Nestled in the heart of Honolulu stands the King David Kalakaua Building, once known as the U.S. Post Office, Customhouse, and Courthouse. But locals simply call it “the downtown post office.” This grand structure holds a secret, a story whispered through the decades. It involves a dedicated postal worker, a scandalous letter, and a tragic end. Let’s journey back to 1925 and meet Benedict Westkaemper, the Assistant Superintendent of Mail. He was known for his diligence and, ironically, his strict adherence to postal regulations. He guarded the office supplies with unusual zeal. His boss, Postmaster MacAdam, held Westkaemper in high regard, praising his exceptional work record from his previous post in California.
The King David Kalakaua Building was Westkaemper’s domain. He worked within its walls, moving through the corridors with quiet efficiency. He was a man of routine, a member of the Elk’s Club, residing at the Elk’s house. Then, a shadow fell upon Westkaemper’s orderly life. A months-long investigation culminated in his arrest on January 29, 1925. The charge? Sending banned material through the mail, a violation of Section 470 of the postal laws and regulations. The details of the obscene letter sent to a woman in San Francisco remained shrouded in mystery. The authorities refused to disclose the content, only that it warranted his arrest.
Westkaemper was released on bail, a broken man. He bid a somber farewell to Postmaster MacAdam at the King David Kalakaua Building, his shame palpable. “I guess you are disappointed in me, Mac,” he lamented, his voice heavy with despair. He boarded a Waikiki-bound streetcar, seeking refuge in his room at the Elk’s Club. But solace eluded him. A mysterious phone call alerted the police to Westkaemper’s suicidal intentions. He slipped out of the club, heading towards Diamond Head. His final hours were marked by brief, poignant encounters. He paused to play with children, then inquired about Cooke Avenue’s location from a schoolgirl.
His journey ended near Fort Ruger, at the Charles Martin dairy. A dairy employee witnessed Westkaemper’s ascent up the mountainside, disappearing into a gulch. The sharp report of a pistol echoed through the air. Westkaemper was found moments later, a self-inflicted bullet wound to the heart ending his life. Postmaster MacAdam mourned the loss of his diligent employee. He expressed disbelief at Westkaemper’s actions, convinced that something unusual must have prompted the sending of the letter. Westkaemper left no note, only newspaper clippings of pretty poems about life tucked away among his belongings.
But the story doesn’t end there. Within a month, whispers began to circulate within the King David Kalakaua Building. Postal worker Adam Wong claimed to have seen Westkaemper’s ghost in the basement supply room. He described the tall, brooding figure approaching him silently. When Wong alerted his foreman, the apparition vanished like a wisp of smoke. The belief spread like wildfire that Westkaemper’s spirit had returned to the King David Kalakaua Building. He was back, they said, to ensure no one wasted the precious postal supplies he had once guarded so fiercely.