I think this is Tim Daugherty's 40th birthday

Kent,

Joe told me the "Joe and the hospital” story the week before he died.  It was a riot. No one can say that Joe didn’t live life to the fullest.

Like a few others who have posted here, I met Joe through our mutual friend, Dr. Kenny D.  “Oh, Davenport” Joe liked to quip, with a little mocking nasal lilt to his voice as he launched into some hilarious missive about……….whatever.

Our introduction occurred around early ’77 when Joe was still living in the tiny bungalow in Manoa Valley and writing what came to be known by some as the authoritative text on the history of cocaine in the US – “Cocoa Exotica”.  Those days we were immortal, yet even the occasional visit to “The White Rhino” was almost more than any of us could take – but take it we did…and lived to tell about it.

After moving to his north shore compound in Pupukea, Joe resisted with substantial might visits back to the southern shores of Oahu.  So it was an honor when, during what has become our annual January pilgrimage to Paradise, Joe would summon his energy…..and courage……and occasionally rendezvous at the Outrigger Canoe Club in Honolulu for an enjoyable evening of fine wining, dining, and great storytelling with us and the Davenport clan.

Often, the following day, Jan and I would mobilize north and enjoy the splendor of Joe’s compound for a few days, spreading out in the pineapple hale and partaking of the glorious hospitality so many of you also enjoyed from time to time. 

I’ll miss my visits to the Pupukea compound, the Pleasure Dome, the Thinkatorium, the Pineapple Hale and Siamese Kitty’s delicious meals.  But most of all, I’ll miss Joe

We love you Joe – you’ll always be with us.

jf

The documentary was SAD SONG OF YELLOW SKIN, and it was directed by a Canadian named Michael Rubbo whom Joe had somehow gotten to know. Joe became an active promoter of the film. The story of his taking it to the Miami convention was a saga initself.At one point a group of heavy players decided that Joe was Robert Kennedy's son and he didn't disabuse them of this notion. He got at least one elegant dinner party out of it. Either there or before he had hooked up with a very dubious character named Kibby who proved to be schizophrenic (as with the journal thief/rescuer, Joe had a strange knack for attracting this kind of guy). The rest of the convention, as I recall, was devoted to dealing with Kibby's strange antics. Maybe others recall more of the story.

I first knew Joe in the 70's through John Kruse and Vicki Nelson.  There were so many different groups then (hi Kent!).  I was a struggling craftsperson.  One day Joe appeared in my studio and bought a number of pieces.  "Christmas for everyone" he said.  When he left I realized that he had made it possible for me to pay the rent that month.  What a prince!  AND Joe could write.  When he wrote about the rain you could feel the raindrops on your skin.  You will be missed, Joey K., by those near and far.  I raise my glass.

I’m not sure how long I was up on the nefarious bulletin board. I know I was hanging there in the seventies when it was in the palace in Manoa. The photo was taken (1974?) at the Miami Airport when I picked Joe up on his way to the Democratic Convention in Miami Beach. He had accepted an assignment to show an anti-war film at the convention. Can’t remember how that turned out. Moulton would know.

Anyway, back to the board... I must have hung there for years because Mona told me that she saw me up there in the early 80’s when their baseball team had parties at Joe's. In ’83 I returned to Hawaii and saw Joe for the first time in years. It was then I began my life as a cultural resource field tech for "No Shoot", Archaeological Consultants of Hawaii.

Shortly afterward I met Mona in person at Joe’s. We have been married for 23 years.

In 1982 I sailed into Kahului from Costa Rica one day beforeHuricane Iwa hit.

Joe happened to be on Maui doing a survey on the Waiehu Sand Dunes outside of Wailuku and invited me to share a room at one of the hotels on the beach at the harbor.

 One evening over cocktails he asked, ”… what was next?”

 I said, " I have no plan."

So he ask, “Do you want to be an archaeologist?” 
Needing a job and a life I replied, …” sure, what do I have to do?”

 His answer, “follow me.”

Who knew, 30 years later I still have a job, a life and a great wife.

Thanks again Joe!

In the late 1970's Joe herniated a disc in his low back and ended up in Queen's Hospital under my care. The next day as I went to his room the nursing supervisor approached me and said that Mr. Kennedy had some pretty unsavory visitors the previous night and that there were smells of pot coming from the room. I tried to appear suprised and told the supervisor I would clear this up. I told his highness that we all needed to stay out of jail and that calmed down a bit. Joe was a constant source of entertainment and the day before he was to go home, I came into his room with half a dozen medical students in tow to discuss his case. I pulled the sheet aside and there he was in bed with a beautiful Polynesian girl. Off we went and he was out of there in half an hour.

By the way, all of the "unsavory visitors" in this story are included in the e mail list. 

Thank you, Jim, for posting this photo! It's been years since I last visited the Pupukea Compound but I still remember seeing the framed HPD mug shots in the bathroom there - hung at a level & location for easy viewing while using the facilities!

Joe was my closest friend ever since we met in the summer of ’69 at UH archaeology field school.  My life is so much richer for having known Joe, making me a better and happier person than I would have been without him.  We had countless adventures together. He will always live on in my mind.  He had a great life with no regrets.

Joe was your buddy and mine and friend to so many others...we are shaken to the core by the sadness of his early death, taken too soon, but we celebrate his wonderful life – Joe Kennedy had the complete ride, perched in the world’s top percent, living the dream in his mountain paradise: A special life of complete and utter fulfillment, along with his share of frustrations and gripes. 

Joe was the most remarkable teller of tall tales with such great humor, so funny, passionate, smart -- it was hard to differ with anything he said, always on target, filled with deep insights.  Despite being the greatest talker, Joe also listened closely and responded directly, a unique ability to communicate in both directions, always supportive, honest and blunt.

I’ve had the honor to talk with Joe at length nearly every week on the phone for 43 years, although tragically we only got together about twice a year – neither of us wanted to make that ‘long’ drive.  We shared so many ideas together, analyzing the world, our friends, everything and ourselves.  In all that time we never got angry at each other -- Joe was the mellow, sometimes puffed up and agitated, country dude.  Our conversations often touched on mortality and living to the utmost, live now, he would say, don’t hold back.  Joe never expected to live a long life – he figured he had maybe 10 more years to go -- he was satisfied with his life so far.

Joe had reached a turning point recently, wrapping up his career and really enjoying his new-found leisure time, semi-retired from the grind and stress of bureaucratic archaeology which he had grown tired of.  While relishing this leisure he was not quite sure what to do next, but not worried about it.  Joe was elated that his Burton book found an agent, after spending 20 years writing it, revising, looking for publishers, and waiting.  Joe was not keen on spending time writing another book, knowing the frustrations involved, but figured to produce more magazine articles on various cultural foibles of his interest.  Recently he was thrilled to spend an afternoon with famous writer Paul Theroux, his neighbor down the road, who was enthusiastic about Joe’s writings. 

Joe wondered what his next project or path might be, but was not yet formulating anything specific; always reading for hours every day, and lately, finding time to watch a little TV, eagerly waiting for Kitty, who had comforted him so much in recent years, to return from Thailand. Things were going very well.

He finally stopped worrying about his finances, secure that he had the resources to last the duration.  Joe was at a crossroads, in a pleasant, dreamy limbo, taken away suddenly in a premature but enviable exit…quickly, no pain, no decline, just gone.  We mourn for him, we mourn for the dead, but they don’t – it’s over.  Joe had no illusions about eternity.  When his life reached the end, everything was complete -- a man in repose, the Joe we knew and loved, at peace.