[MERRIE MAGIC]
Heart of SOMEWHERE FROM BACKSTAGE during the third and final night of last year's Merrie Monarch Festival at Hilo's Edith Kanaka'ole Tennis Stadium, a displeased voice drowned out the sounds of several dozen rehearsing hula dancers, chatting security guards and some patrons with a booming, "Where's George!!!"
Merrie Monarch
'Auntie' Dottie Thompson
puts the festival first
By Tim Ryan
Star-BulletinThe person behind the voice was nowhere to be seen but the tone carried such authority and familiarity that everyone knew it wasn't someone to mess with.
The dancers suddenly parted and hefty security guards looked down as the festival's beloved and feared matriarch, president and chairwoman marched by looking for hula master George Naope, who was needed to distribute prizes to close the annual hula event.
"So where is he!" asked Dorothy Thompson, or Auntie Dottie, as she lumbered around backstage, looking for the barely 5-foot Naope who was somewhere in the crowd, wearing a flamboyant cowboy outfit.
Thompson, who at first glance looks like just another sweet old lady with a charming smile, has run Merrie Monarch Festival with an iron fist since 1969. And make no mistake, Thompson always puts the festival's good before anything else. That includes not taking money from major corporations, not moving the event to a bigger venue outside of Hilo, not increasing ticket prices, and not taking on corporate sponsors, all of which, she says, would diminish local control and make the event "too commercial."Thompson's definition of the ideal sponsor is simple: "Someone who donates to Merrie Monarch and asks for nothing in return.
"This festival is for the Hawaiian people, not the business people or corporations," she said during a rare interview at her oceanfront office at the Naniloa Hotel in Hilo. "I don't believe in making any changes just to make more money or to attract more people. That would make it much too commercial and who benefits from that? Not Hawaiians, not the halaus, not the kumu hulas, not Hilo people."
The message, though unstated, is clear: This is not Honolulu.
Several years ago, Thompson says, a large Hawaii financial institution already connected to Merrie Monarch wanted to become a corporate sponsor, then began to make demands. "They started telling me how to run the festival so I kicked them out."
THE TWICE-MARRIED Thompson was still a Hawaii County employee when she volunteered to run Merrie Monarch because no one else wanted to. The festival was in danger of dying.
One of the first things Thompson did was in 1970 to establish new goals to replicate the idea of King David Kalakaua, the Merrie Monarch, to gather the best hula dancers from all the islands, revive the arts and create a performance that is "a rite, a celebration, a fete, a statement" about Hawaii and its people. The goal was also to develop, perpetuate and create a living knowledge of traditional Hawaiian culture by staging workshops, demonstrations, exhibitions and performances that would reach those who did not have access to the culture.
Those first few years were lean years when, Thompson said, the county, Hilo residents and the news media did not support the fledgling event.
"I begged for publicity, but no one would touch us with a 10-foot pole," Thompson said. "If we had 100 people attending (civic center) that was a big crowd."
Funding was so sparse that in 1974 and 1976 Thompson had to get bank loans to keep the festival afloat. Today, Merrie Monarch, which has an all-volunteer staff -- Thompson receives no pay -- costs about $200,000 to stage. The funds come from in-kind services, donations -- none more than $10,000 -- plus T-shirt, program and ticket sales for the 5,000-plus venue, and "some money" from KITV, which has been broadcasting the event since 1981. Hawaii County provides the stadium and manpower to set it up without charge.Thompson pretty much ignores fund-raising issues until December when "I start worrying." But Merrie Monarch has sold out every year for at least a decade. Tickets are purchased or reserved months in advance.
The turning point came in 1976 when festival officials, Thompson actually, agreed to allow the kane, or men, into the hula competition.
"We had a lot of requests; actually in the old days it was the men who danced the hula," she said. "There were plenty of highly qualified kane groups to compete."
THE SECOND FLOOR "Merrie Monarch Suite" at the Naniloa has a commanding view of Hilo Bay and Mauna Kea when the sky is clear. The office is filled with current and past festival posters, new programs, desks, fax machines, photographs of halaus and solo dancers, even bottled water.
The office operates year 'round. The month immediately following the festival, Thompson and company pay outstanding bills and resolve other issues. Then she takes a week's vacation to Las Vegas. When she returns, Thompson starts planning for the next festival, never considering the idea of passing the torch to someone else.
"This has to be done so I do it and it's kept going," she says. "I see what it does for the Hawaiian people, the halaus which have gotten special attention because of what happens here, the (Hawaiian) arts and crafts that have become a tradition."
Thompson saw when no one else could, she says, the "incredible potential" for Hawaiians to use their creativity to make a living for themselves through hula and arts and crafts.
"The festival brought all these people and groups together, which has branched off into more and more halaus and hula competitions," she said. "Merrie Monarch is the grandfather."
The popularity of the festival was dramatically increased by television exposure when KITV began broadcasting the event 20 years ago. Thompson says getting the telecast was "my dream."
"I never really thought it would happen because of the incredible expense," she said.
But in true "Auntie Dottie" fashion, it wasn't the publicity she was after but bringing the event to people unable to attend due to financial or health reasons. One of the rewards of TV coverage has been donations. Last year, a Kauai resident was so touched by the event he donated $5,000; this year he contributed $10,000.
"I asked him what he expected in return and he said nothing," she said. "I accepted the donation but told him not to pressure me to do anything. He hasn't."
Another tradition of festival management is not kowtowing to the media. Reporters and photographers covering the event are not given seats, and barely room to stand. "It's never crossed my mind to give out free tickets to reporters. I put the halaus first because without them we don't have a festival."
IF THOMPSON has any complaints about county government, it's that Hilo could use a larger venue. Thompson believes an 8,000-seat venue would be successful. She also wishes there were at least one more hotel in Hilo because all rooms are sold out months before the event.
That's another reason Thompson shuns publicity, nixing the idea of setting up a Merrie Monarch Website, or even selling advertisements except for two pages in the event's modest black-and-white program. Ad revenue could amount to several thousand dollars and a better looking program, Thompson agreed.
"We get a lot of requests (to take) advertisements, but when I buy a program I hate it when it's all full of ads," she said. "We would have to compromise and probably worry about placement. It's fine the way it is."
As for prohibiting the Web page, Thompson's reason is pragmatic. "So all these people read about Merrie Monarch then come here to see it and they can't get a ticket or a hotel room; how unfair for us to do that; it would be false advertising."
The five Merrie Monarch board members are all chosen by Thompson whom, she admits, rarely disagree with her. Some board members at least in the past have been chosen for their political or business connections. She also annually selects the seven judges based on varying backgrounds and philosophy of hula, she said. This year, 28 halau are in the competition, including groups from California and Texas.
THOMPSON IS A STURDY woman who danced hula as a young girl but admits she had "two left feet." At McKinley High School in Honolulu, Thompson, who was born in Hilo, participated in several sports, excelling in golf.
If this sometimes cantankerous women is anything it's consistent, and she believes firmly in the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" philosophy.
She continues to live in the same modest three-bedroom house given to her by her parents; she attends 11: 30 a.m. Mass at St. Joseph's Catholic Church daily; she always goes to the doctor for a physical a week or two before Merrie Monarch to make sure "everything's working right."
She acts surprised when told how intimidating she can be.
"Everybody says that, but if I have to be tough it's going to be done," says Thompson who drives a massive late-model black Lincoln Continental. "That's just how I have to run things."
When a few years ago someone mistakenly parked in her space at the venue, security and other volunteers jumped into action to locate the offender or have the car towed before "Auntie Dottie" heard about it.
"The boys took care of it," Thompson says with a grin.
Thompson insists that her struggle to keep Merrie Monarch low-key reflects the kumus' wishes. "They like the intimacy and closeness of the festival and that's not about making lots of money," she said. "The hardest part of this job is not taking that bite out of the apple, that temptation to take the money."
Thompson has no plans to step down until God says, "that's it," she says. "We have to keep it status quo and also make it interesting for the people."
But when the time comes, Hilo won't have to look far for Thompson's successor. Her daughter Luana has been knighted.
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