Aloha, Poi

Peter Kane Jr., 45, is a familiar figure around Honolulu. For the past 14 years he has been a saxophone player in the municipal Royal Hawaiian Band, and in his gleaming white uniform he is a sight to see as the band goes marching by. Kane (pronounced Connie) is the fattest member of the band. Last year, after a vacation and a carefree feast of poi,* Peter waddled back to band practice fatter than ever. He measured 5 ft. 7 in. vertically, 4 ft. 8 in. around the middle, and tipped the freight scales at 355 glorious pounds. Eying the statistics, the city's physician decided that it was just too risky for Peter to continue his work. Marching in parades, welcoming incoming ocean liners, or just climbing the steps to the bandstand in Kapiolani Park, he said, might tax Peter's overburdened heart. Kane was fired.

No More Raw Fish. On appeal to the local Civil Service Commission, Citizen Kane was returned to limited duty, put on medical probation for a year, and sternly ordered to trim down to 222 lbs. before the year was up. While all Hawaii looked on, fascinated, Peter went on a diet.

It was quite an ordeal. "I used to eat six eggs and half a loaf of bread for breakfast," he wistfully recalled last week. "Sometimes a can of corned beef. But my big meal was dinner." And at parties and luaus, he really let go, consuming three bowls of two-finger poi and "everything else on the table": kalua pig, pork laulau (pork and salmon wrapped in taro leaves), pulehu aku (dried fish), lomi (salmon, raw, with tomatoes and chopped onion), chicken luau, dried squid, raw fish and limu (chopped seaweed), baked breadfruit and baked taro, haupia (coconut pudding), all washed down with plenty of beer and soft drinks. Under the new regime, Peter cut down to one egg and two slices of whole wheat toast for breakfast, firmly turned his back on beer and poi. In order to remove temptation, Mrs. Kane fed their nine children earlier than their father, so he would not have to watch them eat.

No More Sitting Around. By last December, Peter was a new man. His waistline had shrunk to a svelte 42 inches; his weight had melted to 259 lbs. After a physical, Peter got the idea that he had final clearance, but when the bandmaster told him to keep on dieting he gave up. By June he was back to a carefree 281 lbs.

Then, with the end of his lean year approaching, Kane began to worry about his job. In late June he resumed the diet, slimmed down once more to 261 lbs. by early August. For the second time Mrs. Kane began to take tucks in his uniform, and Peter noticed a big difference in his life: "Before, I used to sit around and give orders. I'd tell the kids, move a chair here, and mow the lawn, and feed the chickens. Now I get up and do it myself."

Last week, as Peter's year of dietary anguish ended, the Civil Service Commission met to consider his case. Although Kane was nearly 40 lbs. over the prescribed limit, Dr. David Katsuki, the city physician, recommended that he be reinstated. The commission sympathetically agreed, restored him to full duty. But, lest Peter Kane should dream again of any poi except poi in the blue Hawaiian sky, the commission had a stern warning: he must be weighed monthly, and if his poundage exceeds 261 lbs. by so much as one ounce, he will be suspended without pay until he makes the weight again.

*A grey paste made from the potato-like taro plant, and eaten with the fingers.

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