The big pineapple—eulogy for Rudy Farinas
Photo: Rudy Farinas urn at the Cathedral Basilica of Our Lady of Peace on Thursday, September 21, 2023 at noon Funeral Mass.
The following is the eulogy delivered at the funeral of Rudy Farinas.
This past week, the kids brought their Papa to Dole Plantation. Uncle Rudy dressed in brass fittings, sat on the table. The grandkids got their Dole Whips and ate them with him.
I can hear Uncle Rudy, with his storyteller voice, “We never had this before!” Like many old timers, they like to point that out.
I’ve become one of those people each time I fly in from Chicago and see the changes.
A lot about Dole Foods, his old employer, has changed over time. And so did Uncle’s time. And so will ours moving forward.
Like I shared last week, the most recognized way you knew you were near Kalihi for decades was the water tower shaped like a pineapple.
It stood tall over Iwilei, making sure the Dole Cannery below it would get enough water pressure to make everything work like it’s supposed to.
Like I shared last week, whenever I think back to old Kalihi, I remember that pineapple water tower, and because of his connection to the cannery where he worked as a canning supervisor, I always think of Uncle Rudy.
I don’t know if you know the engineering if a water tower, but it’s one of those things people take for granted even though without it, neighborhoods would function correctly.
Uncle Rudy was the same in my life. His presence could easily be taken for granted… if you let it.
But his presence was still important. His presence, his own experiences, his life story has taught me how to do certain things, but also, especially in our conversations when it was just the two of us together, I learned from the regrets he had—of which he had a few—and how to make life work anyway.
What I will remember most about Uncle Rudy—like that pineapple water tower—was the loud loving welcome.
“Hello, son!”
He always greeted me and many others with a loud, “Hello, son!”
The voice in my head of Uncle Rudy will be that voice.
It’s the voice and words of an intimate reminder that, “I have your attention in a space that is both yours and mine.” It’s a reminder that our connection is not just uncle and nephew, but more than that.
Looking back at his life, it was a life of survival and wanting so very much to provide what he didn’t have—some of which was taken away from him.
Like the physical absence of his father as he was growing up. Making sure the family he created was protected from everyone who might’ve wished it not to work out. Making sure there was a roof over their heads, food on the table, gas in the car to go to work, and, this is just important for any Kalihi man…
Beer for the friends who came over to play Bingo in the lower level on Palamea Lane, and cigarettes for the friends cooking over the propane flame with the kawali and sandok—because the wives insist there’s gotta be good Filipino food to go with the beer.
Just like that pineapple water tower, he was a beacon of friends to come over, talk story, let the anxieties and hardships of working life just let go. Just for one night, at least.
And it was better with Auntie Rose’s pancit and leche flan, and Jonathan’s cheesecake.
There was one time, I was a little boy and I was sick, so I was put up in Irene and Rochel’s bed to convalesce while everyone was partying downstairs. And then Uncle Rudy came up with a cup of pinapaitan because it will cure me. He would ruffle my hair and go back down. It was a taste of fatherhood that he extended to other people.
He was always so supportive, too, when we got older. When he found out I became an elder of the Church, that was when he shared some of his words of regrets. He wanted me to do good with the work because it could be reconciliation for some of the things he left behind that weren’t so perfect.
He was a man, like you and me. The human experience is full of regrets and we’re not being honest when we say we don’t have any. It’s very rare. But he also had things to be proud about.
His last wish was for his whole family to be together one last time before he knew, like the pineapple water tower, it was time to take it down. So this past April, he planned for Irene and Rey and their children to fly out later this past summer.
There is nothing more pure in his life than the smile and warmth of his heart and body when he saw his three granddaughters. He wanted to be sure. He wanted to take a look at his most important legacy. The three girls.
They went home and Uncle Rudy decided, the pineapple tower, can’t be there forever. Its use has become obsolete. But the newness of the next generation would take up what is left behind and keep the steel of his shared history, the history of his bloodline, moving forward.
Those of us older will have memories of the pineapple water tower—an icon of the Kalihi skyline. But despite its absence, new things are put up.
Those three girls. Is how his memory, his legacy, his life will be continued on long after he’s gone.
