bulletin
Randall Richman, of Los Angeles, makes his own
pyrotechnics in Waikiki by spitting out lighter
fluid onto a hand-held flame.

And so, at Seaside and Kalakaua avenues, where the Breitling Co. has set up a large digital countdown clock, elements of Waikiki gather as if drawn by a magnet. There are a couple of hundred people.

Eventually, it's 5-4-3-2-1-wahoo! and there are waves of testosterone-fueled screeching. The crowd spills over into Kalakaua, by now blocked off. GIs slam into each other, butting heads. Japanese record it all on film and tape. A sailor excitedly borrows pen and paper from a reporter to get a pretty girl's phone number. "Happy New Year!" she winks, and then they soul-kiss.

By 12:11 a.m. today, a phalanx of police golf carts proceed down Kalakaua, gently convincing celebrants to get back on the sidewalk. It's over.

Even so, guys gone goofy with good cheer wander the sidewalk, randomly hugging strangers. Smiling becomes infectious. We're all still here. Take that, Y2K.

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Associated Press contributed to this report