You’re standing where justice, politics, and-if we’re being honest-more than a little drama once collided: the site of the old Honolulu Courthouse. If you listen closely and use your imagination, you might hear the echoes of heated debates, law books shuffling, or, on a rowdier day, a ransacked hallway with angry supporters storming the building. I’ll get to that part in a minute.
So, let’s rewind to the 1850s. Imagine Hawaii at a crossroads-a kingdom aiming for modern governance, crowned with a brand-new written constitution. Up to then, “court” typically meant a gathering in a thatched hut. Not so dignified when you’re trying to impress visiting diplomats or keep important records dry during one of those tropical downpours.
Say hello to the Honolulu Courthouse: two imposing stories of coral blocks, classical columns, and, according to popular rumor, the very first flush toilets in the islands-making it the place to be for anyone with an appreciation for... let’s call it “modern plumbing.”
But getting this building up wasn’t exactly smooth sailing. Most of the labor came from prisoners. In 1851, a group of inmates decided they’d had enough and staged an escape, commandeering gun batteries along the way. It sounds wild, but they forgot one small thing: gunpowder. So, not much damage, unless you count wounded pride and construction delays.
Even with those hiccups, by July 1852 the Superior Court moved in, the Chief Justice waxing poetic about leaving grass huts behind for sturdy coral. At about 75 by 56 feet, and with a towering 30-foot courtroom ceiling, the building was as grand as it needed to be. It was the heart of government: home to the Supreme Court and where kings were chosen after the line of succession got, well, complicated.
Cue the most infamous moment: the riot of 1874. King Kamehameha V died without an heir, and the legislators here were charged with electing the next monarch. When David Kalākaua was chosen over Queen Emma, her supporters erupted-smashing furniture, attacking lawmakers, and destroying irreplaceable government records. It was basically Hawaii’s version of a parliamentary food fight-minus the food, plus a good deal more chaos. After the dust settled, the government decided it was time for new digs, and moved a few blocks over.
From then on, the old courthouse swapped king-making for commerce. H. Hackfeld and Company moved in, stripped it out, and used it as a warehouse and an office, even adding an iron gateway with medallions-one for the year the company was founded, and one for the year of their 50th anniversary. That’s a Hawaiian “humble brag” if I’ve ever seen one.
As decades rolled on, the courthouse did its duty until the late 1960s when high-rises claimed downtown’s skyline and the old coral structure made way for something taller (and arguably less charming). A few artifacts remain-coral blocks and that ornate iron gate, now displayed nearby-but the stories? They’re still here, if you listen.
Ready for Myron B. Thompson Academy? Just walk northwest for about 6 minutes.
