Honolulu Weekly

Waikiki Nei, the Las Vegas-style showroom and production, finally opened in August after numerous delays, along with its nightclub Level 4. The venue, built in the remnants of the Aloha Showroom, has been lauded for its technical wizardry. But several workers, both past and present, have raised concerns about unsafe building practices. Company officials dismiss such claims and insist their showroom is safe. The workers, however, point to shortcuts that they say compromise the safety of the actors, audience members and the general public.

Operation cost

Ron Van Cleef, 51, worked as a steelworker, carpenter and electrical technician for the final four months of construction during the two-year process. Three months before the show opened, he was excited about the show, but the aspect of a showroom that he calls “potentially disastrous” has since soured him on the experience. His biggest fear is that what he calls shoddy work practices will result in the injury, or worse, of his co-workers.

Van Cleef says the problems started coming when the original $10 million investment more than doubled in just two years. During these increases, he insists those in higher positions started taking shortcuts. “They didn’t even have the proper tools for us to work with,” he says.

He’s not alone in that accusation. Honolulu Weekly spoke with several workers, who insist they ultimately left the operation after going weeks without pay or working with improper materials. Others claim they have yet to be compensated for their work.

William Jamieson of Trade Show Convention Consultants says he was asked to bring in a crew during Waikiki Nei’s construction. “Just to let you know about my experience, I built that room when it was the Aloha Showroom,” he said in a phone interview, “I also built The Magic of Polynesia Showroom. We do the roofing, we do the stage and we do lighting and sound. I’ve set up trade shows and conventions. When they were doing all this stuff, they didn’t have the correct people and they were under the gun because they were already a year behind schedule on getting this place open. We were going in as stagehands to help set up the stage part and we ended up being laborers for the steelworkers union. We hauled steel. That’s a job for people in construction, not what we were hired for.”

Jamieson claims problems started almost immediately with construction, including an untreated rust remover that ended up giving four members of his crew staph infections. “They’re supposed to top-coat that stuff before they bring it on the site,” Jamieson said. “But we just pulled it straight out of the containers and put it straight in the room. One of the guys actually had to go to the hospital and get surgery done to his hand. He almost lost his hand because of it. One of the girls that was on my crew, her infection got really bad and reacted with her body on some other stuff that she was sick for about 10 days, she couldn’t do anything.” Instead of clearing out the hazardous material, Jamieson claims management denied the problem. “They started telling a bunch of lies about the staff members drinking and that sort of stuff,” he said.

High wire act

“Here’s the thing,” he said, “the roof is rated for everything that goes up there. The floor that’s there has never been rated. That’s one of those things that might come up to haunt them because after you put tension or stress on something that’s not in the right place, or hasn’t had the right stuff done to it, that’s when it starts acting like it will break away.”

Engineer Steve Au insists that claim is false. “That building is absolutely structurally sound. All of the engineering has been double-checked. Every structural connection had to be reviewed literally every day.”

If there were any problems with the building, Au says he and engineer John Allison would be the first to be respond to issues. “I can tell you with the likes of John Allison, we have nothing to be afraid of or concerned about.”

But Jamieson’s not only concerned with what’s underfoot, calling attention to work that’s been done with the catwalks and suspension lines. “Some of the things I saw were mainly the steelwork and the inadequate way of rushing to get things done. I don’t know what you would call it, it’s just one of those things–bush mechanics is what we call it. We’re just stagehands, but I can see if they don’t correct the stuff up there and it runs for a little while, all the stuff is just going to fade away.”

The problem, he says, is with what he calls stitch-welds. “They have a 12-inch weld and then two feet of space, and another 12-inch weld,” he explains. “What will happen is one of those welds will eventually give, and it will act like a zipper. And depending on how much weight they’re putting on these it’s one of those things where it will all just come down.”

Again, Allison disagrees. “That’s the kind of reasoning that says one missing rivet would make an entire airplane fall apart,” said Allison. “The real question is, why would the weld fail? You weld what’s necessary. The catwalks, there’s really no loading on it, and a one-inch weld can take somewhere around 2,500 pounds of capacity. It’s there for security, but it’s not there to do any work. There’s no tension. But anybody can say anything, that’s just the way it is. I don’t know why, they must be disgruntled, maybe they’re just concerned. But there’s no real load on it.”

Jamieson says he and his team eventually quit just before the show was first scheduled to open in June. “I walked away from it [because] I saw a lot of problems with safety with what they were doing. When I told them that they had to bring some people in to have them look at this, then they got pissed off at me and basically told me not to come back.”

Showtime

Waikiki Nei had just entered its second week of production when Van Cleef joined Honolulu Weekly for a showing. We settle into our seats as he explains the technical aspects of the hydraulic powered stage and the seating, pointing out where the sections are partitioned off. When the side areas, a three-story, three-piece sectioned terrace rotates to reveal actors and band members, he leans over. “I built those,” he says, speaking with obvious pride.

As the show progresses, he points out things he feels could be potentially dangerous, from a lack of safety harnesses for actors zipping above the audience on surfboards and suitcases, to the gentle swaying of a catwalk to our right as an actor prepares to board his vessel. When the production involves a call to audience participation in a foot stomping, hand clapping sing along, he smiles mischievously.

“You feel that?” he asks, gesturing to the buoyancy of the bleacher seats. “Do you think you should really be able to feel that?”

The statement is meant as a joke. All the same, we’re relieved when the foot stomping ends.

Show’s over

When the house lights come on, we wait for the exiting crowd–capacity was at about half for this Tuesday night performance–to thin out. Van Cleef was laid off when the show opened, though he was told he was being kept on call. “They wanted me to stay on so I can fix things when they break,” he says, shrugging.

As we are shepherded through the exits, Van Cleef pauses to point out several large gouges in the flooring just at the edge of the moveable seats. “Those are all over the place,” Van Cleef explains. “Those [seating] sections are 4,000 pounds a piece. And there are four sections. What’s happening is the weight from the sections, makes the concrete bubble because of the tension. They’re simply painting over it when it happens.”

Van Cleef says the crew was using a boat wench to retract the sections, stressing that the cables used were not thick enough to handle the heavy loads. Waikiki Nei Chief Operating Officer Todd Dougall confirms that wenches were used but says they’ve since been replaced with hydraulics. “We replaced it to expedite the lowering and raising of the seats,” he said. “It was just a better system.”

As for the gouges—most over an inch in diameter—Au insists they are remnants from the original stage from the former theater. “When we pulled it out,” Au says, “it left pock marks in the floor. And we didn’t try to patch everything up unless it was necessary.”

Calls to several other workers, both past and present, echo Van Cleef’s worries, yet few of them are willing to go on record. Speaking only on condition of anonymity, one former worker says he left not only because of sketchy payment methods, but because he feels the construction shortcuts could come back to haunt the venture.

“It’s not going to happen right away,” the former worker says, “but if they don’t fix it, there is going to be some problems.”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with the building,” Allison insists. “100 percent, guaranteed. “It’s really a ridiculous statement. Nothing is perfect in this world. You buy a car, it may have a little chip in it, but that’s an insignificant thing. What I can tell you is that this design is 100 percent sure.”

Meanwhile, Van Cleef says he’s caught in a Catch-22 situation. “By telling you this, I’m probably ruining myself professionally,” he says. “But if I don’t say something and somebody dies, I’m ruined as well.”

He pauses, reflecting on the situation. “I just don’t want to see anybody get hurt.”