Monday, November 21, 2011

Gobble, Gobble, Toil and Trobble





What would a turkey say if not gobble, gobble? Does it trouble you as it does me? And do they always go with two gobbles, as opposed to just one, or a series of many gobbles in a row? And, what does gobble, gobble mean? Do you suppose perhaps the turkey has an idea of what intentions surround his or her well-being. I swear to you I heard a turkey say to its handler the other day, in turkey talk, in eight rapid fire gobbles, “keep your f…ing hands away from me, pervert!”

It isn’t as if a turkey is speaking a foreign language. I’ve never met a good-natured turkey. That’s not to say they have any influence on a persons good or well being. As a matter of fact good tidings at Thanksgiving time come to us from all over the world.

To you and yours on land or on the sea;

Swieto Dziekczynienia
(Happy Thanksgiving in Polish)

Friday, November 18, 2011

Good Morning, Here's Your Crutch


What a difference a few years make. I suppose when cultures change, the people who live within them, simultaneously, and automatically modify as well. As a melting pot country, no other place on earth follows this traditionally the way we do.

I grew up in a household where we all worked. Our family followed a pattern, which was set up years before I came along by my mother and father's parents.

The year was 1904 when the boat carrying my dad’s mother and father, my grand parents, entered New York Harbor.

President: Theodore (Teddy) Roosevelt

USA Population: 79,163,000

Brooklyn toymaker Morris Michton names teddy bear after Teddy Roosevelt.

Modify and Invent Only In America!

Morris Michtom arrived in New York from Russia about 1889 as a teenager. He married Rose, also a Russian immigrant, Rose was born Jan. 1863 in Russia and immigrated in 1889. Both became naturalized citizens in Sept. 1892. Together they developed an American icon: the "Teddy Bear".

On December 25, 1902, in a tiny village, some place in Russia, Harvey’s dad, Charles Kalmenson was born into the family of Ethel and Max Kalmenson; two years later they boarded a steamer en route to the United States.

…Concurrently

A cartoon appeared in December 1902 by Clifford K. Berryman showing how President Theodore Roosevelt couldn't shoot and kill a harmless little bear cub during one of his hunting trips. Morris thought to make a stuffed bear similar to the one in the cartoon and put that up for sale, first calling it "Teddy's bear" in February 1903.

Just like Morris Michtom, each of my aunts and uncles on both sides of the family tree were recognizable individuals. There was nothing robotic about them. Yes they all worked; they all quit school far too early; nary a college graduate amongst them, yet never a thought or complaint about living within a societal inflicted servitude; not as slaves to a ruler, but rather good people who played the cards dealt to them with a zeal for life living in what they all recognized as the greatest country in the world. In retrospect, I would have to say they were the strongest willed people I would ever come in contact with during my own lifetime. These were the immigrant grandparents and their immigrant children who are recognized today as the greatest generation ever.

Back Then and There

At family get "togethers” noise prevailed. I mean under the best of circumstances, that many aunts, uncles, and children running around always created the atmosphere of a medium sized commotion at best. It seems appropriate for me to refer to those gatherings as encounters.

What sticks in my mind was the way we were all welcomed by the relatives who arrived at family gatherings before we did. I don’t ever remember a door having to be opened for us. We got there, jumped out of the car and ran up to see which cousins would be there for us to play with. It was a glorious time for the kids. Mom and dad would bring up the rear, carrying a pie or cake mom thought would be suitable for the particular event.

The greetings were enormous smiles on my father's side of the family, as an aunt or uncle would shout out, “It’s Charlie and the kids.” I guess they decided my mother had not yet earned any form of billing. The funny thing was my mother's side of the family did the same thing when we visited them. If you were getting the feeling the families didn’t really care for each other, you’d be correct. My father's attitude towards my mother's side was mostly disdain. I’m sure their feelings were likewise as well. But regardless which side we visited the atmosphere was alive with life’s greatest gifts. Music, conversation, and monstrous amounts of artery clogging food prevailed.

(I never heard the word cholesterol until I was a grown man)

Believe it or not, as a child I never heard an aunt or uncle complain about their own trials and tribulations. That’s not to say they didn’t understand human plight. Conversations showing great pity for the next guy’s problems were ongoing. I guess it was their way of being thankful for what they had. The common belief however was they all practiced keeping any of the bad stuff away from the children. The premise was, “They’ll have plenty of time to grow up and feel the pain.”

As an aside, that’s how we learned to understand the Yiddish language. Anything the adults didn’t want the kids to hear was spoken in Yiddish. And as kids the minute the adults either lowered their voices or continued their conversations in Yiddish we all made it a point to learn. It’s fun thinking back about how my cousins and me would compare notes on what we thought they were gabbing about. As we learned, we also took on the mannerisms of our aunts and uncles as their story telling unfolded.

I learned gambling and flirtatiousness from my mother’s side. They to were the performers; the overly dramatic, drama queens and kings who never were troubled by qualms. They did what they felt like doing. All were merchants. As a child it seemed to me all of their customers were cut from the same cloth. Bargaining and often times flipping a coin; double or nothing in order to settle on the final sale price. Beware if you tried to pull a fast one on them during a business transaction. Those aunts and uncles all came equipped with tempers. That’s not to say they weren’t adverse to conducting a business deal with a questionable scruple or two. On my dad’s side, the practiced façade was intellect. They were the shirt and tie business people crowd. They were nine brothers and sisters who strove for excellence at all costs; eating, drinking, music and in depth political discussions. Eight of the nine children were in business for themselves. One of the brothers, who was categorized as a “lunch pail carrier” rarely offered as much dialogue as the other brothers and sisters did. He was the oldest, and the first to feel the pressure brought on by the need for him to help support the family. During his lifetime, he labored six days a week as a sewing machine operator in a variety of garment factories. As a child I wondered why he didn’t smile as much as everyone else.

Today I can identify. What a burden it must have been. He was the oldest child, in a new country; without friends; and accepting the involuntary removal of his childhood, without explanation, or with even the remotest understanding of his transformation into manhood.

“A man is not old until his regrets take the place of his dreams”

Every one of the new folks in town practiced the precepts of early to bed and early to rise. None of them had any inkling of whether it might make them healthy, wealthy, or wise. It is also doubtful that any of them knew it was our own Benjamin Franklin who coined the phrase. What was happening in actuality was quite simple; everything was a contest with life itself. Don’t get me wrong. None of the old timers went to bed thinking about being the first person in the neighborhood to awake each morning. Just plain good common sense governed just about everything they did. The more hours of daylight they could devote to business, the more chance there was of selling whatever it happened to be they were hawking.

What occurred to me early on as a kid was the warm way they all greeted each other. It was as if the entire community was pulling together, even under the sorriest of conditions. The charm of hearing a person with a strange language saying good morning, and how are you this fine day to an equally traveled neighbor returning the greeting, will always remain with me.

“You know, mine boy…Irving Berlin wrote that”

Talk about “good morning how are you”, giving a lift to ones spirits. Know one ever had a greater display of pride in the United States then those European immigrants. There seemed to be a history lesson instantly available on the tip of every tongue. “Irving Berlin wrote God Bless America in 1918. He doesn’t make a dime from it. Every penny goes to the Boy Scouts of America, and to the Girl Scouts of America." And when they said the word America it was always so special. Even arguments turned somewhat positive, when one of the combatants said to another:

“Don’t tell me what to do. This is a free country we live in. Or haven’t you heard?”

(The response)

“I heard, I heard. I heard long before you heard. I came here to this country three weeks before you did. Did you know his real name from Germany was Baline, Israel Baline?.

(The response)

“Don’t tell me, I heard”

***

“Good Morning, Here’s Your Crutch” may strike many as a strange title for a personal journal. To all of you who might feel that way, cool, I agree with you. A great part of my life is free form; like when a flip card appears, and it’s up to you to say the first thing that pops into your mind. Admittedly, I am often painfully abstract in the assumptions which strike me each time one of life’s flip cards reveals a new question, a new challenge, or a new debacle of any kind. Without hesitation I’m going to wade in. In my defense, I remind you of the people who influenced the earliest part of my life. None of those folks who traveled long and hard by boat in order to get to this country, believed in half way measures of any kind. It was always a robust "Good morning" offered each and every day, to who ever came their way. Their greetings were straight forward, to the point and emanating from the souls of people who felt, being allowed to breathe and pray freely was gifted to them in Gods eminence, these United States. The hours they toiled made them self-sufficient.

One day a peddler who moved from street to street with his horse drawn wagon filled to the brim with used furniture and anything of value he could find in the street, offered this little six-year-old boy a ride in his wagon. I accepted with great joy. It was my first crack at being a cowboy. It was also the first time I received an intellectual message from a stranger. I sat next to the peddler on the flat bench seat that felt like we were three stories off the ground. Between us were his crutches. It was also the first time I had ever seen crutches, and had no idea what he used them for. A block later when our ride came to an end, I found out. As the peddler climbed down from his wagon the crutches came into play. The peddler was unable to walk without their aid. His very strong arms came into play as he easily lifted me down from the wagon. As I thanked him for the ride, the peddler noticed how curious I was about his crutches. “They're called crutches”, he said. “I need them to walk.” And then with the deepest and warmest smile he offered me, “To walk, but not to think. Don’t ever use a crutch in order to succeed. It won’t help you.”

And so it was that a person, who failed to say good morning to me, triggered the writing of this blog. And in my mind there arouses another flip card, with the question: Does it take an immigrant to train this new generation, so consumed by self-centeredness?

Have a great day. It was my pleasure being able to talk to you. And please, if you get a chance, say hello to anyone who knows me.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

A Young Actor's Refleciton


Hi, Harvey!
Great seeing you again!
-Ben

I started my voice acting career when I was around six years old, so by the time I was ten, I'd been to pretty much every big casting studio for all sorts of different roles. They say, "Time flies when you're having fun," and to me, voice over is nothing BUT fun! I never really notice the passage of time until I think of all the places I used to audition at that have closed down since. That's why it's always both refreshing and nostalgic at the same time whenever I get to go to places like Kalmenson & Kalmenson that I used to go to over nineteen years ago. It's hard to believe that I was getting direction from Harvey Kalmenson as a ten year old, little boy and am still getting direction from him as a twenty-nine year old, little boy! Whenever I audition there, I can still hear my ten year old voice in my head say, "Gee, I really hope Mr. Kalmenson thinks I'm good enough!"

da Harv's Reply

Not to worry "Big Ben, you were good enough when they first "schlepped" you in to audition for me and you have improved with time.
It never ends, does it? Studying and practicing ones craft is a never ending process.
I do believe remaining a little boy is an important part of this game we play.
Thank you for the kind words.
da harv

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Three Parts To My Brain






OK then in response to the thousands upon thousands of requests, (actually one or maybe two people) I’ve decided to acquiesce; to accept, comply, and submit, tacitly, or passively with regard to da harv.


Translation, “This blogs for me baby”.


THE SCENE:


DAY, EARLY IN A TYPICAL AUDITION WEEK, AT THE WORLD FAMOUS STUDIOS (perhaps not but I happen to like the way it sounds) OF KALMENSON & KALMENSON, THE MOST INTEGRITY-RIDDEN, AND DRIVEN (that of course is an understatement) FOLKS IN THE ENTIRE WORLD OF VOICE OVER!


TODAY WAS TO BE ONE OF GREAT SUFFERING; OUR OWN DA HARV WAS SET TO AUDITION SOME TWENTY-FIVE OF THE BRIGHTEST AND MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMEN IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. (I love saying “The United States of America"). THE SUFFERING PART COMES BECAUSE DA HARV IS KEPT BEHIND GLASS, SEALED IN AN ALMOST AIR TIGHT AND SOUND-PROOF THING THEY REFER TO AS A CONTROL ROOM. WHAT EVER MIGHT BE RUNNING THROUGH THE MAN'S MIND AT THE SIGHT OF THIS OVER ABUNDANCE OF EYE CANDY, TURNS OUT TO BE NOTHING MORE THAN HIS OWN PERSONAL REALITY SHOW; JUST PERFECT FOR HBO.


ALL IS SET ON THIS DAY. THE SCRIPTS ARE OUT IN THE RECEPTION AREA, ALONG WITH A PAGE OF SPECIFICATIONS TO ASSIST THE TALENT WHILE REHEARSING FOR THE AUDITION. TODAY’S AUDITION IS KNOWN AS A PSA; PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT. THIS PARTICULAR PSA IS SEEKING DONATIONS FOR A WORLD WIDE GROUP, WHICH HELPS ABANDONED CHILDREN.


THE DIRECTION FOR EACH ACTRESS TO FOLLOW:


”KEEP IT SIMPLE AND DIRECT.

DON’T GET SAPPY.

THE VISUAL IS VERY STRONG AND REQUIRES VERY LITTLE EXPLANATION.

TOTAL HONESTY IS THE NAME OF THE GAME.”


First Person Singular


Let the games begin. The very first actress in to read, in a matter of seconds breaks into tears after delivering a sentence or two. Time out. The game stops. Naturally I ask what the problem was, or is; all the time knowing more or less what it had to be. You see… after thirty plus years of doing this, this director has developed similar emotional tendencies as his players. The magic, but not mysterious word is certainly reflection. Reflection and truth are synonymous.

“What did you recall?" I asked her. She responded with her own question to me; one I’ve heard more often than it would be possible to recall. Thinking of the past is a common occurrence for all of us. Recalling a memory, regardless of its content, is an instant assimilation of the truth.


Her recollections were of her early years as an orphaned child. She had grown and excelled as a good human being. What brought the tears was the visual of those kids who were experiencing a page from what resembled her own.


“How can I avoid this from happening to me again?” she asked. Always a tough question to answer; we seek the truth by conjuring up the past. All I could offer as a solution to excess emotional display is what sometimes works for me.

(Please take note…I said sometimes.) If it’s a script I’m to read, especially if its before a group, I’ll read it out loud over and over again with as many repetitions as time will allow. The other method is to attempt to remove ones self from any form of identification with the subject matter.


Note: If we perceive it as the truth, then that’s what it is.


***


Actress

(Not the same one)

(To da harv with complete seriousness)


You come across as if you have two brains, while the rest of us must live our lives with merely one.


da harv

(To the actress with complete seriousness)


Huh?


Actress


I mean you feel for what we’re doing or attempting to do, as if you were doing it yourself.


da harv

(To the actress with complete seriousness)


Excuse me. I am doing it myself. Think about this; I’m doing three separate things: directing, acting, and being an audience. As the director, I try to speak your language. As the actor I attempt to feel it the way your feeling it. And then as the audience, I’m listening for your truth to emerge.


da harv

(cont.)


It’s not that I have more than one brain…it’s that my brain, the one that I have and use regularly, has three separate compartments: left, right and of course the one I consider as the most important part, the middle, my central chamber.


Actress

(Smirking)


Central chamber? I’m really very serious about my question. I was trying to compliment you. You on the other hand sir, are being facetious.


da harv


Flippant would be a good word as well; you, my lady, are dealing with da harv’s central chamber. It's my practice to treat serious issues with deliberately inappropriate humor, or perhaps even acting a touch. I need to …it helps to keep me sane.


Actress


I was talking about your ability as a director.


da harv


I’m not ever centered on the seriousness of self. I do what I almost always do; I placed your comment right smack in the center. Ergo, my center brain compartment...


Actress


Why?


da harv


It keeps me sane.


Actress


How?


da harv


Knowing it’s there for me to use if I want to; my chamber of ridicule...Right there in the center of my brain, able to go to either side effortlessly...


Actress


You mean you store the crap in the center?


da harv


Now you got it!



Actress


Why would you store crap to reflect on?


da harv


Think about it. Isn’t there a certain amount of crap in everybody’s life? If we remove all the bad things from our reflective repertoire, what roles would there be for us to portray?


Actress


Thank you for that Harvey Kalmenson. I never thought about it that way before.


da harv


You’re very welcome. I got it from Stanislavski.


***

First Person Singular


COMMERCIAL VOICE OVER IS A PART OF LIFE. SO YES IT DOES HAVE SOME CRAP AS PART OF IT. YOU DON’T HAVE TO LIVE WITH IT. YOU MIGHT JUST FIND A PLACE TO STORE IT FOR ANOTHER DAY.