The Miracle of Molokai: She Prayed for a Miracle. Then She Became One.

By Mel White

Twelve-year-old Margaret Kaupuni had just danced before Honolulu’s 1934 May Queen. As she left the steps a health inspector grabbed her wrist. “You are a leper, child, and you will come with me.” At the leper receiving station she was positively diagnosed and sent to Kalaupapa, the leprosy settlement on Molokai.
On that lonely prison island for thirty-four years, Margaret watched her dreams die and her own body scar and shrink from the disease. There her twenty-two-year-old sister, another patient, died in the pounding surf. There, over the decades, Margaret watched her three afflicted husbands die. There her newborn children were taken from her arms and shipped to foster homes on Oahu. There she dressed the sores of the living and closed the eyes of the deformed victims of a disease the ancient Egyptians called “death before death.”
Then in 1969, her leprosy arrested at long last, Margaret was released from Molokai and moved into a small one room apartment in the high rise slums of Honolulu. Once again surrounded by poverty and despair Margaret dreamed a new dream. She would spend the rest of her life caring for her fellow outcasts in the Oahu Towers.
This is the inspiring true story of Margaret the Miracle of Molokai who faced suffering most of us can’t even imagine however instead of giving way to grief and anger Margaret spent the rest of her life relieving the suffering of others. Let Margaret’s story give you strength to face your own suffering and at the same time plant a new dream in your heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mel White
• Release date: Aug 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463215517

Mel White

Rev. Mel White is a clergyman, author, and activist. On Pride Sunday, June 27, 1993, Mel was installed Dean of the Cathedral of Hope Metropolitan Community Church in Dallas, where he came out publicly with his own, heart-felt statement of faith: “I am gay. I am proud. And God loves me without reservation.” The Cathedral was and continues to be the nation’s largest gay-lesbian congregation serving approximately 10,000 congregants in the wider Dallas area. He is the bestselling author of five books, including Stranger at the Gate, 6 Angry Evangelicals, and The Miracle of Molokai.

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The Miracle

of

Molokai

She prayed for a miracle.

Then she became one.

Mel White

Foreword by Jay Jarman

Published by Wideness Press at Smashwords.com

Copyright © 1981, 2018 by Mel White. All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, microfilm, and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

www.melwhite.org

Note: The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized hardcopy and/or electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage piracy (electronic or otherwise) of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Originally published by Word Books, 1981

Re-published by Wideness Press, 2018

ISBN-13: 978-1723140396

ISBN-10: 1723140392

Cover Design: David Kerleyey

Layout: Toby Johnson

Contents

Introduction by the Author

Foreword by Jay Jarman

I.APARTMENT IN MOILIILI 1922-1934

II.KALIHIRECEIVING STATION HOSPITAL1934-1936

III.LEPROSARIUM ON MOLOKAI 1936-1969

IV.OAHU TOWERS PROJECT 1969-1987

RESOURCES

Māhalo

Books by Mel White

Stranger at the Gate: to be Gay and Christian in America

Religion Gone Bad (aka Holy Terror)

Grace and Demion: A Fable for Victims of Biblical Abuse

Deceived: The Jonestown Tragedy

Aquino: Cory and Ninoy’s Faith Journey

A Gift of Hope (The Tony Melendez Story)

Margaret of Molokai

David (with Marie Rothenberg)

In the Presence of My Enemies

Tested by Fire

Films by Mel White

Deceived: The Jonestown Massacre (Documentary)

Deceived II: A Film Forum

Though I Walk through the Valley of Death

[Facing Death: The Tony Brower Story]

In the Presence of My Enemies

[Facing Isolation:The Howard Rutledge Story]

He Leadeth Me:

[Facing Disability: The Ken Medema Story]

He Restoreth My Soul

[Facing Tragedy: The Merrill Womach Story]

Charlie Churchman and the Youth Quake

Charlie Churchman and the Teenage Masquerade

Charlie Churchman and the Clowns

All films available @www.melwhite.org or YouTube

www.melwhite.org

To

Sarah Bunker

Bessie Clinton

Mary Jolenta

Alice Kahokuoluna

Jackie Wiggins

and the other great women in Margaret’s life

and to

Grandma Ruth Rear

one of the great women in mine

Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus traveled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance and called out in a loud voice, Jesus, Master, have pity on us! When he saw them, he said, Go, show yourselves to the priests. And as they went, they were cleansed.

One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan.

Jesus asked, Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Was no one found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner? Then he said to him, Rise and go; your faith has made you well.

LUKE 17:11-19, NIV

Introduction

by the Author

The tropical sun rose lazily over Diamond Head, streaking Pearl Harbor with gold. But from her perch in a plumeria tree high above the sidewalks of Moiliili, Margaret, a twelve-year-old Hawaiian girl, was too excited to notice the early morning light show. Margaret Kaupuni had been chosen from her neighborhood to perform the ancient hula for the 1934 May Queen on the capitol steps in Honolulu. She was poor, virtually uneducated and decidedly underprivileged, a needy child from the slums of the spreading city. But every day, even when she felt tired or hungry or ill, Margaret practiced the ancient Polynesian dance, with its intricate movements of hands and hips. Her lithe body draped in ti leaves, coarse cloth and plumeria, Margaret dreamed that one day she would dance her way into a new and better life.

On that first day in May, more than eighty years ago, Margaret’s dream collapsed forever. As she rushed from the stage, her face flushed by the applause of the admiring crowd, a tall, thin man reached out a bony hand, grasped her arm and steered her away from the other dancers. For one frightening moment, she stood staring up at Mr. Kikila, the health inspector (bounty hunter) who patrolled their neighborhood to the hoots and jeers of all her neighbors. Margaret had no idea of the horror in the news he brought that day.

You are a leper, child, and you will come with me.

The Miracle of Molokai was first released in 1981 as Margaret of Molokai. Now after thirty-seven years Margaret’s story must be told again, for it reaches each of us who has ever prayed for a miracle but not received it. Margaret didn’t dance her way into a new and better life. She died as she had lived surrounded by poverty, hopelessness and horror. On that lonely isle, for thirty years Margaret watched her own body scar and shrink from the disease. There her twenty-two-year-old sister, another patient, died in the pounding surf. There, over the decades, Margaret watched her three afflicted husbands die. There her newborn children were taken from her arms and shipped to foster homes on Oahu. There she dressed the sores of the living and closed the eyes of the dying victims of a disease the ancient Egyptians called death before death. She might have spent her last years feeling anger and self-pity. Instead Margaret spent thirty-four years on the prison island helping relieve the suffering of her fellow lepers.

Then in 1969, her leprosy arrested at long last, Margaret was returned to Honolulu, her dreams dead and her body hideously deformed by her disease. Once again instead of feeling sorry for herself Margaret spent the last eighteen years of her life bringing hope and healing to her fellow outcasts living in the Oahu Towers Project, a high-rise slum on the edge of Honolulu. Margaret Kaupuni’s body had been permanently crippled by Hansen’s disease but nothing could cripple her amazing spirit. She prayed to receive a miracle and instead she became one. At this moment when so many have so much and offer so little it shames and inspires us to look at Margaret, the Miracle of Molokai, who had so little but offered so much.

Mel White

Long Beach, California

July 2018

Foreword

by Jay Jarman

Ihad never seen a leper. I knew nothing about Hansen’s disease. Then in 1969, fresh out of seminary, I accepted an invitation to work with youth at the Kalihi Union Church on Oahu in Hawaii. On my first Friday night I was playing volleyball with my students in the church gym. An out of bounds serve rolled to the feet of a muumuu clad older woman sitting on the gym floor cheering enthusiastically for both sides.

Margaret was the first leprosy victim I had ever seen and for one awkward moment I could not look away. Her feet were damaged, lacking all her toes. Her fingers were gnarly. Her face looked badly burned. It was obvious that this lady had been through hell and back. But her smile lit up the gym. I smiled back but Margaret could see in my eyes that I was shocked by her scarred and mutilated body.

Whas a matta’ you mistah? You neva’ see one lepa’ befoa? She could tell I was shaky so she quickly added, No matta’, you OK. Jus’ no faint on top of me, eh! She laughed and her friends and I joined in the laughter.

That embarrassing exchange was the beginning of a long, deep and eventful friendship. A week later Margaret invited me and some high school kids to visit her in the Oahu Towers, a high rise slum in the center of Honolulu. Her apartment was sparse but eat-off-the-linoleum clean: a single bed, a fold-up cot for guests, a 4-top kitchen table with two chrome chairs, a portable TV on a small stand with pre-cable rabbit ears that she constantly cursed and redirected. That was it. Maybe some small drawers that were once part of a dresser-frame but that was everything she had.

Komo mai! Margaret insisted. Come inside. We followed her as she limped across that one small room to her always-open refrigerator. Without a word she began emptying all she had onto paper plates. "Go eat!" she urged and it was not just a suggestion. Realizing Margaret’s Hawaiian sense of hospitality, we learned to bring plenty food to re-fill her fridge. We brought extra because after we departed, her always-hovering Oahu Tower neighbors would hurry in and feast on what we had left behind. Margaret was generous to a fault. Her super-power was to share anything and everything she had—freely and wholeheartedly with friends and strangers alike.

I thought Margaret had met her match when I introduced her to my friend Dr. Mel White, one of my seminary professors. I had invited him to meet Margaret hoping her life story might be Mel’s next book or film. On our second visit, he brought her a new, giant, 21-inch screen TV with color and stereo sound. When we returned on our third visit, the rabbit ears were back and Mel’s gift long gone.

"Oh, I sorry, Margaret explained, but Therisa need da TV mo’ den me. She actually blind but neva’ mind. Da sound of dis one so pretty n’ she like, so I wen’ geev um Therisa."

To all who were blessed to know her, Margaret was an inspiration and, truly, a beauty. Her face lacked eyebrows and small parts of her left nostril but her countenance was warm and bright. She shuffled in a crippled but determined way when she walked but she kept going, kept moving, kept on loving. She was a force. A miracle! Margaret often said, My body all bust up but my spirit, buckaloose! I don’t merely pray for miracles any more. Margaret showed us that when we reach out to help others we too can become the miracle we were seeking. As you read Margaret’s story let it change your life as it has changed mine.

Jay Jarman

Honolulu, Hawaii

July 2018

I.

APARTMENT

IN

MOILIILI

1922-1934

Kona winds flattened breakers and blew white sea foam across the deserted Honolulu beaches onto the flooded streets of Waikiki. Tourists sipped room-service mai tais and watched palm trees twist in the gale. The tropical rain squall had traveled up Kalakaua Avenue from Diamond Head to Beretania with such blinding force that drivers abandoned cars and shoppers ran inside the nearest building for cover.

Charles Simon Carl Frederick stood in the doorway of Kekaulike’s fishmarket, glad for once that he still wore the red wool jacket of the Royal Prussian Marching Band. The burnished brass buttons were ten years missing and the gold braid on each shoulder had long since torn away, but he was warm and dry against the storm as was the hidden infant he cradled against his chest.

Blinking back the rain, the young German musician looked up King Street in the direction from which Moriah and William would come, then down into the face of his latest child, Margaret. Hānai, an old Polynesian custom allowing parents already overblessed with offspring to give the extra child away, was barbaric when judged by the mores of his European past. But hānai was necessary if he and Edith and the other children were to survive the depression in Paradise. It was legal and moral and really rather commonplace in the islands, but the young father, still in his early thirties, found it difficult to imagine handing this brown-eyed child of his own flesh and blood into the hands of his wife’s sister, Moriah, and her boyfriend, William Kaupuni.

Trapped by the storm and given unwelcome moments for brooding, Charles wondered how, in only ten years, Paradise had become a nightmare. He still remembered clearly that first day in the islands when the German ocean liner from Hamburg docked in Honolulu Harbor and he and seventy other soldier-musicians walked wide-eyed past the Aloha Tower into the waiting plumeria leis and bare, outstretched arms of Hawaii. He remembered the embarrassed grins and good-natured gestures he and his buddies shared as those beautiful, brown-skinned girls danced their welcome. He remembered the Iolani Palace and the band concert they played with the Royal Hawaiians near the old Coronation stand.

In only one day, the beauty of the island and especially of the island women threatened to overwhelm this tuba-playing tourist from Westphalia. Then Charles met Edith, a local island girl whose ethnic roots stretched from the shores of China to the craggy cliffs of Ireland. One look at that Eurasian beauty with her laughing eyes convinced the soldier guest that he could wave good-bye to his Germanic past and live out his future in Hawaii.

At first it was easy to find work as a hotel musician. Then, with the growing depression, tourism dwindled. Employment dried up. Factory work was possible, but with each bad harvest or unseasonal storm came new unemployment. Families moved together into Honolulu slums. Wood frame houses with corrugated metal roofs soon were crammed with too many children and too little food. A person had to be practical to survive; and so, ten years after that first island welcome, Charles Frederick stood in the doorway of Kekaulike’s fishmarket preparing to give his baby daughter to a near stranger.

The child awoke and began to cry. Moriah was late. Margaret was hungry. Her father whispered to her in German-accented pidgin English and rocked her gently up and down. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The tropical sun burned all remnants of the storm away. White clouds undulated through brilliant blue skies, and the foothills glistened emerald green. A rainbow joined the Palolo Valley to the Ala Wai Canal. Then, the teenage girl, Moriah, and her common-law husband, William Kaupuni, stood before him. Quickly, Charles Frederick took the crying child from his tattered scarlet tunic and gave Margaret away forever.

That stormy day in November 1922 was not the last time Margaret would be given away, locked out, abandoned or even left alone to die. That she survived her first dozen years of life was, in her own words, some kin’ miracle. When she was only two or three years old, her adoptive mother, Moriah—tired of motherhood and housewifery—ran away with a young Filipino lover, leaving William with the infant girl he had never really wanted. Months later, he discovered Moriah had eloped and moved to Manila. To keep his job and raise a child was no easy task.

William Kaupuni was a machinist apprentice at the Honolulu Iron Works on the outskirts of that rapidly sprawling