Robert Bone's story about Eddie Aikau's memorial service ran on the front page of the April 2, 1978, issue of the Honolulu Star-Bulletin. 

The sun shone, the wind blew, and the relentless blue-and-white surf crashed against the steep sand of Waimea Bay while they honored Eddie Aikau in speeches, flowers, songs, and prayers. Yesterday’s hour-long funeral service for the 

 crewman who didn't return was attended by nearly 1,000 people, perhaps as many as the number of lives the champion surfer and swimmer had saved during his 32 years on earth.

Aikau, unlike most modern sailors, but in company with many heroic mariners of centuries past, was lost at sea on March 17. He was attempting to save 15 more lives, those of his fellow crewmen on the ill-fated second voyage of the Polynesian voyaging canoe to Tahiti.

But Eddie was the only one to die, and that in a manner uncommon to man. There was nobody to commit to the deep yesterday.

Before the mourners gathered, and as light began creeping over the hills to spill into Waimea Bay, some people began standing surfboards in the sand. Eventually there were about 20 of them fixed in a proud straight line saluting the orange City and County lifeguard tower where Eddie had made his headquarters on so many similar beautiful days.

The tower was empty, now, and the sign on the side, “NO LIFE GUARD ON DUTY,” seemed to take on an added, tragic meaning.

As the crowd began to gather, someone noted that it was funny—Eddie wasn’t expected to be home today anyway. He and the crew of the Hokule’a might have been arriving in Tahiti today, but they wouldn’t be due back in Hawaii for some time.

The trouble was, no one was arriving in Tahiti, and to give emphasis to that stark reality, members of the 

 crew began appearing on the beach at about 8:30 a.m.

Some 500 yards out in the Bay, a lone whale was playing and sending up an occasional spout to mark its position. It left when a boat or two entered the water.

The service had been planned for 9 am, and by 8:45 a chorus had gathered and began to sing Hawaiian songs. “Kanaka Wai Wai” and “Aloha ‘Oe,” of course, were favorites, but there were many others equally as beautiful and sad. Between choral numbers, some others plucked guitars and strummed ukuleles.

The funereal crowd was dressed in every costume imaginable, from a couple of young women in very brief bikinis to City Manager Richard Sharpless in his inevitable coat and tie. Out in the bay, a half dozen boats had now gathered. A Fire Department boat with “RESCUE” written on the side took part, as well as one fishing boat, its prow almost obscured by leis. Some dogs played on the sand, but no one seemed to mind.

A special altar was set up on the beach. A large photograph of Eddie Aikau in ancient Hawaiian dress was propped against a background of ti leaves. There were also photographs of Eddie surfing, statues of Jesus and Mary, and scores of flowers and leis which were added to occasionally by various individuals and organizations whose members tramped over the sand. Microphones, chairs and other appurtenances were arranged and tested by Zulu, the entertainer.

Zulu announced that the Rev. Abraham Akaka would be late, and the services were delayed while everyone sat on the sand, listened to the music and felt the hot sun on the back of their necks. A half-hour later, the Kawaiahao Church minister arrived in a helicopter, which circled the bay twice and then landed nearby on a stretch of empty sand.

After hugging the parents and brothers of Eddie, Akaka conducted the services, speaking as often in Hawaiian as in English.

The minister noted that Eddie had set out on his surfboard in quest of “an Island or a new tomorrow,” and indicated this was a suitable objective for everyone's life: “The most beautiful thing for us to do is to keep on searching, and to stop searching would be the worst thing in the world,” Akaka said. 

He compared the Pacific Ocean for Hawaiians with the desert for Moses and his people. “The open sea . . . is the place where people meet God,” he said. Akaka also sang “Hawaii Aloha,” accompanying himself on the ukulele.

Following the benediction, Zulu read a letter written by Eddie's family as the surf began to thunder more forcefully against the shore. The message recalled “his final words to his second family, the crew of the 

 ‘Don't worry. I can do it. I’ll get to land.’”

Then everyone joined in the song written by Eddie Aikau himself about the 

, the words of which were passed out earlier In the morning

As Akaka's helicopter took off for Honolulu. Mayor Frank Fasi addressed the group, proclaiming the day to be “Eddie Aikau Memorial Day.” He noted that Eddie, known as “Mr. Waimea” in the surfing world, had spent many years as a lifeguard for the city at Waimea Beach Park. Therefore, there would be a permanent plaque honoring him there, an announcement greeted by considerable applause.

Michael Tongg, president of the Polynesian Voyaging Society, which organized the 

 trip, told the group that Eddie would indeed come with them to Tahiti. A steering paddle on the port side of the canoe would be named for him, Tongg said.

The gathering also heard from David Lyman, captain of the canoe, who echoed Tongg’s sentiments: “He’s still with us in our hearts,” said Lyman.

Peter Cole, a North Shore surfer, said the day should be a happy one, because Eddie himself was such a happy person there at Waimea Bay and with everyone in the water. “‘Come on, brother! You and I! I’ll be on your inside!’ This was his attitude. It was an aloha for everyone. It is that memory that I have of Eddie,” Cole said.

Hawaiian singer Liko Martin performed “All Hawaii, Stand Together,” and the Rev. Edward Kealanahele, also known as a Hawaiian kahuna, explained the ancient ritual that would take place out on the water accompanied by clapping stones.

 crew member Sam Ka‘ui blew the conch shell that had been rescued along with the canoe, and urns of Waimea sand, representing the absent ashes of Eddie, were taken out to sea by his brothers, Clyde and Freddie. 

All who wanted to were invited to carry leis and flowers on canoes and surfboards out to “Eddie's lineup,” and at least 100 persons did so.

One last time the chorus sang “Aloha ‘Oe,” joined by many along the shoreline. The Fire Department’s white rescue helicopter made several passes overhead, strewing thousands of blossoms on the water of Waimea Bay.

As the last of the flowers drifted from the sky and the final notes of the song died away, it began to rain.

EDDIE AIKAU’S WAIMEA BAY MEMORIAL SERVICE: “HAWAII GATHERS TO HONOR THE SAILOR WHO DIDN’T RETURN FROM SEA,” HONOLULU STAR-BULLETIN (1978)

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