"Fo' real? Oh no! What? No way."

You hear those words spoken more and more often in Hawai'i as longtime mom-and-pop shops bid us aloha. And that's what customers are saying at the H. Hamada Store in Kaka'ako, which will close by the end of April, or earlier if the inventory is gone.

Four generations of Hamadas have tended to the everyday needs of the working-class community. Today, amid the auto-body repair shops housed in Quonset huts, in a neighborhood that is now industrial with few homes and no sidewalks, the grocery store is winding down operations.

Elroy Hamada, who represents the third generation, works with daughter Jolene, wife Shirley and sister Diane at the store.

The employees become a part of the Hamada family as well, complete with nicknames. Diane smiles as she says, "Where else can you hear over the PA, 'Aku Bone' or 'Small Fry, come to the front'?

"You can't get this at the bigger grocery stores," says Diane. "The interaction, how we joke around with the customers — that's what I'm gonna miss."

So why close? Change is in the air — rising into it, actually — as luxury condominiums go up, along with property taxes in the area. The cost is making it difficult to continue.

It was Elroy who decided to make H. Hamada Store available for lease. But with a catch. Whoever leases the space must preserve the building.

"When I was small, I saw the hours my parents put in to buy this property," says Elroy. "I saw the hard work and toil they spent, how they agonized for me and my children to benefit."

That's why the building stays. As property manager, Elroy's daughter will see to it.

"Whenever I come to work and look at the building, I picture their sacrifice," says Elroy.

It's a sacrifice he and his children — and generations of Island families — can appreciate.

LIKE A FAMILY

Talk to the customers and you realize that the Hamada family is their family, too.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sad," says Roberta Hironaka of Kai-muki, who has shopped at the store for almost 50 years.

She remembers Elroy's mom cooking lunch for the workers, and how they would exchange recipes. The news of the closing hits her hard. "It's just like seeing your parent die. It's like a part of you is gone."

Customer June Cahoon, who comes in to buy drinks and soda crackers, works in the area. "No more this kind mom-and-pop places anymore," she says. "Here, get usual and the unusual. ... Look at those big cans!"

She's referring to cans holding 7 pounds of Hunt's Tomato Ketchup and 6 pounds of Pule's Coconut Milk.

The H. Hamada Store carries everything from bulk items to fructose-sweetened, low-glycemic cookies, which are next to the bags of dried shrimp.

What you won't find now, however, are caskets — a hot seller back in the 1920s, when Hatsutaro, an enterprising Issei, or first-generation Japanese immigrant, struck a deal with shipping company Matson to buy all of the damaged cargo at a discount.

Although the deal with Matson ended long ago, passing along substantial savings to customers trying to make ends meet has been the hallmark of the H. Hamada Store.

Stephanie Borabora of Nana-kuli is grateful for that. Starting back in 1972, with seven children at the time, she was able to stretch her money at the store. She would buy powdered milk to mix with the fresh milk so the kids wouldn't know how tough times were.

"I knew (Elroy's) parents. Nice people, so warm and friendly. They epitomized aloha," Bora-bora said. Once, when she had no money on her, they told her she could pay the next day.

INGRAINED THRIFT

Elroy's dad, Hiroshi, acutely understood the value of food. In World War II, while serving in the legendary 100th Infantry Battalion, he was captured and put in a German prisoner-of-war camp.

The experience had a profound effect on him. "At the dinner table," recalls Elroy, "Dad would say 'Eat all the food you take on your plate. In the camps, there was not enough food. We had to eat cockroaches.' "

That lesson applied to the business. "We hardly threw anything away that was edible," says Elroy. "He would sell it at a loss."

It was Hiroshi who in 1958 bought the Queen Street location.

The store was affordable for Hau'oli Medina's grandparents, who raised 12 kids. They would later take Medina to the store and the grandfather would secretly treat her to crack seed, saying, "Don't tell Grandma, put it away."

Oh-oh. Now Grandma, the beloved entertainer Auntie Genoa Keawe, knows.

To the 88-year-old Auntie Genoa, who grew up in Kaka'ako, the store is special because of the people. "They're friends of yours. They say, 'Hello, how you? Where you been?' she said. "That's the kind of people that take care you."

That's one reason the store's closing creates a palpable sense of loss.

Upon learning of the closing, Borabora says, "It broke my heart. ... The small mom-and-pop stores encourage people to meet their neighbors and start being nice. They bring out the best in people."