Donald Moke Takayama November 16, 1943 – October 22, 2012

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Donald. You

wondered about

your legacy. It

is not made of

balsa, redwood,

or foam. Hanai-

father, your

legacy is made

up of flesh and

bone.

— Cori SchumacherHPD Team

Donald Takayama has been a minstrel of hearts in the world of surfing since the day he emerged from

the Ala Wai onto the white sand beaches of Waikiki back when the original Beachboys still dominated the South Shore scene. He has played the tunes of jokester, father, shaper, mentor, and inspiration to five generations of surf evolution and, if his body had given him the chance, he would have continued to play this same song through five generations more.

In Donald, the wicked was always balanced by the angelic; the hard edge was perfectly foiled to a forgiving ellipse; a bad-ass barbecue always tempered with plenty of surfing between drumsticks, sticky-rice, and clam chowder.

Life met its match in “D.T.” These initials were carved into his arm, as if to remind Life that this flesh was his while the blood still pumped through and by that heart that refused to stop and knew no bounds.

He spun his web wide, this song of his, and wove it elegantly into the hearts of those who willingly became captive to it. He was so successful that he found himself forced to work graveyard-like shifts in order to coax perfection from blocks of foam, balsa,

Donald had to go away and it hurts.

But all of us who were lucky enough to enjoy the pleasure of his love and company will always be thankful for his friendship, his surfboards, his hard-won wisdom, and his stories.

Especially his stories.Born on the island of Oahu

in 1943, just two years after the attack on Pearl Harbor, when Hawaii was a still-smoldering Crossroads of the Pacific.

Running fast and loose as a young boy in Honolulu, paddling down the muddy Ala Wai on anything he could find, carried makai on the runoff of Manoa Valley to legendary Waikiki.

Occupying the lower rung on the beach, under the watchful eyes of the original Beachboys: Duke, Steamboat, Rabbit, Blackout, Squirrelly, Tidal Wave.

Always living – with no words needed – a devoted, loving union with his wife Diane.

Traveling the world, welcomed like a touring potentate everywhere he landed, feted by surfing royalty, praised for his foils, his surfing, and his spirit.

An honored and welcome kamaaina whenever he returned to his beloved Waikiki – which was often. Donald was, after all, Hawaiian to the core. That’s where his heart lived.

Swordsmith to the finest longboard surfers in the world, who always seemed to surf to their highest potential on his considered, perfectly detailed boards.

Longtime supporter of North County surfing, tireless barbecue master, generous time giver to the Oceanside Longboard Surfing Club. Any

and redwood for those of us who were blessed to ride his creations.

Donald’s stories are abundant. They persist. They are a great mythology that line the rock-bed of surfing history: from paipo to fish to SUP. Donald wanted to share as the Duke had shared, with true and gracious Aloha and he did so with a legacy composed, not only of pristine objects, but of hearts who continue to carry his legacy forward.

The song persists, though the voice of the minstrel has gone silent. Each of us who knew this master craftsman, this master of ballad and heart-song, carry a bit of his lasting tune within us. As we move beyond DT’s passing, we will learn to sing the bits he left us – our inheritance – and Donald’s legacy will continue to be a shaping force in the world.

This is his lasting gift: to become an unbreakable force of nature within the hearts he touched, as persistent and powerful as the sea that beckoned him with its siren-song to emerge, fully-formed in his genius, from the depths of Honolulu’s urban labyrinth.

— Cori SchumacherHPD Team

Learning to pull a drawknife, burying his finished board in the sand so he didn’t have to drag it home.

Living wild on the beach, his hair sunburnt ehu-style, a rapscallion on the make, soaking up the ocean knowledge of the ancients.

A virtuoso on a surfboard, somehow both macho and soft – the ultimate style combo – knees “bullied out,” arms crooked and held aloft, cross-stepping for go not show, making long shot runs over the coral to the blasted-out depths of the Ala Moana channel.

Charming the pants off the visiting California surfers and blowing their minds with the quality of his craft.

Flying to the mainland in a propliner when 12 years old, alone and on his own nickel, to shape surfboards for none other than capital D Dale capital V Velzy.

Standing naked on the side of PCH for a few extra seconds while changing into his trunks, eliciting lane swerves and much honking from the shocked squares. A crazy-haired kid with a four-track mind: surfing, shaping, hot rods and gals.

Designing and ripping the Jacobs Donald Takayama Model.

Designing the Bing David Nuuhiwa Noseriding Model.

Racking up significant placings in the United States Surfing Championships.

Establishing Hawaiian Pro Designs. While very much a business, it also seemed predicated on keeping his surfing friends supplied with top-notch equipment. To this day, significant surfers the world over have DTs in their quiver.

Speaking with twinkle-eyed pride of his daughters.

surf event with the presence of DT was bound to be epic.

Stalwart supporter of the Shop Rat ethic, bringing dozens of young wastrels into the trade, giving them identity and pride and a marketable skill. His advocacy for his students was legendary and unconditional.

Broad-minded, non-judgmental, and utterly without prejudice, Donald had a portfolio of friends from every conceivable walk of life.

So here we stand with a pain in our hearts and tears in our eyes, but more than anything else, the permanent and lifelong smiles from the gift of having known Donald and lived his stories with him.

Travel well, friend. We’ll never forget you.

— Scott HuletThe Surfer’s Journal

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Urn carved by Donald’s hanai-brother Kalani Delovio.

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KEVIN KINNEAR, FEBRUARY 19, 1988

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Aia o Donald I loko o ko makou pu’uwai.

Donald is in our hearts.

Donald’s hands had a life of their own.

When he’d talk, they’d swoop up and down and around like two swallows chasing each other through the air.

I miss seeing Donald’s hands effortlessly dancing up and down the rails of a newly emerging surfboard. Whether foam or wood, Donald’s hands skillfully coaxed both truth and beauty out of any material he touched.

Donald’s hands were the ambassadors of his heart and soul, reaching out to shake your hand or give you a hug, patting you on the back when times were hard, or throwing out a pure Hawaiian shaka with flashing eyes and a Menehune grin any time anything caught his fancy.

I miss Donald’s hands expressing his utter joy when he would take off on a wave and they’d guide him like a symphony conductor through the graceful arc of a bottom turn, reaching for the sky while Donald artfully arched back accelerating across a hollow wall, tucking into the tube with a playful head dip, slashing a manly cutback, then running up to the nose until his feet were planted right on the tip while his magic hands dangled at his side, casually waiting for Donald’s next move – always leading the way.

— Kevin Kinnear Best Man

MahaloDearest Ohana, Friends, Team and Associates,

I would like to thank all of you for your outpouring of flowers, food, kindness, time, sentiments and most of all, love, during this most heartfelt and unexpected of events.

If there was one thing about my husband Donald, I am sure we would all agree, is that he loved to live life to the fullest. And he knew how to do that maybe a little too much sometimes! Donald seemed invincible because he was so full of life. He touched people in ways that I have never seen and made a huge impression on just about everyone he met. Donald always remembered and treated each person with a joy and humor that is so seldom seen.

Each one of us has our memories with him and about him and in a sense this does make Donald invincible. We were all so lucky to have him in our lives and nothing can ever take away those moments that were shared. I will always have a smile and love in my heart for Donald and will carry on in his honor so that he would be proud. I know you will, too. He will always be the love of my life and I will miss Mr. T forever.

Aloha,Diane TakayamaAKA Sydney-Diane

9:00 Music: Glenn and Joice Alapag, Takayama Family

10:00 Host: Hunter Joslin Hawaiian Chant: Kalani Akui Opening Prayer: Dave Hanson

Speakers: Takayama Family HPD team: Jeannette Prince, Brendan White, Devon Howard Paul Strauch Linda Benson Skip Frye Nat Young Joel Tudor Cori Schumacher

11:15 Music and hula dancers: The Ta’utiare Dancers from Momilani’s Island Traditions

Noon Water Ceremony

Following the Water Ceremony, there will be an open mic until 2:00 pm.

Coordinating CommitteeTakayama FamilyNoah Shimabukuro, Hawaiian Pro DesignsShinya Uekusa, Hawaiian Pro DesignsAlisa Burns, Oceanside Longboard Surfing ClubKevin Kinnear, California Surf MuseumTara Lee Torburn, California Surf MuseumTerry Goodman, City of Oceanside Special EventsCaptain Bill Curtis, City of Oceanside Lifeguards

SupportOceanside Longboard Surfing ClubOutrigger Canoe Clubs: Dave Hanson, coordinator Oceanside Outrigger Dana Outrigger Kanaka Outrigger Kupa’a Mau OutriggerDevon Howard: PR/Media RelationsMediaTech Institute: media coverageMark McGinnis: palm trees for stageLily’s Wholesale Florist: flowers for paddlersCarina’s Wholesale Florist: flowers for paddlersOceanside Outrigger Women Racers: Ruthie Wheeler, coordinator, leis for canoesForward Screen Printing: commemorative t-shirts

A Tribute to DonaldNovember 10, 2012 • 10:00 a.m.

Junior Seau Pier Amphitheater and Oceanside Pier • Oceanside, California

Program and PosterEditor: Kevin Kinnear

Creative: Tara Lee Torburn

Contributors: Takayama Family, LeRoy Grannis Collection LLC, Dan Highland, Scott Hulet, Hunter Joslin, Tom Keck, Kevin Kinnear, Jeannette Prince, Cori Schumacher, Cliff Serna, Paul Strauch, Tara Lee Torburn, Steve Wilkings

Printing: Jerry Anderson, Headline Graphics

TARA LEE TORBURN, HPD, 1988

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