No kamaaina in Hawaii innocently asks a person named Russell for a pen.

“Russell, you get pen?” is a simple shibboleth that demonstrates local credentials. 

Hawaii has become more transitory than ever, but hereʻs a shortcut for those trying to establish roots in Hawaii: Go watch “Rap’s Hawaii.” 

After watching, youʻll know why some people say “not too sweet … not too rancid” after tasting wine. 

The television special first aired on KGMB in May 1981 and even though his comedy is more than 40 years old, the legacy of the late Rap Reiplinger, who died in 1984, endures here in Hawaii and offers a big insight into how people get along with each other here.

I’ve been very wrong about the reception of things exported from Hawaii. No. 1, of course, is poke. Never in a million years did I think poke would be enjoyed all around the world. 

However, there are certain things that are local and will never resonate with a non-kamaaina audience — I can’t imagine a poi bar opening in Milwaukee. Certain things are ours and not for others. Chiefly, Hawaiian comedy. 

When Barack Obama was a candidate for president and getting pilloried for the sermons from Rev. Jeremiah Wright, I thought his campaign should be more concerned about the heavy doses of ethnic humor he grew up with here in Hawaii. It would be quite easy to take Hawaiian comedy out of context.

Last week, I had lunch with my fellow Civil Beat columnist, University of Hawaii professor emeritus Jonathan Okamura, after he had written about the need to erase ethnic stereotypes. 

We chatted about the humor of Reiplinger, Frank De Lima and Andy Bumatai. While it was all ethnic based, Okamura emphasized that it was done without malice. It helped different groups get along.

It helped us not take ourselves too seriously.

I’ve written about the need to embrace and encourage the generational transfer of knowledge since it was hampered in Hawaii for almost a hundred years. Keeping the gentle spirit of being able to tease each other, and to make space for being teased back is important to fostering a greater spirit of aloha.

That’s a lesson that we can learn from earlier generations. They teased each other and it helped them get along.

Beyond the message of societal harmony, the real reason Iʻm advocating for “Rap’s Hawaii” is because the malasadas at Tex Drive-In in Honokaa are way too big.

The malasadas are delicious, but they’re enormous. Sometimes, you just want a taste of malasada. The Tex malasadas are so large that my recent visitors (from Dallas, of course) thought that Tex is short for Texas and not for Texeira. 

You should be able to fit a malasada on each finger a la Rap’s Willy Maunawili. 

In the campaign ad skit, the five malasadas on Willy Maunawili’s fingers represent people “working toggedah to make things happen.”

In reminiscing about “Rap’s Hawaii,” a friend told the story about grabbing a box of Leonard’s hot malasadas in the hopes of inspiring the basketball team he was coaching.

He said he made an inspiring speech about “working toggedah” and then plunged his fingers, a la Willy Maunawili, into the malasadas. They were fresh out of the frying grease and he scorched his fingers in the hot dough. 

My wife and son regularly invoke Aunty Marialani and argue if a dish should be cooked at 850 degrees for one minute or five degrees for four days. (This is probably the reason why our oven hasn’t worked since Thanksgiving.)

Reiplingersʻ widow, Leesa Clark Stone, wrote an enjoyable biography, “Paradise to Paradise: The Rap Reiplinger Story,” in 2019. She now lives in Tennessee. We spoke by phone and discussed his legacy. 

“I think most of what he did holds up,” she said. “People say that itʻs timeless.”

She said the skit that’s now least likely to fly is the sermon delivered by a priest with a stutter. 

For hundreds of years, we’ve been searching for ways to get along in Hawaii. At the beginning of the show, Rap’s old kamaaina character says Hawaii isn’t the melting pot of the Pacific, but instead the salad bowl of the Pacific: Everybody is on the inside of the bowl, but theyʻre all different and distinct ingredients (or ingrediments, as he’d say).

The old kamaaina delivers his version of getting along at the close of the show.

“Ova hea in Hawaii you get all mix ’em up kine people you no goin’ find nowhere else in da universe, not even da world,” he rhapsodizes. “You mix ’em all up and something magic happens — the aloha spirit … you remember next time you come visit, rest awhile, like dat.”

More than 40 years later, “Rap’s Hawaii” is still a good reminder that not taking ourselves too seriously can help us work toggedah to make things bettah.