American History Tellers - Hawaiʻi's Journey to Statehood | Waves of Change | 3

Episode Date: April 5, 2023

After Hawai’i became a U.S. Territory in 1900, tourism to the islands exploded. Luxury steamships brought tourists eager to buy fashionable Hawaiian shirts, try their hand at surfing, and stay at fancy hotels that began to dot the beach at Waikiki. The U.S. military expanded its presence, too – bringing thousands of sailors and soldiers to the islands. But as tourism transformed the economy, Native Hawaiians became further marginalized. Then a sensational murder case exposed the dark underside of race and class divisions in Hawai’i’s changing society.Listen ad free with Wondery+. Join Wondery+ for exclusives, binges, early access, and ad free listening. Available in the Wondery App. https://wondery.app.link/historytellersSupport us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's May 1907. You're sitting beneath the gnarled limbs of a hibiscus tree near the Moana Hotel on Honolulu's Waikiki Beach. You're taking a break from swimming and surfing with your fellow beach boys. One of them strums an ukulele as gentle waves lap against the sand. Down the beach away, walking towards you from the pier outside the hotel, is a white couple, Sandy and Sunburn.

The woman holds a parasol overhead, and the man is wearing black swim trunks and dirty white socks, carrying a short wooden board. When he approaches, he greets you with a smile. Hello there, hi. My name's Jack, and this is my wife, Charmian. I heard you're the man I should talk to if I want to learn surf riding. Well, welcome to our beach, aloha. You want to ride our waves? Yes, friend, I do. We met a man named Ford yesterday,

and he tells us you're the best surf rider in all Hawaii. Can you teach me? Well, I'm not on that piece of driftwood. I can't. You need a man-sized board. Come with me. The man's wife sits and listens to your friends play songs on the ukulele while you lead him down to where you stacked your surfboards on the beach. You give him a ten-foot wooden board that you carved by hand. Here, this seems more your size. The man studies the board, admiring the grain of the wood. This is beautiful. Tell me, you get many white men like me coming down here for lessons?

No, not many, but they have been coming for a long time now. Like Mark Twain. Yes, he was one of the first. Long before I was born. They say he never got the hang of it, though. Well, I'm a writer too, you know. But I'm determined to learn. Nothing against Mr. Twain, of course. You take a closer look at the man. A writer, huh? His name's Jack?

Any chance you're Jack London? I read about your boat in the papers. They said you were lost at sea. Well, yeah, that's me. But you can't believe everything you read. My wife and I left San Francisco about a month ago. Just arrived yesterday. Our little boat, yeah, took on some water, but she got us here safely.

Well, I'm glad you made it. As for surf riding, you should know it's not as easy as it may look. But if you really safely. Well, I'm glad you made it. As for surf riding, you should know it's not as easy as it may look. But if you really want to learn, I can teach you. I've been doing it my whole life. I'm excited to learn. Watching these men out there on the surf, gliding over the waves, cutting through the water, but with such grace. I tell you, you look like kings out there. Not much royalty left around here, I'm afraid. Ah, no, I suppose not. Terrible stuff, that. My wife is meeting the former queen tomorrow, actually. What they did to her back in 93? You people have been treated just the same as the North American Indian, I tell you. Well,

I don't know about all that. What I do know is the ocean and the waves, so let's see how long we can keep you upright, now that you have a proper board. You grab your 16-foot board made of koa wood and wade out into the surf. Jack London waves to his wife and splashes in after you. You're happy to give these lessons to the occasional tourist, especially someone famous like Jack. Someone who can spread the word about your culture and traditions. Because with more and more hotels going up along this beach, it feels like your people are being squeezed out. But maybe if more Americans learn about surf riding, it will help you preserve your shrinking community. And you'll still be able to call these beaches your own. Hey, this is Nick.

And this is Jack. And we just launched a brand new podcast called The Best Idea Yet. You may have heard of it. It's all about the untold origin stories of the products you're obsessed with. Listen to The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. Kill List is a true story of how I ended up in a race against time to warn those whose lives were in danger. Follow Kill List wherever you get your podcasts.

You can listen to Kill List and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. After Hawaii became a U.S. territory in 1900, Americans began to hear more about the island's exotic attractions, its food, music, and a sport called surf riding. Celebrities like author Jack London came to the islands hoping to take lessons from men like surfing pioneer Duke Kahanamoku, who grew up on Waikiki Beach.

The influential men who pushed for this boom in tourism were the same ones who had helped overthrow Hawaii's queen in 1893. They owned sugar plantations or ran one of the so-called Big Five corporations that had come to dominate Hawaii's economy. To expand their empires and supplement the island's sugar and pineapple economy, they built passenger ships and hotels and aggressively promoted Hawaii as a tourist-friendly tropical paradise. In time, the U.S. military would expand its presence too. Thousands of sailors and soldiers came to the islands, but their growing numbers led to tensions with locals and eventually

to a murder trial that made headlines around the world. This is Episode 3, Waves of Change. At the end of the 19th century, Waikiki was a sleepy village of dirt roads, grass huts, and a few small hotels, three miles southeast of downtown Honolulu. Much of the land had once been a vacation spot for Hawaiian royalty, a place for kings and queens and their families to escape Iolani Palace and enjoy the cool ocean breeze. When Hawaii became a U.S. territory at the turn of the century, the same American lawyers and businessmen who had overthrown Queen Liliuokalani turned their attention to Waikiki and began transforming it into a tourist destination for wealthy Americans. One of their leaders was Lauren

Thurston, who had helped orchestrate the coup against the queen. Thurston founded the Hawaiian Bureau of Information to promote the islands in American newspapers and magazines. In 1903, with $15,000 from the territorial legislature, he launched a broader marketing campaign to lure visitors, investors, and new residents. One of his favorite phrases was Hawaii for health, pleasure, and profit. In 1906, Thurston's Bureau of Information rebranded itself as the Hawaiian Promotion Committee and hired Thomas Edison's Moving Picture Company to film surf riders at Waikiki and other tropical scenes. These short films would appear in theaters across the United States, Canada, and Europe. The committee also hired Alexander Hume Ford, a world traveler and journalist from South Carolina

who had become a champion of all things Hawaiian, especially Waikiki. Ford wrote numerous articles for the committee, extolling the virtues of Hawaii, especially for white entrepreneurs and investors. He once described the islands as a land of opportunity for the quick, courageous white man. And after learning to surf from Hawaiians, Ford created his own surf club, the Outrigger Canoe Club, but closed its membership to exclude non-whites. And then, in 1907, in a hotel on Waikiki Beach, Ford encouraged the American writer Jack London to try surfing. London and his wife, Charmian, had sailed to Oahu from San Francisco,

inspired by the writings of Mark Twain, who had himself traveled to Hawaii in 1866. During their visit, London and his wife met the deposed Queen Lily Okolani. Charmian was saddened by what she would later describe as the Queen's cold hatred of everything American. Jack would compare the overthrow of the monarchy to the morally indefensible subjugation and slaughter of Native American Indians. But London was fascinated by surfing. His depictions of the surfers at Waikiki appeared in U.S. magazines and later in a book about his Hawaiian travels. He created an enduring image of the surfer as a godlike athlete,

buried to his loins in smoking spray, caught up by the sea and flung landward, living life as the best of us may live it. These portrayals captured the public's imagination and lured more curious tourists to the islands. But at the time of London's visit, only a handful of Hawaiians still practiced surf riding. The sport had been nearly snuffed out by Christian missionaries, who came to the islands beginning in the 1820s and pressured natives to give up their language and traditions. The man credited with reviving surfing and bringing it to the

masses was Duke Kahanamoku, who met Jack London in 1907. Kahanamoku had been born in 1890, a few blocks from the royal palace. After the queen was deposed, his family moved from downtown Honolulu to Waikiki, living in a few small cottages on a three-acre parcel that had been granted to them by the royal family. The beach was just a short walk away, and their lives were tied deeply to the sea, where they fished, swam, and surfed. Kohonomoku was a powerful swimmer who competed at the 1912, 1920, and 1924 Olympic Games. But it was his first gold medal in the 1912 Olympics, competing in Stockholm,

Sweden, that first made him a phenomenon. Loren Thurston, sensing another promotional opportunity, spearheaded a fundraiser to pay for Kahanamoku's training and travels. And when Kahanamoku won gold in the 100-meter freestyle, Thurston called it the perfect advertising scheme that would bring more positive attention to the islands. The Hawaiian Promotion Committee then financed a global tour for Kahanamoku. His surfing demonstrations at beaches in New Jersey, Australia, and Southern California helped export Hawaii's homegrown sport. But every time Kahanamoku returned home, more buildings had sprung up, marring his beachside village and looming over his surf spots. Into the 1920s, parts of Waikiki and other areas of Oahu were demolished to make way for hotels,

office buildings, and apartments. Waikiki wetlands and ancient fish ponds were drained to create space for an expanded military base. Some residents, mostly native Hawaiians, were evicted to make way for the new development and ended up living in a homeless camp called Squattersville. Then in 1926, construction crews broke ground on a piece of Waikiki land considered sacred to Native Hawaiians. As usual, the powerful forces behind Big Sugar were involved. The newest attraction would be known as the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, but to some locals, it was an omen of their disappearing way of life. Imagine it's February 1st, 1927, opening night at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel on Waikiki Beach.

You're the head of the company that built the hotel, the largest to ever rise above the prize beachfront. And tonight, you're standing nervously in the lobby put flowery leis around each guest's neck. In the crowd, you spot your most important VIP, Princess Abigail Kawananakoa, a descendant of the former king. You adjust your bow tie and walk over to pay your respects. Princess Abigail, good evening. Welcome to the Royal Hawaiian. Good evening, sir. And who are you? I guess you could say I'm the brains behind this hotel.

My company built it. We own the Moana Hotel next door as well. Ah, so you're with Mattson, the shipping company that's now in the hotel business. That's right. I'm sorry I wasn't able to watch your ceremony earlier. Busy getting things ready around here. I heard, though, it was a remarkable performance.

Earlier this afternoon, the princess led a reenactment of King Kamehameha's landing at Waikiki in 1794. Spear-toting men in loincloths acted as chiefs and warriors, paddling their canoes ashore to commemorate the king's campaign to unify the Hawaiian islands. But the princess shrugs off your compliment and casts a haughty gaze around the lobby. Yes, since this hotel is built on royal land, I felt it was important to remind people of our history. Interesting that you chose to name this place the Royal Hawaiian. Well, why yes, we chose the hotel's name to honor your people and the land. Just as Mark Twain referred to this

spot as the King's Grove, our advertising men are calling it the Beach of Kings. I think that's beautiful. It was beautiful. When King Kamehameha lived here, this area was known as Halamoa. The king's chief surfed those waters out there. And did you know Waikiki, in my language, means spouting waters? No, I didn't. I'm afraid I don't know much about your language. Not many people do these days. Here's another word for you, enahau. It means cool land, and it was the name of my family's summer home. The queen lived there after they deposed her. The house sat where the bungalows of your Moana hotel were built. This conversation is starting to make you uncomfortable.

You glance around the lobby at other guests looking for an escape. Well, I'm sorry, princess, I don't know much about that. What I do know is that Waikiki is a beautiful place, and we're trying to create a welcoming resort for visitors who want to experience Hawaii for themselves. Visitors. And by visitors, you mean white people, of course. Howlies. Meanwhile, hotels like this are putting my people out on the street. Well, forgive me, princess, but I see a hotel manager over there, and he seems to need my help. So if you'll excuse me, I hope you enjoy your evening. You leave the princess standing in the lobby, surrounded by the surging crowd of well-dressed partiers.

In some ways, you admire her, a living symbol of the old Hawaii, a place you've come to love and appreciate. But your magnificent hotel represents the new Hawaii. And as far as you're concerned, there's no turning back the clock. The opening of the Royal Hawaiian Hotel in February 1927 was a landmark event for Waikiki and in the history of Hawaiian tourism. But for some, Hawaii's first world-class luxury hotel came at the cost of the local community. The hotel was built on 12 acres leased from descendants of King Kamehameha, property known as the Bishop Estate.

The $4 million, six-story hotel had 400 rooms and loomed above the narrow beach. With its bright pink stucco facade, it became known as the Pink Palace. The opening night banquet was packed with hundreds of guests in gowns and tuxedos. Hula dancers and Hawaiian singers provided entertainment, and the party lasted until 2 a.m. The next day's headlines gushed, World Comes to Honolulu at Opening, and Aloha Spirit Hovers Over Great Palace. Lorne Thurston's paper, the Honolulu Advertiser, praised the hotel as kaleidoscopic and phantasmagoric. His competition, the Honolulu Star Bulletin, published an 80-page souvenir edition

that lingered over every detail of the property. The first registered hotel guest was Princess Abigail Kawananakoa, a descendant of Hawaiian nobility and also the daughter of a powerful Irish-American sugar baron, James Campbell. But her father had been loyal to the monarchy and married into the royal family. The princess was an active champion of workers' rights and advocated to protect Native Hawaiian culture and history. At the time, she was considering a run for Hawaiian delegate to Congress. But she did not have high regard for the new hotel. The brainchild of Ed Tenney, head of the Mattson Navigation Company, which for decades had been transporting sugar and supplies between Hawaii and California. But after Hawaii became a U.S. territory, Mattson expanded into passenger service and built some of the largest and fastest ocean liners in

the Pacific. Its regular service from San Francisco and Los Angeles to Honolulu delivered many thousands of tourists to the islands. And their brand-new Royal Hawaiian Hotel was also a success. Teni's lavish tropical fantasy helped bring more than 20,000 tourists to Oahu in 1928 alone. But its luxurious amenities only highlighted a growing economic disparity and cultural polarization that was dividing Hawaii along racial lines. And soon, the Great Depression would exacerbate those divides. But it would be a racially charged criminal case that finally shattered the island's tourist-friendly image.

I'm Tristan Redman, and as a journalist, I've never believed in ghosts. But when I discovered that my wife's great-grandmother was murdered in the house next door to where I grew up, I started wondering about the inexplicable things that happened in my childhood bedroom. When I tried to find out more, I discovered that someone who slept in my room after me, someone I'd never met, was visited by the ghost of a faceless woman. So I started digging into the murder in my wife's family, and I unearthed family secrets nobody could have imagined. Ghost Story won Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024 Ambees and is a Best True Crime nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024. Ghost Story is now the first ever Apple Podcast Series Essential.

Each month, Apple Podcast editors spotlight one series that has captivated listeners with masterful storytelling, creative excellence, and a unique creative voice and vision. To recognize Ghost Story being chosen as the first series essential, Wondery has made it ad-free for a limited time, only on Apple Podcasts. If you haven't listened yet, head over to Apple Podcasts to hear for yourself. In November 1991, media tycoon Robert Maxwell mysteriously vanished from his luxury yacht in the Canary Islands. But it wasn't just his body that would come to the surface in the days that followed. It soon emerged that Robert's business was on the brink of collapse,

and behind his facade of wealth and success was a litany of bad investments, mounting debt, and multi-million dollar fraud. Hi, I'm Lindsey Graham, the host of Wondery Show Business Movers. We tell the true stories of business leaders who risked it all, the critical moments that define their journey, and the ideas that transform the way we live our lives. In our latest series, a young refugee fleeing the Nazis arrives in Britain determined to make something of his life.

Taking the name Robert Maxwell, he builds a publishing and newspaper empire that spans the globe. But ambition eventually curdles into desperation, and Roberts' determination to succeed turns into a willingness to do anything to get ahead. Follow Business Movers wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. Over the first quarter of the 20th century, Hawaii underwent a dramatic demographic shift. The development of hotels, restaurants, and other tourism-related businesses

fueled a growing service economy, which attracted a multicultural mix of workers. Japanese, Chinese, Filipino, and Portuguese workers from the sugar and pineapple plantations made their way into Honolulu and other cities, like Hilo on the Big Island of Hawaii and Lahaina on Maui. They started small businesses, raised families, and created schools, social clubs, and churches. A new middle class began to rise, and with it, a new multiracial Hawaiian culture. By the end of the 1920s, three-fourths of Hawaii's population was non-white, a mix of Japanese, Filipino, Chinese, and Portuguese. Although full-blooded Native Hawaiians accounted for just 15% of the population, many more were mixed race.

Interracial marriages were common in Hawaii, even as many U.S. states had laws banning such unions. And since the overthrow of the queen, Hawaii's population had more than doubled to a quarter million. And during that time, it became the most racially and culturally diverse place in the United States. The largest ethnic group was Japanese, accounting for four in ten islanders. They led the shift from farms to cities, leaving the plantations to open small businesses like restaurants, grocery stores, barbershops, bakeries, and pool halls. One such entrepreneur was Chitaro Miyamoto, who came to Honolulu in 1899 to open a tailor shop on King Street in Honolulu's Chinatown.

He called it Musashiya, a derivation of the name of his home province in Japan. When Miyamoto died, the eldest of his two sons, Koichiro, took over. By then, the shop was known as Musashiya the Shirtmaker, and it would contribute to the birth of Hawaii's best-known fashion export. Imagine it's 1928. You're in the back room of your family's tailor shop on King Street. Your father started the business when he emigrated from Japan, and you took over after he died several years ago. But lately, business has slowed, forcing you to take out a loan to keep things going.

Now your banker is here, urging you to invest in newspaper ads to drum up business. I think it's a good idea. I mean, remember the ads your father did with the pigeon English? You remember those and you hated them with the intentionally bad grammar and the cartoon figures, but your white banker can't stop talking about them. People love those ads. They were very funny. I don't know. That was a long time ago. Besides, I didn't think they were funny. They made fun of how my dad talked. But they worked. They kept your dad's business going, right? And if you can't come up with a good gimmick like that, I'm afraid you're going to lose this place.

You hate to admit it, but you are in trouble. You need something to get more business. And it's right then when something occurs to you. Well, I do have one idea. Oh, let's hear it. Well, we ordered these bolts of kimono fabric from Japan, but we had more than we could use, so I had my shirt maker take the material

and make a few short-sleeved men's shirts. It was just as an experiment. I wasn't sure people would want men's shirts with floral prints, but we sold them all in just a few days. He made a dozen more, and we sold most of those, too. Yeah? Oh, well, I saw a couple

hanging in your window. I would buy one. What'd you call them? Just Hawaiian shirts or Aloha shirts, something. I don't know. The local surf boys seem to like them, too. But so do the Navy men and the tourists. Aloha shirts. Well, I think this is it. Why not make more of those? I guess I can. I'll talk to my shirt maker. You watch the banker leave, then look at the small sign in your front window beneath two unsold shirts. Maybe if you made the sign bigger, kept the price under a dollar, and came up with some new shirt designs, this Aloha shirt might just keep your shop afloat. The exact origins of what came to be known as the Hawaiian shirt

are a fiercely debated subject, but it's widely acknowledged that Koichiro Miyamoto was one of the pioneers of the style. Ads for Miyamoto's shop, Musashiya, were the first to call them Aloha shirts. They were touted as well-tailored, beautiful designs and radiant colors. One ad said, Special for tourists, Aloha shirts made to order or ready-made. Very quickly, the shirts became popular with surfers and other locals,

as well as military men and tourists. And as word spread, actors and musicians like John Barrymore and Bing Crosby would come to Miyamoto's shop to stock up. Another pioneering shirt maker was a Chinese businessman named Ellery Chun, who returned home to Honolulu after graduating from Yale University in 1931. He began making Hawaiian shirts at his shop, King Smith Clothiers, and would later trademark the term Aloha Shirt.

Surfing legend Duke Kahanamoku also got into the Hawaiian shirt business, partnering with a local apparel business called Brandfleet to create his own clothing line. These shirts, like the mixed-race communities from which they originated, were the result of multiple cultural influences. Tailor shops modeled them after the short-sleeved Japanese work shirts worn by plantation laborers and the pineapple fiber shirts that Filipino men wore untucked. They were imprinted with images of island life. Surfboards, flowers, palm trees, grass skirts, ukuleles, and pineapples. And in the years leading up to World War II,

these inexpensive shirts grew increasingly popular, both in Hawaii and on the mainland. To many, they served as a colorful rebuke of the worst economic crisis to ever hit the country, the Great Depression. Throughout the 1920s, Hawaii enjoyed low unemployment, thanks to the robust sugar and pineapple industries, plus a tourism and construction boom. And when the Great Depression struck in 1929,

it seemed briefly like the islands might be spared the worst of the downturn. But by 1931, many plantation and cannery workers had lost their jobs. Employment declined as sugar and pineapple exports suffered. Some farmers declared bankruptcy, and many laborers were left without jobs or homes. Tourism plummeted, and the fancy hotels were left without jobs or homes. Tourism plummeted, and the fancy hotels and luxury ships emptied out. But one small slice of the economy that did not suffer was the sale of Hawaiian shirts. U.S. servicemen brought the brightly patterned shirts

back to the states as mementos, providing free advertising for the shirts and for the Hawaiian islands themselves. For the American military, Hawaii had been an important outpost since 1887, when the U.S. Navy was granted exclusive access to Pearl Harbor. By the 1930s, about 20,000 servicemen were based on Oahu, the island that was home to Pearl Harbor and the capital, Honolulu. That number grew significantly in 1931, after Japan invaded Manchuria, a region of China. U.S. military leaders, fearing further Japanese aggression, decided to bolster their presence in the Pacific. So while tourist visits were cut in half by the Depression, more and more sailors and soldiers now walked the streets of Honolulu.

The buildup was good for some businesses and helped soften the blow of the Depression, but it also brought increased friction between servicemen and Hawaiian locals. The buildup was good for some businesses and helped soften the blow of the Depression, but it also brought increased friction between servicemen and Hawaiian locals. And in 1931, that friction came to a head. On September 12th of that year, a 20-year-old woman named Thalia Massey reported to police that five men had beaten and raped her the previous night in Waikiki, not far from the Fort DeRusse Army Base. Massey had been out at a nightclub with her husband Thomas, a naval officer and engineer on a submarine based at Pearl Harbor.

She and Thomas had gotten into an argument, and Thalia left the club alone. She reported that while walking down a dark street, she was abducted, thrown into a car, driven down a dark dirt road, and repeatedly raped in the jungle. She referred to her attackers as some Hawaiian boys. Massey initially said she wouldn't be able to identify any of the men because it was too dark, but when Honolulu police quickly rounded up five suspects, Massey said she recognized them. The five men were arrested and charged with rape.

They were all Hawaiian-born, from working-class Asian, Hawaiian, or mixed-race families. All claimed they were innocent, insisting they'd never seen Thalia Massey. But the story quickly generated sensational headlines and revealed the racial tensions that lurk beneath Hawaii's aloha spirit, tensions that would soon lead to an act of shocking violence. This is the emergency broadcast system. A ballistic missile threat has been detected inbound to your area. Your phone buzzes and you look down to find this alert. What do you do next? Maybe you're at the grocery store. Or maybe you're with your secret lover. Or maybe you're robbing a bank.

Based on the real-life false alarm that terrified Hawaii in 2018, Incoming, a brand-new fiction podcast exclusively on Wondery Plus, follows the journey of a variety of characters as they confront the unimaginable. The missiles are coming. What am I supposed to do? Featuring incredible performances from Tracy Letts, Mary Lou Henner, Mary Elizabeth Ellis, Paul Edelstein, and many, many more. Incoming is a hilariously thrilling podcast that will leave you wondering,

how would you spend your last few minutes on Earth? You can binge Incoming exclusively and ad-free on Wondery+. Join Wondery+, in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. How did Birkenstocks go from a German cobbler's passion project 250 years ago to the Barbie movie today? Who created that bottle of red sriracha with a green top that's permanently living in your fridge? Did you know that the Air Jordans were initially banned by the NBA?

We'll explore all that and more in The Best Idea Yet, a brand new podcast from Wondery and T-Boy. This is Nick. This is Nick. This is Jack. And we've covered over a thousand episodes of pop business news stories on our daily podcast. We've identified the most viral products of all time. And they're wild origin stories that you had no idea about. From the Levi's 501 jeans to Legos.

Come for the products you're obsessed with. Stay for the business insights that are going to blow up your group chat. Jack, Nintendo, Super Mario Brothers, best-selling video game of all time. How'd they do it? Nintendo never fires anyone, ever. Follow The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to The Best Idea Yet early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. Honolulu newspapers describe Thalia Massey as a woman of refinement and culture, and the suspects that allegedly attacked her as fiends. Mainland newspapers raged that innocent white women in Hawaii were being assaulted by savages. Rear Admiral Yates Sterling, commander of the Naval District

where Thalia's husband Thomas Massey worked, told reporters that white people were under attack in Hawaii and the men accused of raping Thalia should be lynched. And it was during this media frenzy that the five suspects were released on bail to await trial. Benny Akawelo and Joseph Kahahawai were both 20 years old and native Hawaiian. They were well-known local football players, and Kahahawai was a successful amateur boxer. Horace Ida, 24, and David Takai, 21, were of Japanese descent. The fifth, Henry Chang, was a 22-year-old Chinese Hawaiian and had just returned home from working on a fish farm in Alaska.

The five young men were friends and had been out driving in Horace Ida's car the night of the alleged attack. They had gotten into a near fender bender in downtown Honolulu, followed by a scuffle with the other driver. When the driver reported the incident, police decided that they had found their suspects in Massey's assault. But apart from Massey herself, no witnesses could place any of the men near the

scene of the alleged crime, and in the weeks to come, parts of Massey's account unraveled. Massey had suffered a broken jaw, as well as some cuts and bruises, but doctors reported that her injuries were not consistent with the assault she described, and soon details emerged about her troubled marriage and past incidents in which her husband, Thomas, had been violent. The case went to trial in November, but due to shoddy police work and conflicting testimony, the jury was unable to reach a verdict. In early December, the judge declared a mistrial,

and the suspects were released. A retrial was scheduled, but before it could start, vigilantes took matters into their own hands. First, a group of Navy men abducted Horace Ida and beat him with belt buckles, hoping to force a confession. But Ida refused to admit to raping Massey and barely survived the beating by pretending to be unconscious. Then, in January, Thomas Massey and two other Navy men kidnapped another of the accused,

Joseph Kahahawai. They drove him to the rented bungalow of Thalia Massey's socialite mother, Grace Fortescue, who had come to town for the trial. There, while interrogating Kahahawai, one of the abductors shot him in the chest. Kahahawai died instantly. Thomas Massey and his fellow sailors, Edward Lord and Albert Jones, stripped Kahawai naked, wrapped him in a sheet, and drove to an oceanside cliff where they intended to dump the body. But a police officer pulled them over and took them into custody before they

could do it. Thomas Massey, Jones, Lord, and Fortescue were charged with murder and held on a ship in Pearl Harbor as they awaited trial. Proceedings were set to begin in April of 1932. The evidence against Massey and his co-defendants was overwhelming. But fortunately for them, since the case had generated national interest, they were able to hire one of the country's most celebrated lawyers. Clarence Darrow had gained fame in such high-profile cases as the Leopold and Loeb murder trial of 1924 and the Scopes-Monkey trial of 1925. Now, at age 68, he came out of retirement to defend

what he described as an honor killing. Darrow had built a reputation as a defender of the underprivileged, and his late career decision to defend well-to-do vigilantes surprised many. He later admitted that he needed the money and Fortescue was willing to pay him $40,000, almost $700,000 today. Meanwhile, the prosecutor in the case, John Kelly, received hate mail and death threats. Admiral Sterling and other Navy leaders hoped for a fast resolution, one that would prove Thalia Massey had been telling the truth

and therefore justified the killing of Kahawai. But that's not what they got. Imagine it's April 27, 1932. You're the city prosecutor in Honolulu, and you've spent the past two weeks sparring with America's most famous lawyer, Clarence Darrow. Now you stand before the judge, as a jury sits off to your right, and a murmuring crowd fills the benches behind you. On the witness stand sits the man you believe to be the ringleader of a brutal murder,

Thomas Massey. But now he's claiming temporary insanity, insisting he doesn't remember a thing. Clarence Darrow has just finished questioning him, and now it's your turn to cross-examine. Mr. Massey, I'd like to clear up a few things that your attorney just asked you about. For starters, you said that you picked up Mr. Kahawai on the eighth day of January 1932 in order to extract a confession from him. Is that correct? If you say so. Well, earlier you testified that as an officer in the United States Navy, you were accustomed to carrying sidearms, yes? On duty, yes, sir. And the gun you were accustomed to using is a.45 automatic, is it not?

That's correct. Did you have your.45 with you that morning, the morning of January 8th? I believe so, yes. What was the purpose of bringing that gun over that morning? That was to scare him. You were going to scare a confession out of Mr. Kahawai? That's what we hoped for, yeah. But what happened instead? Well, that's when it all gets fuzzy. What was the last thing that Mr. Kahawai said before you had this mental lapse? I'll never forget it. He said, yes, we done it. And that's all he said? That's

all I can remember. Because then what happened? That's when you shot him, right? I don't know. You claim you were suddenly laboring under some sort of mental hallucination at this time. I was suffering greatly, yeah. I don't remember anything about it. So you were standing there with a loaded gun, with the hammer back, when you were talking to Kahawai. And then he was dead. But you don't remember pulling the trigger. Is that what you want this jury to believe? I don't know. I was thinking of only one thing, and that was to make the man tell his story. And he did. Murmurs ripple through the courtroom. And while you're hoping the jury will see through Massey's lies and do the right thing, you also know that seven of the 12 jurors, all white men,

probably don't believe that Joseph Kahawa's life was worth much. Still, you hold out hope. On April 29th, after a three-week trial and two days of deliberation, the jury came back with a verdict that shocked many. Thomas Massey and the other defendants were guilty of manslaughter. The judge sentenced the four defendants to 10 years of hard labor. But Hawaii's territorial governor, Lawrence Judd, intervened. Under pressure from the Navy, Judd reduced the sentence to one hour,

which he allowed the convicted killers to serve in his office across the street from the courthouse. Four days later, Thalia Massey, her husband Thomas, and her mother, Grace Fortescue, all boarded a luxury Matson passenger ship and left Honolulu bound for San Francisco. The other two defendants, Edward Lord and Albert Jones, left town the next day. The Massey case captivated the nation and tarnished Hawaii's peaceful, tourist-friendly image. One headline warned, Race mixtures add to Hawaii's problems. Time magazine wrote that the yellow man's lust for white women has broken bounds. Tourists were warned to stay away.

Many native Hawaiians, meanwhile, felt that their people had been unfairly disparaged. Princess Abigail told the press that the release of Kahawai's convicted killers was a travesty, evidence that there were two sets of laws in Hawaii, one for the favored few and another for the people. The Hawaii Hochi newspaper, which served the Japanese community, accused the governor of condoning crime. And although headlines in mainland newspapers soon faded, the Massey case remained a sore spot in Hawaii for years to come. In 1933, the U.S. was still in the grips of the Great Depression, with one quarter of mainland workers out of a job. But the Hawaiian economy had already rebounded. Unemployment on the islands that year dropped to just 7%, partly due to sugar plantations deporting immigrant laborers back to Japan and the Philippines.

Tourism also came back. The Mattson Navigation Company was now running three new luxury liners that could reach Honolulu from California in just four days. In 1934, tourist visits soared to more than 20,000. Things were looking up for the islands, but as a U.S. territory, Hawaii lacked many of the benefits and guarantees afforded to states. It had just one non-voting representative in Congress and received no guaranteed funding from the federal government. Its citizens could not vote in presidential elections.

So to fix this, in 1935, Samuel Wilder King, the Hawaiian-born territorial delegate to Congress, introduced a bill proposing that Hawaii become America's next state. Others in Congress called the idea preposterous, referring to the Massey case and describing Hawaii as a land of native savages and Japanese spies. The bill quickly died. But King was a relentless advocate and ambassador for Hawaii. Two years later, in October of 1937, he invited a joint committee of U.S. senators and representatives to see the islands for themselves. They sailed a Mattson luxury liner and stayed at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. They toured sugar plantations and military facilities, including Pearl Harbor. King hoped

to show that Hawaii was a strategic naval outpost that deserved more federal support and statehood. Perhaps the strongest argument in King's favor was Hawaii's growing strategic importance. Japan had expanded its aggressive military campaign across China, attacking Beijing and Shanghai in 1937, then killing 300,000 civilians in what became known as the Rape of Nanking. The Japanese Empire was a growing and real concern for American interests in the Pacific. A conflict seemed inevitable, and soon Hawaii would fall victim to a deadly and infamous surprise attack.

From Wondery, this is Episode 3 of Hawaii's Journey to Statehood from American History Tellers. On the next episode, Pearl Harbor and other U.S. bases on Oahu become scenes of carnage as Hawaii gets hit by one of the most unexpected military assaults in modern warfare. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga.

Sound design by Molly Bogg. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Neil Thompson. Edited by Dorian Marina. Produced by Alida Rosansky. Our production coordinator is Desi Blaylock. Managing producer, Matt Gant. Senior managing producer, Tanja Thigpen.

Senior producer, Andy Herman. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman and Marsha Louis for Wondery. Are you in trouble with the law? Need a lawyer who will fight like hell to keep you out of jail? We defend and we fight just like you'd want your own children defended. Whether you're facing a drug charge, caught up on a murder rap, accused

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