On some good, sound information, I decided to follow the lead for Obama’s birth certificate. The first stop was Hawai’i, the big island. I was following a trail that looked more like a treasure map. I talked with many people who didn’t know or even like Barry. They told me he never came to the island because he wasn’t well liked. All the people I talked with owned businesses and had jobs and were worried about the economy so I felt I would get some good information on Barry’s past but not dice. I followed the leads I had already and it took me through mountains, waterfalls, beaches and volcanoes yet I couldn’t find a shred of evidence that I needed. I was told this by many locals–if you have something to get rid of that you don’t want anyone to find, you do a night trip to the volcano flume. I was pretty sure after a week of traveling through beautiful country that this may have been the case. I felt dejected but resigned to the fact that my bigger lead may be more fruitful. This was on Barry’s home turf of Oahu.
I grabbed a shuttle flight and flew to Honolulu. I was shocked to see a bustling city with okay homes mixed with ghetto. There are 80 hotels and 88 ABC stores which is telling of itself. I got right to work. I talked with no less than 15 bartenders who didn’t know Barry personally but liked him because he was great for tourism–except when he showed up in town. That is when business takes a big dive and only the surfers are unaffected. I talked with 3 public school teachers about his school and they only told me it was pricey–17 grand a year to attend to today. Other residents and bus drivers told me the public school system sucked and was a sub-par education but no one could afford private school. This is good info and I need to check the average here with the other 56 states.
I decided to get down and dirty with the “real” locals but found I was at a disadvantage because my Japanese and Hawaiian ain’t very good so I went looking for the real skinny about things out on the street. The ladies were only interested in Japanese men and money and were of no help. The street vendors also were only interested in money: human statues, magicians, musicians, jugglers, dancers, parrot handlers, animal acts……I was getting no where fast. I checked with about 4 local residents since I tripped over their blanket on the sidewalk and actually got some confirmation for the lead I had left home with. I thanked them with a quarter knowing that they would rather buy a 10 dollar pack of cigarettes than taking a much needed bath and hurried to my destination. What I found when I got there was shocking. Inside this condemned crack house, under the floor board in the bedroom was the Jetson’s lunch pail I was told about. The initials on the outside were “BS” and when I opened it I found a Quaran and a Gideons bible where the pages have doodle pictures colored with crayon. What I didn’t find was a birth certificate. I was so dejected that I went to a bar and consoled myself for the evening. In the morning I decided I wouldn’t contribute to habitats for humanity for Hawai’i, California, Minnisota and Maryland as the hotel would have liked and just caught the next flight home. I really thought I was onto something but I came away empty handed. What a waste of my time.. I should have stayed home. I think I’ll go fishing to lose this funk I’m in!