A Paniolo Family’s Tale: Ichiro Yamaguchi, Son of Parker Ranch’s First Japanese Cowboy

By Catherine Tarleton

In 1920, American women voted in their first presidential election; commercial radio was born; and the Red Sox sold Babe Ruth to the Yankees for $100,000 and a curse. In the Territory of Hawai‘i, Waikiki boasted five major hotels and Duke Kahanamoku brought home his Olympic gold medal.

On the Big Island of Hawai‘i, the paniolo town of Waimea—not yet bearing its second name, Kamuela—had a population of about 500,000 cows and 500 people. Samuel “Kamuela” Parker, son of original patriarch John Palmer Parker, died that year, leaving a $6 million estate in trust to his six-year-old grandson, Richard Smart, and the vast dynasty of Parker Ranch in the care of manager Alfred W. Carter.

In its earlier 20th Century heyday, the Parker Ranch was Waimea, and the paniolo culture was not just how people made a living. It was how people lived. Into this world, in 1922, Ichiro Yamaguchi was born. His memories are deep-rooted in the values of hard work, love of land and family—the stories behind the black-and-white photos of paniolo history.

“My father was the first Japanese paniolo and the first Japanese foreman on Parker Ranch,” says Ichiro. Matsuichi Yamaguchi was the son of Hisamatsu Yamaguchi, who moved to Waimea from Hiroshima-ken. Rather than go to work on the Pu’unene or Niuli’i Sugar Plantation like his father, “Matsu” chose the cowboy life and started as a groundskeeper for Carter’s big white house, now Jacaranda Inn. Fluent in Hawaiian and excellent with animals, he worked his way up to assistant foreman, in charge of the ranch’s herd of prized, purebred Herefords. He and wife Harue made their home in Makahālau until Ichiro was born, and about 1930, the family moved into “Paniolo House.”

The small, red house had a wood-burning stove, an outhouse, a furo or bath, a front porch facing Mauna Kea, and a kitchen with built-in meat cooler. As a ranch employee, Matsu received regular rations of beef and bacon—which they traded with Japanese neighbors for vegetables—along with milk, 100-pound sacks of rice, and kerosene. With that and a salary of $120 per month, he provided for Harue and their family, which grew to four boys and four girls.

Hard work filled long days that started with pre-dawn milking. “Before, we used to start milking at 6 in the morning,” said Ichiro, “then they changed it to 1 a.m., and we would milk again at 1 p.m. Each cow could give five gallons milk.” Did he ever get kicked? “Sometimes, oh yes,” he said, “Especially when you fall asleep!”

Ichiro helped his father deliver the still-warm milk to certain people and places. “We had a dairy at Paliho‘oūkapapa. They made butter, cottage cheese, milk, and cheddar cheese in big wheels. Had a room made of rock to keep everything cold,” he said, and added with a smile, “We fed the skim milk to the pigs.”

Sometimes Ichiro would help his father and the other cowboys on a drive. “We would leave early one morning, from Waimea, and drive the cattle down to Kawaihae,” said Ichiro. “We had to rope the cattle and drag them into the ocean one by one; the horses were specially trained for that,” he said. “And after the ocean, we turned the horses loose. We took off their saddles and let them run free, like a day off.”

They traded salt meat for fish at Chock Ho store. “One whole aku was 50 cents,” said Ichiro. “Oil sardines were five cents. A loaf of bread was 10 cents from Hilo; Saloon Pilot, one cent, one cracker. My father used to buy ‘Butterball’ candy for us. We were lucky.”

In between chores and studies at Waimea School, there was some time for play. “We would run and the cowboys would rope us,” said Ichiro. The boys played baseball, or a game called “Pee Wee,” with wooden clubs made from broomsticks. And on special occasions, the ranch pulled out all the stops.

“Only holidays at the ranch was Christmas, 4th of July and New Year’s Eve,” said Ichiro. If the ranch was doing well, everybody got a bonus. At Christmas every single keiki got a present, along with special treats like oranges, hard candies and walnuts grown on Waiki‘i Ranch. “The last thing we got was a bugle,” said Ichiro, “because we made so much noise!”

On New Year’s Eve, the ranch threw an enormous lū‘au, cooking for days and days. “They had three imu,” said Ichiro, “One for kalua, six pigs, one for laulau and one for kulolo.”  The whole town was invited, but, Ichiro said, “First the cowboys eat, then the roughriders second, third was employees, and then the community.”

In 1936, when it came time for Ichiro’s father’s “yakudoshi” (41st birthday), Matsu wanted to also celebrate the birth of his newest daughter and asked if the party could take place on Sunday, January 26, instead of waiting for his birthday in April. A festive day filled with food, family and friends concluded on a high note.

Monday morning, he went back to work, saddled up his horse, Fumi, and went out to herd sheep on the slopes of Mauna Kea. Fumi tripped on a rock and fell, taking Matsu down with her. Badly hurt, Matsu managed to get back in the saddle, and with the help of fellow paniolo, rode back to Makahalau. He was transported by car to a doctor in Waimea and the hospital in Kohala, but his injuries were too severe and he died the next day.

Mrs. Yamaguchi was suddenly a widow with eight children and without her paniolo husband and his Parker Ranch benefits, their future was uncertain. Ichiro, now the man of the house, was 13.

His sister and uncle lived on O‘ahu. They went to A.W. Carter’s Honolulu home to give him the bad news. “He said, ‘Cannot be!’” Ichiro recalled. “He called up his son Hartwell, and was mad that he never told him himself.  He sent my sister and uncle to Upolu Airport on the seaplane and got steamer tickets back for them. He must have bumped somebody,” said Ichiro with a smile. “The Parker Ranch car went to meet them. Mr. Carter paid for everything—the funeral, the meal…. He even set up my father’s grave and the gravestone.” (Now behind the old Mormon church.)

Although he missed Matsu’s services, when he was able to come back to the Big Island, Carter immediately went to visit the Yamaguchi family. “Mr. Carter walked in our house and just…” Ichiro tapped his chest and waved his hand. “He couldn’t say anything.”

“My father had two life insurance policies,” said Ichiro. “Mr. Carter paid the bill sometimes. He came to see my mother with two checks, for $5,000, and offered her the choice of taking the money, or staying on the ranch. She could get 18 pounds of beef per week, three quarts of milk per day and 50 pounds of rice per month.”

The family stayed for 53 years. The cowboy who was charged with Fumi turned her loose in the pasture to “retire.” Ichiro worked on the ranch, starting, as his father had, with a bamboo rake on the grounds of Carter’s home. Ichiro’s brother, Jiro, became a celebrated cowboy in his own right, now a member of the Paniolo Hall of Fame.

Ichiro joined the Army during World War II and worked as a truck driver, a cook and a butcher. He returned to the Island after his service with his wife Alice and went back to work on the ranch, for the man who had become like a second father to him. Over the years, as Hartwell Carter took the reins and Richard Smart came back to Waimea to run the ranch, Ichiro went to see the new boss and explain his family’s verbal agreement with A.W. Carter. In every case, Carter’s word was honored. “He would never go back on his word. You didn’t have to put in writing,” said Ichiro. “He was a great man.”

Ichiro and Alice have been married over 60 years. They have one son and daughter, three grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. The old family home, “Paniolo House,” has been uprooted, relocated near North Hawai‘i Community Hospital, and is presently under consideration for an historic exhibition.

Ichiro Yamaguchi’s work-tanned hand sports a gold frog ring with spry green eyes. “Its name is ‘Kaero.’ It means ‘return’ in Japanese,” he says. “When you go to Vegas, you want your money to return.” When he smiles, his face crinkles into echoing patterns and ripples, like a Hawaiian quilt sewed sometime long ago. Perhaps Kaero helps him return to those early days too, and keep them alive for us, in his stories.