A hundred and fifty years ago street life in downtown Honolulu presented thrills and chills. As a pedestrian plowed through ankle-deep dust that rain turned into mud, he or she had to look sharp. There were few sidewalks. Drunks and whoop-it-up-types raced on horseback along narrow roads. Tipsy men rolled barrels to and fro. But the worst menace came from droves of wild cattle that surged through the streets as they were driven to the slaughterhouses. Bug-eyed citizens scampered ahead of them, rushing through gates and jumping fences to get out of the way. Not surprisingly, Honolulu's more cautious or genteel residents spent a lot of time at home.

By Richard A. Greer