My Kind of Town

by Don Chapman

Saturday, May 5, 2001

Happy Boys Day

Posted at the edge of the Capitol grounds across from Hotel Street, HPD officer Quinn Ah Sun was just "showing the colors." That's usually enough to stop trouble before it starts. His superiors expected that this hate crimes bill rally -- urging the governor to sign the bill into law -- would be peaceful.

But it sure was a different crowd. Quinn had never seen so many gays in one place. He'd certainly never seen two men kiss as passionately as a young local guy and older haole -- not realizing that he and the local kid were cousins.

The odd couple broke their lip lock and continued along the sidewalk.

"What is that?" Lance Ah Sun said, pointing to a where a group of men in platinum wigs and garish makeup and very bad women's clothes held signs that said, "Transvestites Against Hate Crimes Bill."

"Gabbardites," Greg said.

"Like Mike and Carol Gabbard?"

"Their followers."

That's when Skinhead appeared. Shaved head, short but stocky, a swastika tattooed on one arm, a Roman cross on the other. "F--- you, queers!" he shouted.

Quinn started moving purposefully in that direction.

"I hate you! You got that? And what're you gonna do? Nothing, because you're a bunch of little flower boys!" Instinctively, Lance pulled closer to Greg. Which set off Skinhead.

"Look at you two love birds. God, is that disgusting!"

And he lunged at Lance and Greg, throwing a punch at Lance. Lance was a ballet dancer and light on his feet, and he nimbly sidestepped the attack. But Lance did not see the curb and tripped. He might have steadied himself, but then stumbled on someone's foot and fell backward, Greg reaching out to catch him in vain. Above the shouting, Greg heard the distinctive sound of a skull meeting the concrete curb, like a pumpkin getting squashed.

Never had so many become so quickly quiet. But it lasted only a moment.

Before Quinn could intervene, Greg leaped at Skinhead, slashing at him with his "Hate Sucks" sign. Greg's attack was not as powerful as it was shocking, to himself and even more to Skinhead, who didn't expect these little wussie boys to fight back. And it knocked him down, where a dozen sets of feet began to kick, and Greg took great pleasure in grinding his heel into Skinhead's groin.

The panicked call of a bystander brought him back to reality: "Is there a doctor here?!"

"Stand back!" Quinn shouted. "Police!"

Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin.
He can be emailed at

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