Chapter 5: Sally
Hawaii Incorporated ~ Paradise Gained
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Hawaii Incorporated ~ Paradise Gained
For db
Our little systems have their day.
—from "In Memoriam A.H.H."
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Chapter 5: Sally
Created by AB Cooper
Narrated by Michael Smith
Wednesday Evening, 13 May 1965, The Goddard Estate, Kahala, Oahu
Michael Smith here.
Rob invited me to dinner to help him prepare for Saturday’s Big 5 meeting. Since it was a school night for the kids, we ate early, around six. The meal was simple: grilled mahi-mahi, steamed jasmine rice, and roasted taro, prepared by the prime minister’s kitchen staff under the watchful eye of Mario, the Master Steward of the independent Republic of Hawaii.
A Filipino Hawaiian, Mario had served as Admiral Bull Halsey’s cook during the war. He ran a tight ship, overseeing a team that included a head chef, two sous chefs, and a couple of prep cooks. Beyond the kitchen, he also managed the estate’s household staff of gardeners, housekeepers, security, and the rest of the crew that kept the sprawling property running smoothly. There was always someone tending to the gardens, polishing the Koa wood floors, or tidying up after the kids when they forgot to follow Sally’s rules about cleaning up after themselves. Sally made sure the perks of the family’s position didn’t go to their heads.
The Goddard Estate at No. 1 Black Point Road, completed in 1924, was the first home built in the area. It remains famous in part for its connection to the Goddard family, but also for its daring architecture and renowned gardens. Designed by Howard Roark, a rising young architect at the time, the estate is a testament to his uncompromising vision of modernism and organic design. Roark’s signature use of clean, bold lines and natural materials allows the house to blend into the landscape rather than dominate it, embracing the rugged cliffs and the sea below.
The house itself is a masterpiece of Roark’s philosophy. Large expanses of glass invite the outdoors in, while broad overhangs provide shade and protection from the elements. The central lānai juts out over the water, almost as if it were an extension of the cliff itself, offering uninterrupted views of the endless horizon. Stone, wood, and steel merge seamlessly, creating a space that’s both timeless and perfectly suited to its environment. Inside, open floor plans and floor-to-ceiling windows create an airy, light-filled atmosphere, while exposed beams and polished stone floors add a raw, tactile element. This is a home not just to live in, but to experience. A sanctuary shaped by the elements.
What truly sets the estate apart, though, is the way Roark’s design harmonizes with the surrounding landscape. This was made possible by the great Gertrude Jekyll, the famed British horticulturist and garden designer. Papa George had met Jekyll at a cocktail party hosted by Lady Edith Villiers, Countess of Lytton, during World War I. They became fast friends, and in 1928, after a minor surgery, Jekyll stayed at the Goddard home to convalesce. What started as a restful retreat turned into a transformative project, as Jekyll, inspired by Hawaii’s natural beauty, redesigned the estate’s gardens.
No. 1 Black Point’s gardens are a unique blend of European precision and Hawaiian vibrancy. Native lava rock pathways wind through the property, leading visitors through a tapestry of tropical plants. Jekyll mixed bold native Hawaiian species like hibiscus, ʻōhiʻa lehua, and bougainvillea with formal European perennials, creating an elegant but exuberant garden that blooms year-round and remains stunning to this day.
In the front garden, sculpted hedges offer a sense of formality, while borders of native ferns and ti plants provide a rich, tropical contrast. Large urns filled with bromeliads punctuate the design, adding bursts of color and texture.
Near the cliffside, the gardens take on a wilder, more organic form, echoing the rugged landscape beyond. Native grasses sway in the sea breeze, and fragrant plumeria trees shade paths that meander toward the beach. Cascading bougainvillea vines soften the hard lines of Roark’s architecture, framing the dramatic ocean views.
At Jekyll’s direction, a small water feature was added near a grove of native Koa trees. A stone fountain trickles into a pond filled with lotus flowers, surrounded by beds of gardenias and Hawaiian ginger, their sweet fragrance filling the air.
The rear garden opens onto a private beach, accessible by stone steps carved into the cliffside. The beach is a study in contrast. Some days the waves gently kiss the shore, while on others they crash with force. The scent of salt air mingles with the jasmine from the gardens, completing the sensory experience.
Jekyll’s redesign of the gardens elevated the estate, transforming it into a living masterpiece that complements Roark’s bold architecture. As Rob often said, the house and gardens together stand as a testament to the power of collaboration between human ingenuity and nature.
Dinner was chaotic, and I struggled to keep up with the different balls of conversation bouncing around the table.
Jack, less than a month away from finishing Junior School at the Puakalā School, was brimming with exuberance and bravado about how he had upended some kid named Simon in rugby practice.
"I leveled him," he boasted. "He had to be carried off the field in pieces—one stretcher for his arms, another for his legs—"
Bobby giggled so hard that milk shot out of his nose. Jack and Molly collapsed into hysterics.
"Children," Sally admonished, "we don’t exaggerate, and we certainly don’t celebrate other people’s pain."
"It’s part of the game, Mom," Jack said, dragging out "Mom" in full teenage defiance. Strong-willed like Sally, he had entered a stage that hadn’t been easy for her. He was the most like her of all her children, and it didn’t take much for them to butt heads.
Rob intervened to prevent the inevitable escalation. "I hope you were a good sport afterward."
"Yes, sir," Jack replied unconvincingly.
"Have you checked in with him to make sure he’s okay?"
"No, sir."
"Then right after dinner, you and I will call his parents."
"Dad!" Jack’s protest barely cleared his lips before Rob’s look cut it short. Jack’s eyes darted to me for support. I didn’t even blink—just gave him the don’t even think about it stare. He huffed, rolled his eyes, and resigned himself to sulking.
Despite laughing at Bobby’s nose full of milk, Molly was her usual pleasant self. She had three years left in Junior School, but she might as well have been in high school. With a close-knit group of friends, she was already lobbying her mom to commit to a summer schedule for them.
"I’m thinking Big Island after school ends," she informed Sally. "I want to take them horseback riding on all the hidden trails. Have you called the Parkers yet about borrowing some ponies for Maddie and Gwendoline? And I’m thinking no more than one week of organized camp. We can go to Makapu‘u Beach on our own…"
Bobby, not to be outdone by his older siblings in vying for their parents' attention, asked, "Can we play Monopoly tonight?"
"Not on a school night," Sally answered.
"Big Mike’s here. It can’t be a school night," he countered.
"It’s Wednesday night, stupid," Jack said.
"Jack, one more word out of you," Rob said calmly, "and into the sin bin." The trick still worked on Jack. In rugby, a yellow card sends an unruly player to the sin bin to cool off for a portion of the game, leaving his team a man down.
"Honey," Sally said to Bobby, her tone overly appeasing, at least in Jack and Molly’s eyes. They exchanged a knowing look, their stance obvious: their mother was coddling Bobby again. "Big Mike is here to help Daddy. They need to work after dinner."
"We can play Speed Monopoly!" Bobby bellowed.
Uncle Keller had come up with Speed Monopoly, a version of regular Monopoly that introduced concepts like quick-start distribution, where players began with properties already in hand; accelerated development, which allowed houses to be built without circling the board first; and rolling double bonuses, granting extra advantages beyond just another turn. But as Hawaii’s top property developer, Keller couldn’t help himself. He also introduced advanced concepts like shared rent payments, where multiple players could split ownership of a property; partial interests, allowing players to buy just 50% of a hotel; and free partial interests—small stakes gifted to encourage deals and teach the kids negotiation skills. As a result, the only speedy thing about Speed Monopoly was how quickly it led to frustration, arguments, and tears. The Goddards, especially Bobby, were a competitive bunch, and none of them liked to lose.
Rob gave me the nod, and I said, "Bobby, I’d very much like to play Speed Monopoly with you, but as your mom says, I’m here to work. Can we play this weekend at the ranch?"
"You’re coming with us to the Big Island?!" he shouted. "Cool, Big Mike’s coming with us to the Big Island!"
Crisis averted; the conversation swiftly shifted to whether the kids could bring friends to the Big 5 meeting. That led to a firm no, since the children of the other missionary families would be there, which then sparked a discussion about which ones they liked and which ones they found annoying.
After dinner, Molly and Bobby reluctantly did the dishes, protesting every step of the way. Jack went with his father to make a few phone calls to make amends for what happened to Simon on the rugby field. I joined Sally on the middle lānai, where she sat perched on the edge of her seat, sipping a coffee and nibbling on a biscotti.
The breeze from the ocean carried the scent of jasmine and plumeria, while the sky glowed with a golden-red hue as the sun dipped lower. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight, I thought to myself as I picked up a coffee and a glass of macadamia nut liqueur from the bar tray, which had been wheeled out by one of the stewards, dressed smartly in a crisp white jacket, black bow tie, perfectly pressed trousers, and spit-shined shoes.
"Another beautiful evening in paradise," I said as I settled into a wicker lounge chair with overstuffed pillows.
Sally shot me a disapproving look. At first, I assumed it was for making myself too much at home. If only it had been that.
"How did the Tripartite lunch go?" she asked sharply.
A leading question. We both knew Rob had briefed her in detail. In a split second, my mind scrambled to decode what’s she really asking? and formulate an acceptable response. That split second was punctuated by pure terror.
"Well…" I mumbled, unsure whether I meant good or was merely stalling for a halfway decent answer.
She raised her hand. "Never mind. I’ll cut to the chase, so you don’t embarrass yourself further. What’s going on with you and Stephen Goh’s private secretary?"
I hesitated, not entirely sure how to answer. "I suppose Minister Goh’s worried…that the other families might persuade Rob to maintain the status quo. At first, he seemed opposed to breaking with LBJ, but then he…but then he warmed up to the idea of—"
"You’re a smart boy,” she snapped, “Is that really what he wanted to know?"
I was honestly baffled.
"Why did he send his beautiful private secretary,” she pressed, “to ask something Goh himself could have asked Rob?"
The lightbulb went on. "He was testing me."
"Yes, Michael. He was using the oldest trick in the book. It’s called a honey trap."
"But I didn’t tell her anything. I said it was up to Rob—"
"That’s not the point, Michael. The point is you put yourself in a compromising position that can be exploited."
"But Stephen’s an ally," I protested.
"That makes no difference. He has his own interests. Sometimes they align with ours, sometimes they don’t. In many ways, it’s easier to deal with enemies than with friends. At least with enemies, you always know where you stand."
"Yes, ma’am." A wave of shame engulfed me. My job as Rob’s private secretary was to protect his blind side, and I had jeopardized that by lusting after Lin Mei.
"You did right by not taking the bait," she said, resorting to locker-room talk, something a football head like me could understand. "But you gotta keep your pecker in your pants."
Before I could respond, a terracotta crash shattered the heavy air between us, followed by a high-pitched yelp. A flash of yellow fur tore across the lānai, knocking over a second potted plant, sending hibiscus petals scattering like confetti.
"Butter!" Molly’s voice rang out in exasperation. "Get back here!"
The young Labrador retriever skidded across the stone floor, tail wagging like a helicopter rotor, utterly delighted by her own destruction. The same steward who had wheeled out the drinks tray earlier lunged to stop her, but Butter swerved at the last second, barreling straight toward the drinks cart. The entire tray wobbled precariously, glasses clinking together as the steward threw himself forward just in time to steady it.
Sally let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing her temple. "I declare that dog is more tornado than Labrador."
I barely held back a laugh as Molly came barreling after Butter. She said, out of breath, "Sorry, sorry! She got out when Bobby opened the back door!"
"She thinks it’s a game," I observed.
"Destroying the garden is hardly a game," Sally retorted, eyeing the scattered remains of her carefully curated floral arrangement. "It's why we call her the Garden Bandit."
Butter whined innocently, as if she hadn’t just upended half the lānai. Then she spotted the biscotti on Sally’s saucer. One big leap, and—
"Oh, no you don’t!" Sally snatched her coffee and treat just in time, leveling her daughter with a look.
"I'll take her back inside," Molly sighed, grabbing Butter by the collar.
"Good idea," I said, grinning. "Before she steals my drink."
As Molly dragged the wiggling Labrador away, Sally shot me a dry look. "You're enjoying this, aren’t you?"
"I’m just relieved Butter got here before another round of questioning," I said, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
My quip seemed to break the tension from before.
"You’re family," she emphasized. "You can’t trust anyone out there, including Stephen Goh. Only us."
"Yes, ma’am."
"Good," she said. "Pour yourself another drink. Rob should be here shortly."
As if on cue, Rob appeared on the lānai just as I sat back down with a second drink. This time, I sat upright on the edge of the chair.
"The Garden Bandit?" he asked, surveying the damage.
"You bet," Sally responded.
Unfazed by the destruction, Rob poured himself a brandy and settled into his overstuffed wicker chair, propping his feet up on the coffee table. He said to Sally, "Spoke with Simon’s parents. No worse for wear. I think they were slightly embarrassed by the call. They kept apologizing for taking up my time."
"It’s not every day they get a call from the prime minister," Sally said.
The sun was setting. At Sally’s suggestion, we took the moment to sip our drinks and enjoy the quiet before turning our attention to the Big 5.
Watching Rob and Sally take in the sunset, my mind wandered to my parents. They were hardworking farmers who toiled from dawn to dusk and collapsed into bed at night. Wonderful, loving people, but simple. Nothing like Rob and Sally.
Actually, it was Keller whom Sally had fallen for first, according to family lore. They were in the same class, two years behind Rob at Puakalā School. Rob was the studious, upright class president, predestined to be a great leader. Many girls wanted to date him, but he was aloof, more focused on his studies, rugby, and student government. He couldn’t wait to follow in Papa George’s footsteps at Cambridge, where he planned to play rugby and study law. He was a youthful version of his current self—broad-shouldered, tall, and lanky, not yet filled out as he would be as an adult.
Keller achieved big-man-on-campus status his sophomore year. Taller than Rob, with a more powerful build, Keller exuded confidence. His tousled reddish-brown hair, perpetually disheveled as if he’d just left the rugby field, added to his charm. His piercing blue eyes could shift from playful to intense in an instant, and his easy smile never failed to draw attention.
He started at openside flanker on the varsity rugby team as a freshman, a rare achievement in itself, and took over the Number Eight position as a sophomore. As Number Eight, he was the rugby equivalent of a quarterback, running back, and defensive end all in one, linking the forwards and backs, carrying the ball from the scrum, and dominating the rucks with strength and intensity. His rebellious streak, which included skipping class and bending rules without quite breaking them, made him even more appealing. All the girls liked him.
Keller cemented his status when he started dating Sally Carleton. With her sandy blonde hair falling straight to her mid-back and her tanned, athletic build, she belonged as much on a surfboard as she did flying down the rugby pitch, leaving the other girls in her wake. She was the It girl of Puakalā School, the high school equivalent of It girl Betty Grable. They shared the same golden-blonde hair, athletic grace, and that ineffable quality that drew all eyes. Like Grable, Sally combined wholesome charm with just enough glamour to make the boys' hearts race. All the girls wanted to be her.
It was Friday afternoon, November 7, 1941, when Rob appeared on Sally’s radar. Puakalā School was preparing for the annual Kaulana Festival, a celebration of the school and its traditions. The next day’s events would feature the Puakalā Legacy Cup, a coed touch rugby game between the alumni and the boys' and girls' varsity teams. Sally, Rob, and Keller were all planning to play.
The forecast for Saturday was sunny and humid, but Friday afternoon brought a threatening sky. Weather reports predicted only the edges of the storm would reach Mānoa Valley. Confident in Hawaii’s predictable afternoon showers and the forecast, Sally proceeded with setting up decorations. (In Hawaii, you can set your watch to the afternoon rain. It seems to rain almost daily, not enough to send you inside, but enough to cool things off and keep everything lush and green.)
Sally, head of the festival’s decoration committee, directed her team as they draped garlands of plumeria, hibiscus, and orchids over fences and school entrances. Tiki torches stood like sentinels along the walkways. Hand-painted banners reading Aloha and Kaulana Festival hung between trees, adorned with traditional Hawaiian designs. Kapa cloth flags fluttered in the wind, and palm fronds framed the entrance to the school’s main hall. Paper lanterns lined the walkways, ready to cast a soft glow after sunset.
Meanwhile, Keller was more interested in hanging around, impressing Sally and her friends, than in helping with decorations. As the afternoon wore on, his antics grew bolder, fueled by beers he and his buddies had secretly downed earlier. His exaggerated stories and loud jokes usually amused Sally, but she was anxious to get the work done. His antics started to wear thin.
“Quit fooling around, Keller!” she snapped.
The group froze. The perfect couple never fought. Trying to soften her words, she added, “You’re out of control.”
Then the storm hit.
The afternoon turned dark. Violent winds ripped through the school grounds. Tents collapsed. Decorations flew. Panic spread as students and faculty scrambled for cover. Torrential rain soaked everyone in minutes. Shouts filled the air as people ran amid the chaos.
Keller, still trying to impress, spotted a group of younger students huddled together, frightened and unsure where to go. Without thinking, he waved them toward the groundskeeper’s shed, believing it would offer shelter. His voice was steady, but his judgment, clouded by alcohol and adrenaline, was shaky.
Sally watched in horror. The shed wasn’t safe. The wind battered its flimsy aluminum walls, and the tin roof looked ready to give way. She wanted to shout, but the storm drowned out her voice.
Then Rob appeared out of nowhere. He huddled with Keller, pointed to the concrete restrooms behind the rugby stands, and started moving the kids toward safety. Keller led the way. Rob, pushing from behind, kept the group together as they crossed the field.
Halfway there, a river of water surged down from the valley, slamming against the shed. The force, combined with the wind, ripped the tin roof clean off.
Sally stood frozen. If Rob hadn’t intervened, those kids would’ve been inside.
She ran toward them, catching up just in time to grab the back of Rob’s shirt and point toward the demolished shed. “That could’ve been the kids!” she shouted over the wind and rain.
She expected him to react with shock, but the near disaster only strengthened his resolve. “Keep moving!” Rob shouted to Keller. “We’ve got to get them to safety.”
After the storm passed and the cleanup began, Sally found herself alone with Rob.
“That was quick thinking,” she said.
Rob glanced at her. She was prettier than he remembered, but the thought passed as quickly as it came when she added, “You saved those kids.”
Never comfortable with praise, Rob deflected. “I don’t know . . . Keller would’ve figured it out before things got out of hand.”
To this day, Sally says that was the moment she fell for Rob.
As the sun dipped behind the horizon, Rob turned to Sally. “Another coffee or a drink?”
“No thanks,” she said. “I’ve reached my limit for the night.”
Rob motioned for me to top off my glass, which I did before settling back into my seat.
“I hope dinner wasn’t too chaotic for you, Big Mike,” Rob said, using the kids’ name for me.
“Sir, not at all. It reminds me of growing up, only with one less sibling to compete with for food.” (I have four siblings.)
“I know they love having you over,” Sally said.
“Thank you, ma’am. The food was delicious, as usual.”
“Let’s get down to business so you can go home,” Rob said, lighting a cigar, ignoring Sally’s disapproving look. She disliked when he smoked in front of her. He offered me one, but I politely declined.
“Keller’s a lock. And we can count on Jimbo, of course.”
“Of course,” Sally agreed. “Not only is he a good friend, but his heart is in Asia, not America.”
James “Jimbo” Everton III was a war buddy of Rob’s. He and his wife, Margaret, were good friends of Sally and Rob. Everton’s father, Junior, started Hawaiian Asiatic Underwriters in Shanghai in 1919. He moved the company to Hawaii in 1939 when Japan invaded China. During the war, Junior provided insurance to American military personnel. After the war, he restarted his Chinese operations and underwrote insurance for American military and civilian personnel during the occupation of Japan under General Douglas MacArthur. When Mao expelled him from China in 1949, he handed the company over to his son, who rebranded it as Hawaii International Group (HIG). Since then, HIG’s global headquarters had been in Honolulu. By 1965, it had operations in Southeast Asia, Western Europe, including Berlin, parts of Latin America, and the Middle East, but not in the U.S.
“Ashcroft’s a banker,” Rob continued. “He’ll hitch his wagon to whichever way the wind blows.”
“Sorry to interrupt, PM,” I said. “I’m confused.”
Rob nodded for me to continue. “We have the support of the Tripartite, right? Why do we need to worry about the Big Five?”
Rob took a deep puff on his cigar. As he waved the smoke away from Sally, he said, “Sal, do you want to explain to my young American cousin? You understand the players better than I do.”
I looked at Sally quizzically.
“What Rob is indelicately reminding me of is that, in my youthful indiscretion, I dated Keller and Langdon—”
“And Ashcroft and Worthington wanted to,” Rob teased.
“Not Worthington,” she protested. “He’s twenty years my senior!”
“When did you date Langdon?” I asked.
“When I was in nursing school,” she answered. “But only briefly. Very briefly.”
After graduating a year early from Puakalā School in June 1943, Sally immediately enrolled in the nursing program at Queen’s Hospital. Under normal circumstances, the peacetime curriculum spanned three years, but with the war effort pressing, an accelerated track reduced the program to two. Sally completed her training in just a year and a half, earning her nursing degree in December 1944. The following month, she joined the U.S. Navy Nurse Corps and was assigned to the Naval Hospital at Pearl Harbor, stepping directly into the heart of wartime medical service.
“Did you dump Langdon for the PM?” I asked.
“Not exactly,” she replied. “I knew from the beginning he wasn’t the right guy. Seeing Rob in the hospital accelerated the inevitable.”
Here, I must confess: I was probing for clues. Family lore claimed Sally’s encounter with Rob at the hospital was serendipitous, but I had my doubts. Matchmaking was common among the old missionary families. I was curious if their meeting at the hospital had been arranged.
“So you weren’t dating Langdon when you stumbled upon the PM convalescing at the Naval Hospital?” I pressed.
Sally didn’t bite. “What are you getting at, Michael?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, a bit disingenuously, knowing I was about to retreat and cover my tracks. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I guess I’m just trying to figure out how the families fit together. Growing up in Michigan, we always heard stories about the Goddards, but I know little about the other families or the Big Five dynamics—or why we need to worry about them since the Tripartite is on board with the pivot to Asia.”
Rob and Sally exchanged a glance. Rob nodded for her to answer.
“Intrafamily dynamics are complicated enough,” Sally said. “Interfamily dynamics are exponentially worse, especially among the old missionary families. It’s like a tangled ball of twine with hundreds of knots—relationship knots, business knots. Slights. Injury. Trauma.
“It’s not that we need their permission to break with the U.S. The Big Five’s power has been fading since the Republic was formed five years ago. But that doesn’t mean they can’t make our lives difficult. If we secure a majority, we can keep the minority from causing trouble.
“As for Langdon...” Sally’s voice cooled. “Well, that’s complicated.”
"Because you dated him?" I ventured.
She shot me a look that could have frozen lava. "No, Michael. Because Thurston…because Thurston Langdon runs the Honolulu Gazette, and he's still bitter about the statehood referendum. He believed Hawaii’s future lay with America."
"And he resents Rob for defeating statehood?"
"Among other things." Sally took a sip of her coffee. "Thurston was a statehood advocate from the beginning. He used the Gazette to promote American values, American culture—American everything. When the LDP defeated the referendum, it was a personal blow. He saw it as a rejection of everything he stood for."
I nodded, sensing there was more. "And the other things?"
Sally’s expression softened slightly. "Thurston always thought he deserved better. A better newspaper, better political connections..." She hesitated. "A better wife."
The implication hung in the air.
"He resents Rob because he married you," I said, more statement than question.
Sally’s response was diplomatic. "Thurston has many resentments. Let’s just say our brief time together showed me exactly who he wasn’t—and who I needed."
Rob, having refreshed his brandy, added, "Langdon’s paper will be the first to publish an exposé against our economic plan. Count on it."
"Which brings us to Worthington," Sally continued. "Shipping magnate, old money, paranoid about Communism."
"And entirely dependent on the pineapple and sugar trade with America," Rob said, settling back into his chair.
Sally nodded. "Precisely. Worthington Shipping handles nearly 70 percent of Hawaii’s agricultural exports to the U.S. If LBJ slaps tariffs on our goods, Worthington takes a double hit—his customers sell less, so they ship less."
“And pivoting to Asia means competing with Asian shipping companies, especially Ben Tanaka’s family business," I said, recalling details from my Economic Development Board briefing papers. "The data shows that if Worthington loses access to the U.S. market and can’t compete with Asian shippers, he’ll go under."
"Very good, Michael," Rob said approvingly. "But for Worthington, it’s not just economics—it’s politics. He’s not only paranoid about Communist infiltration among his dockworkers; he’s convinced that breaking with the U.S. would open the door to Chinese political influence—one that could lead to a cultural revolution of sorts in the Republic.
I considered the Big 5 numbers. "So, we have Keller on our side. Jimbo Everton’s heart is in Asia, not America. Ashcroft will follow whatever’s profitable. Langdon and Worthington will likely oppose the plan." I counted on my fingers. "That’s three to two in our favor. Why are we worried?"
Rob exchanged a look with Sally. "Because it’s not just about having a majority vote," he explained. "Like Sally said earlier, it’s about keeping a determined minority from causing trouble. Langdon controls the most influential newspaper in Hawaii. Worthington controls the docks."
"And if they decide to fight us..." Sally began.
"...they can," Rob finished. "Worthington could slow shipments under the guise of ‘labor disputes.’ Langdon could launch a media blitz against the plan, stoking fears of Communism and economic collapse."
"So, what’s the strategy?" I asked.
Rob grinned. "We present them with a fait accompli."
"The 'Publish the Plan and Ask Forgiveness Later' strategy," Sally added with a smile.
"I don’t follow," I admitted.
Rob leaned in. "Before Saturday’s Big 5 meeting, we announce public forums across the islands to discuss our economic plan."
"The Islands of Profit initiative," Sally clarified.
"And what about Aloha Cap?" I asked.
Her eyes lit up. "That’s where it gets interesting. Aloha Cap will be the engine that drives everything. We’ll announce strategic investments in key industries on each island, targeted partnerships with international firms—especially Japanese—and a comprehensive housing initiative to support growth."
“Isn’t it too soon?” I asked. “We haven’t finalized the investments yet.”
“Don’t worry,” Sally said with a knowing smile. “We’ll catch up.”
"The press release goes out tomorrow," Rob said. "The Economic Development Board—Ben’s team—will explain how each island specializes: Niʻihau for entertainment and gaming, Kauaʻi for defense, Oʻahu for finance, Molokaʻi for manufacturing...
"...Lānaʻi for technology, Maui for education, Kahoʻolawe for energy, and the Big Island for agriculture. A diversified economy that reduces reliance on any single nation."
"By the time we meet with the Big 5 on Saturday," Rob continued, "public momentum will be on our side. Even if Langdon and Worthington object, they’ll be fighting against public opinion, not just us."
"It’s risky," Sally acknowledged. "Langdon will be furious we didn’t consult him. Worthington will see this as a direct threat to his shipping empire."
"But they’ll have to adapt or be left behind," Rob said confidently. "The messaging will emphasize job creation, higher wages, affordable housing, and Hawaiian control over our economy. Who can argue with that?"
"The message is clear," Sally added. "Everyone gets a stake in Hawaii’s future. Property ownership for all."
Rob checked his watch. "We should wrap up. I have calls to make before tomorrow’s announcement."
"One last question," I said. "What if the Big 5 meeting turns ugly? What’s the backup plan?"
Rob and Sally exchanged another look—one of those wordless conversations long-married couples have.
"If diplomacy fails," Rob said carefully, "we have other means. The LDP controls Parliament. We can regulate shipping rates, mandate dock access, impose new media ownership rules..."
"But that’s the nuclear option," Sally warned. "It would leave scars that might never heal."
"Which is why we’re building public support now," Rob concluded. "By Saturday, even Langdon and Worthington will see the writing on the wall. It’s easier to join a winning team than fight a losing battle."
"And Ashcroft?" I asked. "He’ll follow suit?"
"Absolutely," Sally said. "He’s a banker."
Rob stood, stretching. "Michael, coordinate with Ben’s team tomorrow. Make sure the press release covers all the key points."
As the last light faded, their resolve was unmistakable.
Rob clapped me on the shoulder. "Get some rest, Michael. Tomorrow’s press release marks the beginning of the end for the Big 5."
Next on the docket: The Annual Big 5 Meeting
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