Jingle Jangle Honolulu

Nine months after Pearl Harbor, languorous Honolulu is booming like San Francisco in '49. Suburbs mushroom. Money flows, men are men without women. Everybody works. Always people look to sea for ships that carry things to buy: war has made a hurdy-gurdy of the town (pop. 179,356 in 1940) which romanticists used to eulogize as the place of abundant calm, a fair haven where even mynah birds waxed so fat that they hardly bothered to get out of way of wheel or foot.

Money, Money. Retail & wholesale trade approximated $190 million between January and August, up 20% over last year. When old currency was called in July 15 for burning, $25 million in new currency (stamped Hawaii and worthless if captured) disappeared in the flood and more was ordered from Washington.

For small businessmen life is pleasantly hectic. Big business bemoans shipping troubles and losses of lands, machinery and men to the war effort. Sugar, Hawaii's biggest industry, may manage to ship 850,000 raw tons this year, 10% less than last. Pineapples, the second industry, bear up well because the fruit, like sugar, goes to the mainland in the holds of returning supply and ammunition ships. Tourism was the third industry. Today tourists wear dungarees, live in places like Red Hill, a huge defense camp, are named Never Sweat Harry and Kalamazoo Joe. They spend as freely as the other latter-day tourists in starched khaki and whites.

Where to Spend It? Military law allows few pleasure domes. Sporting ladies are scarce. Stores have no difficulty selling anything they can get. Books disappear from shelves as quickly as the dealers put them there. Customers ask music dealers for records of Jingle, Jangle, Jingle or He Wears a Pair of Silver Wings but are satisfied with songs as old as Cheek to Cheek. Movie theaters are packed with customers delighted to see The Courtship of Andy Hardy.

Two dozen pop-bottling works have been far behind in supplying the demand. Breweries hardly find a few minutes to age beer. Bars open at 10 a.m., close at 5 p.m. Packaged liquor is rationed at one quart per person a week.

There were no food shortages last week, except Irish potatoes, but irregular ship arrivals produce temporary gluts and shortages. Last week housewives were urged to stock up on canned goods; hamburger was too plentiful because prosperous workers bought choicer cuts of meat.

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