West Mauian carved his own niche, despite hardships
by Rob Parsons
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The
business card he handed me many years ago read, "West Maui Big Kahuna,"
fitting for the tall, athletic Colorado native who moved to Maui in
1988, following an older brother who lived in Lahaina. I met
Christopher Harstad during my previous incarnation as owner/operator of
Grand Wazoo Piano Moving, and he often helped provide muscle for
deliveries. Chris would always arrive by bicycle, always shirtless. In
fact, Chris never owned a car, and with good reason.
Soon after
arriving on Maui, Harstad had his first epileptic seizure. Initially,
he experienced them once or twice a month. But despite medication,
their frequency increased to two or three times weekly. His illness
made it challenging for him to hold steady employment and provide for
himself. Yet he lived with great passion—for educating others about his
disease, for advocating bike lane safety and for beach and ocean sports.
Chris
Harstad died earlier this month after suffering another seizure. In an
emotional memorial service two weeks ago, family and friends waded into
the shore break at D.T. Fleming's beach—his favorite bodysurfing
spot—to spread his ashes.
"Chris really connected with Maui,
really loved it there," said brother Mike, who built custom homes on
the Valley Isle before moving to Washington state. Chris was the
seventh of nine kids, and Mike said he got into a bit of trouble before
moving to Maui. "He was sort of the black sheep," said Mike.
Chris
was unflinchingly garrulous and outspoken. Rolling a piano through the
Ritz-Carlton's hallways in Kapalua, it seemed as though he knew almost
everyone employed there.
Over time, he worked at Leilani's and
Pineapple Hill restaurants, Drexel Brothers Construction and helped
stage events with Ehman Productions, Showpower and ESPN. Chris worked
as a production assistant on Xterra, the Mercedes Championship at
Kapalua, Kaanapali Classic, Skins Games at Wailea and the Sony Open on
Oahu, and was also involved in TV and feature film projects.
His
best friend, Blythe Douglas, met Harstad 20 years ago, playing Frisbee
on Kaanapali's Dig-Me Beach. They often bodysurfed and enjoyed
freestyle beach Frisbee together, and Douglas reached out to help Chris
with medical appointments or other obligations so he wouldn't have to
depend on the MEO bus schedule.
"Harstad was famous for
quoting, 'If you don't have your health, you don't have anything,'"
said Douglas. "He was grateful for just the simplest things in life. We
are grateful to have had him in our life. He was family to us."
It
often took Harsted days to recover after a grand mal seizure. Some
years back, I saw Chris for the first time in several months. He had
suffered a seizure while cooking at home, and his entire forearm was
scarred from second-degree burns.
In late 2004, I lent my Ford
F-250 truck, "Big Blue," to a friend for a weekend move. In a lapse in
judgment with dramatic consequences, he asked Harstad to drive my truck
while he drove his own.
Watching a Sunday morning football game
on TV, I was interrupted by a frantic phone call. Rushing to the scene
in my wife's car, I arrived at North Kihei Road to find police,
ambulance, my friend sitting at the roadside with his head buried in
his hands and my truck crumpled into a beachside kiawe tree. Harstad
had slipped into a seizure while driving, rear-ended a few cars,
crossed the center-line and drifted off the road. While the truck was
totaled, amazingly Harstad escaped with minor injuries.
His
bicycle was his preferred mode of transportation, and he rode daily. He
was adamant about protecting bicyclists by ensuring that cars didn't
encroach in designated bike lanes, sometimes yelling at those who did.
"I told him he was a Bike Nazi, you know, like the Soup Nazi on
Seinfeld," his brother Mike told me. "He just laughed at me."
Bicycling
on the curving road near Honolua Bay a few years back, a vehicle
swerved into Harstad's bike lane and nearly hit him. He hollered at the
driver, who stopped, got out and came at him with a machete. With
traffic stopped, Harstad managed to put the attacker in a headlock, at
which point the driver's girlfriend came out and started kicking him.
Matters were settled in court some months later.
Mike came back
to Hawaii in July 2005, when Chris underwent complicated brain surgery
in Honolulu to try to control what prescription drugs could not.
Symptoms may be controlled by medication for many with epilepsy, wrote
Claudine San Nicholas in a Maui News feature about Harstad's operation.
But Chris fell into a smaller percentage, roughly one-third, whose
maladies were not abated. Thus, Chris was willing to undergo a
lobectomy, or temporal lobe resection, after extensive testing to
locate the area of the brain responsible for his seizures.
The
Maui News article was accompanied by a photo of Harstad, broadly
smiling, with his dark hair shorn in a buzz cut and 40 metal staples in
a large upside-down U-shaped incision above his left ear. Harstad was
optimistic about a better life following the surgery—but it was not to
be.
Two years ago, Chris finally received a full Social Security
disability judgment for his illness. He also found help through Section
8 housing, and the Food Stamps program. He applied for and received a
medical marijuana card to help moderate strong side effects from his
anti-seizure medicine, but could not maintain the cost.
Chris
called me periodically over the past year, imploring me to write a
story helping to educate police and first responders about medical
alert bracelets. Apparently, he had a post-seizure event where he left
his home one night disoriented and unclothed, and was tasered by
police, who must have thought him to be on drugs and dangerous.
Chris
was deeply upset by this event. He didn't want to condemn the Maui
Police Department for what happened, only to shine a light on the
special needs of those who wear medical ID bracelets.
"He wanted
to make sure the police were aware of this issue," said brother Mike.
"He designed a poster with a peace sign on it, and he wanted it posted
in the MPD locker room." He wanted badly for his side of the story to
be told, added Douglas, and to emphasize that taser guns should not be
abused.
I told Douglas I felt a bit guilty I hadn't always
returned Chris's messages, or found time to bring his story into
print—until now. "I think we've all felt that way at some point,"
Douglas replied. "Lately [his wife] Clarissa and I asked ourselves,
'did we do enough?'"
As we gather with our 'ohana for
Thanksgiving, we can be grateful for many things, including good
health. And as waves thunder from the first big ocean swell of the
season, you can bet that riding on one of them is the spirit of the
West Maui Big Kahuna, Christopher Harstad.
Contributions in Chris's memory can be made to The Epilepsy Foundation of Colorado: 888-378-9779 or info@epilepsycolorado.org