In the verbal skirmishing between those-for and those-against development, the most memorable salvo I’ve heard was uttered by Walter Kupau.

In the early seventies, I was part of a group of young locals that started an alternative newspaper. To get the lay of the land, we met with people who knew more about Hawaii than we did. We visited Herman Doi, Hawaii’s first ombudsman (and the first state ombudsman in the U.S.); Clinton Tanimura, the state’s first auditor; and Herbert Cornuelle, the president of the Dillingham Corporation. We continued our education by going to Kalihi to meet a colorful union leader.

Walter Kupau was a member of the Hawaii Carpenters Union, Local 745. Eventually, he became the head of the union: its financial secretary, business representative, and chief negotiator. In time, he became the highest paid union leader in the state and, for six months, a resident of Lompoc Federal Prison, in California. When we met Kupau, he was president of the Hawaii State Federation of Labor, AFL-CIO, but still only an assistant to Stanley Yanagi, the head of the union.

The Carpenters Union had just completed its new headquarters on Houghtailing Street. Kupau greeted us warmly and ushered us into his boss’s spacious office. Sitting behind Yanagi’s desk, he asked if we’d like a beer. He then disappeared for a minute before returning with a six-pack of well-chilled Coors.

At the time, Coors was not sold at Safeway. The company shipped its product only to western states. We all knew about Coors, the legendary beer in the aluminum cans, but none of us had ever tasted it. It was available here only to those who’d gone to the Mainland and brought it back in coolers.

We were flattered by Kupau’s willingness to share his stash. We did not expect the fiery union leader to have the graces of a Kahala hostess. We had come to hear his pro-development pitch.

In a confident, purposeful manner, he told us a familiar story:

Development is good for Hawaii because it creates jobs. Union jobs. Well-paying jobs for masons, electricians, plumbers, carpenters, and painters. It creates jobs for professionals, architects, engineers, lawyers, and accountants; and jobs for sales teams. Hawaii was in an economic boom. Construction jobs were essential to keep the economy growing. Prosperity benefits all of us.

Kupau’s pitch included a complaint about legislators who did not believe in the development gospel. He called them troglodytes.

No one blinked when he said this.

All of us sitting opposite him had been to college. I had read “The Education of Henry Adams” in an American-lit class. Henry Adams (1838-1918) was the grandson and great-grandson of two U.S. presidents. President Abraham Lincoln had appointed his father, Charles Francis Adams, to serve as the American ambassador to the United Kingdom.

Henry Adams was an American aristocrat. But in his book, he famously called himself a troglodyte, a cave dweller, because his classical 18th-century Harvard education had not prepared him for the 20th century.

Without Kupau’s help, I would never have linked two or three of our legislators with Henry Adams, the Harvard intellectual who was so troubled by change.

We thanked Walter Kupau for his time and for the beer and left. Over the next several years, we wrote and published page upon page of articles critical of development.

We opposed the construction of the reef runway because it would destroy the reef and deprive the Hawaiian stilt, an endangered bird species, of its habitat. We opposed the H-3 freeway as costly and ruinous of the environment. We didn’t see the current necessity of connecting the Marine Corps base in Kaneohe with Pearl Harbor. Besides, the freeway would lead to the rapid urbanization of the windward Oahu. We opposed the development of Kalama Valley because it would displace truck and pig farmers.

Not unlike Henry Adams and our homegrown legislative troglodytes, we were troubled by the prospect of change.

As a nervous flier, I’m now grateful for the reef runway. Landing at Honolulu International Airport is a breeze. I rarely use the H-3, but whenever I do, I find the scenery spectacular.

I met Walter Kupau only once. He died suddenly of a heart attack in 1999.

But I know what I would say to him if he came back to life and he and I could continue the discussion of development in Hawaii.

The idea of bringing Kupau back to life to get his advice is not original. It’s the central conceit of Lori Aquino’s clever, funny, and highly original 2004 novel, “The Ghost of Walter Kupau.” Her heroine, Renae “Roaches” Roces, summons up Kupau’s ghost and asks for a favor: she wants him to kill a former boyfriend who jilted her.

Aquino had worked for Kupau as general counsel of the Carpenters Union. Her portrayal of her former boss captures both his generous and profane spirit.

Walter Kupau was a complex person. When we met, I knew of his reputation as a charismatic leader and hothead. His language was simple and direct. He spoke pidgin, peppered with at least one latinate term. Troglodyte! It was impossible not to understand what he was telling you.

In a conversation with him today, I imagine him asking, “So, what, you never wen learn nothing yet?”

I’d tell him I was chastened but unrepentant about our earlier opposition to development.

Ghost: “So you still one troglodyte?”

Me: “I believe in the planning process. I believe the public should scrutinize development projects. Once built, they’re around for a long time. They sometimes have unforeseen consequences. The public should be able to review environmental-impact reports in a timely way. It should be given ample opportunity to comment at public hearings.”

Ghost: “What a pain in the ass!”

Me: “By the way, what do you think of the 650-foot luxury condo tower the governor wants to put up in Kakaako?”

Ghost: “You asking me?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Ghost: “It’s jobs. Good-paying union jobs.”

Me: “What about the height?”

Ghost: “Edifice complex. You know Neil.”

Me: “Second question.”

Ghost: “Shoot.”

Me: “What about Ho’opili?”

Ghost: “Schuler?”

Me: “He also built houses in Kalama Valley.”

Ghost: “Again, it’s jobs. Good-paying union jobs.”

Me: “But the project’s going to destroy productive ag land.”

Ghost: “The paper said the 1,554-acre project going include 252 acres of ‘civic farms,’ ‘community gardens,’ and ‘residential steward farms.’ What more do you want? They going take out some ag land, and they going put some back. It’s a halfway house kind of ag. Better than no ag at all, right?”

Me: “Sounds Orwellian to me.”

Ghost: “Like they not telling the truth?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Ghost: “Next question.”

Me: “What do you think of Kyo-ya’s plan to go from eight to 26 stories?

Ghost: “Waikiki?”

Me: “Beachfront.”

Ghost: “They better be careful. You heard about the goose that wen lay the golden egg.”

About the author: Warren Iwasa is a long-time resident of Honolulu.