Renaissance Man of Kauai

Donn "Curly" Carswell.    PHOTO:HONOLULU ADVERTISER

In less than a week of our arrival on Kauai, we learned that Donn "Curly" Carswell had died. Curly was more than a well-known and respected character on the island, he personified Kauai. The loss of this pioneer figure is tantamount to losing a part of the island itself, as if one of the waterfalls has gone dry.

Curly, who died on his 85th birthday, February 4, 2021, was a walking encyclopedia of information about any subject, especially the island's flora, fauna and history. He knew the name of every mountain, tree and flower. He spent most of his life on Kauai, leaving his indelible mark in many places including his beloved Princeville Ranch.

He was a no-nonsense bear of a man, tough and ornery, sweet and sensitive. I only knew him briefly, since 2017 when I met him at the Princeville Community Center in a yoga class. Curly and I were the only men in a room of about 25 women.

At some 300lbs, his once athletic body had filled out and it was obvious that his health was in precarious condition, although I never knew exactly what his issues were. He didn't talk about it. His wife, Gale, assisted him in laying out his yoga mat and props. She appeared in fine health. They worked together as good respectful partners do. Curly's presence in the room was palpable.

When he learned that I was from Santa Cruz, he told me that while he attended Stanford University in the 1950s he would go to Santa Cruz to surf Steamer Lane. This was before wetsuits and leashes and that other "baby" stuff.

"Did you know Chubby Hernandez?" he asked me.

I told him that was before my time in Santa Cruz.

"He was a beautiful athlete," said Curly in his gravelly voice.

He didn't mention that he, Curly, was an All-America guard on the Stanford football team. He graduated from Stanford with a major in civil engineering and minor in geology.

Before his college years in California, he attended Punahou High School on Oahu. After college he served in the U.S. Marines Corps. He started the first fitness gym on Kauai which he operated for 30 years. He also worked for the Grove Farm and Princeville corporations.

During one of our regular visits to Kauai I learned about a Tai Chi class at the community center. When I showed up for my first effort at Tai Chi, Curly was there.

Tai Chi master Skip Rush, another well-known island figure, referred to Curly as a Tai Chi grand master. Skip would sometimes ask Curly for clarification of some aspect of the ancient martial art.

I asked Curly where he learned Tai Chi.

"On the Yangtze River in China," he said.

I was not surprised. He was a Black Belt Judo master, too.

Curly never missed a Tai Chi class. On Saturdays Skip held the class on the shore of spectacular Hanalei Bay. I knew Curly had arrived when I heard classical music coming from his pick-up truck. He needed minor assistance from his daughter to get across the lawn, moving several yards at a time with his walker, interspersed with short seated rests. He was resolute and focussed.

Curly missed his first yoga class when his wife Gale suffered a stroke, after which she suddenly and unexpectedly died. Curly was devastated. He didn't show up for Tai Chi. "He's suffering from a broken heart," said Skip. Curly and Gale had been married 55 years.

Gale was a descendant of the Wilcox family of first haole settlers in Hawaii. She had been a picture of health and fitness compared to Curly.

In 1978 Curly and Gale started Po'oku Stables at Princeville Ranch, as well as the famous Hanalei Stampede Rodeo. He was an ace calf-roper. In the early 2000s, he served as president of the Hawaii Cattleman's Cooperative.

His obituary in the local newspaper identified him as "a leader in the community. He was an entrepreneur, a Marine, an engineer, an avid handball player and a rancher. He was an adventurer and always met life head-on with passion, curiosity and enjoyment. He faced the circumstances of life without apology or complaint, and lived such a full life that he is often described as having lived "nine lives."

Curly knew that I had worked in the marketing department at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, a world-famous seaside amusement park. When a newcomer would join our yoga or Tai Chi group, he enjoyed introducing me as a former "clown" from Santa Cruz.

The island isn't the same without him. When Curly passed, we lost a treasure, yet you can hear his indomitable spirit whistling when the trade winds blow.

Aloha, my friend.