Friday, February 17, 2012

Query questions for Americans, be they Democrats, Republican, or whatever.




PREAMBLE:

My very few words that follow were stimulated by a lifetime of beliefs (mine) in the United States of America (my country, and yours as well). Wearing the uniform of our American army during a war has perhaps given me, and a very select group of comrades, men and women, an unequalled opportunity to serve, and be counted as part of what I believe to be the most altruistic nation in the history of the world.

The questions (mine), which follow, have lingered within my mind set for all the years of my adult life.

  • Why do young men and women serve in the United States Military for 20 years, risking there lives protecting freedom, receive only 50% of their pay at retirement, while Politicians hold they’re political positions in the safe confines of the capital, and receive full pay retirement after serving one term? It doesn’t make sense.
  • Staffers of Congress family members are exempt from having to pay back student loans.
  • Governors of 35 states have filed suit against the Federal Government for imposing unlawful burdens upon them.
  • For too long we have been too complacent about the workings of Congress.
  • Many citizens had no idea that members of Congress could retire with the same pay after only one term.
  • Congress specifically exempted themselves from many of the laws they have passed (such as beingexempt from any fear of prosecution for sexual harassment) while ordinary citizens must live under those laws.
  • Congress exempts themselves from the Healthcare Reform... in all of its forms.

Somehow, it doesn't seem logical. We do not have an elite that is above the law. I truly don't care if they are Democrat, Republican, Independent or whatever, the self-serving must stop.

My name is Harvey Kalmenson, I am a proud citizen of the United States of America.
I believe in equality. I don’t believe our elected officials, regardless of party affiliation, are paying a legitimate homage to my beliefs as stipulated in the constitution of the United States.
While they bask, I take task after task in an honest attempt to overcome the debacle they so recklessly have placed me in.

In short, I am thoroughly pissed off. I have never missed voting in an election, and I will be there to evoke my rights, once again in November. Please join me.

HK

Monday, February 13, 2012

You Had To Be There! I Was!!

They're never going to believe you, but you tell it anyway. After all, you were there, and besides it gives you so much absolute fun to recall the complete absurdity, or total charm, of a past moment, of a past era, of another day. You may have been much younger then, or it might be recollections of a day not yet mature enough to be called yesteryear. Never the less, though you’re not Moses, it is yours to once again “behold these truths.” A pratfall, a handshake, a misgiving, disbelief, uncontrolled laughter, a thrill, a spill, a chill, an honor bestowed, or a simple misunderstanding of intentions; all yours to relate, all yours to keep enjoying as part of who you were, who’ve you become. And even perhaps, a guide to the wonderment of what is in store.

There you are telling, someone a story from your past, and by the expression on their face you know they’re having a great deal of trouble believing you. All of us have had incidents, when recounting becomes hard to believe. You know the old cliché, “Truth is stranger than fiction.” These kinds of stories often begin with, “you’re not going to believe this; wait until you hear this one; I saw it with my own eyes; trust me, Hollywood couldn’t write a better ending.”

It was my first day of basic training. We were in Fort Lewis, Washington. Almost the entire company of men was from Southern California. It was early in January, and this area, very near Seattle was known for experiencing inclement weather. During the four months of basic training there were only a total of four twenty-four hour periods when it didn’t rain. To make a long story short, cold and damp was the order of the day. With the exception of ten of us, the entire company of two hundred guys was drafted into the service. We were almost an entirely civilian army.

I was one of the ten men who had volunteered for the draft. An injury had ended my thoughts of baseball for the time being, and I wanted to get through my pending obligation to serve, at as young an age as possible. I was nineteen years old. At around 4am on that first morning of service to our country, the consistency of the Seattle weather held true to its reputation. The rain fell as we prepared to scamper outdoors to the parade grounds for what is commonly known in the service as "First Call"/"Reveille". I don’t recall the guy’s name; for the sake of this narrative, let’s call him “Benny”. I do remember Benny was proud to let us all know he went to Beverly Hills High School. Please don’t take this as a downer to the school. I’m merely reporting what I remember about Benny, and his Mama's boy naïveté. Like all of us, Benny forced himself from his bunk (army cot), stood up, staggering as he did so, and made his way to the end of the barracks, in order to look out the window. After doing so, Benny turned away from the window with a smile on his face, and began his trek back to bed, as he put it. Benny shouted to us,” It’s raining guys, we’re not going to have to go out there today.” Benny was now back in bed with the covers pulled over snuggly. As our platoon sergeant came into the picture, we knew something special was in the offing. Without hesitation our sergeant motioned for us to be quiet. He then pointed to four of us, and continued with his soundless direction; One guy at each corner of Benny’s bed cot. His gesturing was precise and priceless to see. Our sergeant waved both of his arms in an up and over motion. In a flash Benny was upside down on the floor with his cot on top of him. Benny got to his feet and allowed,” But it’s raining”! To which our sergeant replied, “So in Beverly Hills you don’t go out in the rain”?

Poor Benny, he had become a marked man. From that day forward at the most inauspicious occasions Benny would be subjected to the chant: “Take the day off Benny, cause it’s raining out there.” The guys could be merciless.

There have been times in my life when I’ve said to myself,” Take the day off Benny, (Harvey) cause it’s raining out there.” Imagine those words as the title of a down home country lyric, and you’re en-route to the good old fashioned feel sorry for yourself sort of conundrum life has a way of unsystematically throwing at all of us, usually when we are most unprepared for it. You had to be there, and I was, too often perhaps. Benny had no one to talk to about his plight. When you think about it, it really wasn’t Benny’s fault to begin with. Unlike da harv (me), he was drafted into the army.

Interesting comparisons can be made.

Benny, and da harv, same age;
da harv volunteered to serve;
Benny was taken into the service after trying every way possible to avoid the draft.
At home in Los Angeles, Benny was considered unfortunate, while I (da harv) was considered to be immature, foolish, and a flag waiver.
(I mean there was a war going on, why would anyone volunteer to be killed?)
Benny grew up in a family where work meant nine to five. Dawn and the Kalmenson family awakening occurred at the same hour each day. As a child I never remember sleeping in, not that I wanted to.

What a difference a half century can make. The Benny’s of the world no longer have to worry about the draft. They are free to sleep in without penalty. Da harv remains stuck in his almost worn out time lock. If I had it to do all over again, there I’d be, waving the same flag, and considering myself lucky for my personal moment to do so. Today, the fellows and gals, who find themselves duty bound to serve us, and the country God blessed them with, are now exemplified as heroes and heroines.

In my era the general public was barely cognizant of our departure from their society, or our ultimate return. There were no parades, no banners, and rarely a celebration-taking place. Vets received no thank you; none was expected. We were thirteen years away from our first Super Bowl extravaganza. Half time at a game was a great time to go to the bathroom. Come to think of it…there was no instant replay. But on the plus side we didn’t have to worry about entertainers from other countries making obscene gestures while our children were glued to the tube.

I guess if I had to choose between recalling Benny’s incident, or a degenerate flipping me the finger at half time, I’d have to go with Benny. But then I guess you would have to have been there.! I was!!!

Monday, February 6, 2012

Sobering Up




A guy once told me how he never wanted to sober up. I wondered what the hell he was talking about; was he nuts? His demeanor didn’t resemble someone under the influence of drugs or alcohol. As a matter of fact, in today’s parlance, I’d categorize him as pretty much together. Of course it's what I would say today, being the kindly older gentlemen, that I have become.

Offering me the unsolicited advice was our high school custodian, Mr. Gross. In those days every school had one. I never knew his first name, or where he lived, or whether or not he was married or had children of his own. What we all recognized early on was that Mr. Gross was the key and essential figure for our schools ability to run on time and efficiently each and every day of the year. Succinctly stated, the man was in charge of almost everything. He was the man who could make or break the principal's performance rating. Above all…he loved baseball. Most of the school year Mr. Gross was seen, but not heard. But when we entered our spring semester, it was baseball season, and Mr. Gross never missed a practice or any of our home games. As a matter of fact when we played an away game, he would get continual updates by telephone from other custodians around the league.

I personally became directly aware of Mr. Gross’s involvement after one particular away game. The school bus carried us back to the campus, and as we pulled in, I caught sight of Mr.Gross standing directly in front of our locker room building, waiting for us with a huge smile on his face. He wasn’t alone. I found out much later on, he had given out an account of the game to many of the students that afternoon. It was like a pep rally when I exited the bus. I had no inkling of what my day would turn into when I left for school that morning; it was to become the highlight of my young life. It was the very first game I pitched as a member of the schools varsity baseball team. Since I wasn’t scheduled to pitch that day, my Dad was not in attendance for the monumental event destined to transpire.

The Monumental Event:

It was the bottom of the third inning, our starting pitcher had loaded the bases, and there were no outs. I had been warming up in the bullpen for a brief few minutes when I got the call from our coach. “You're in Kalmenson”, was all he said as he left the mound.

Here’s the Hollywood ending. It was amazingly all over in no more than ten minutes. The first batter I faced attempted to bunt the runner in from third base. When his attempt failed, I thought to myself about how little confidence his coach had in him. With bases loaded and nobody out, and at such an early time in the game, bunting wasn’t a very smart thing to do. My confidence level shot up. In nothing flat I had him out on strikes. It was then that our shortstop and second baseman came to the pitchers mound for a confab. Our second baseman broke the tension by saying, “Think of the headlines, Harv. Short to second to first and you’re out of the inning.” I threw the next pitch very high and tight so as not to let the batter get comfortable at the plate. Two pitches later, a ground ball was hit to our shortstop, George “Sparky” Anderson. It went as prescribed by our second baseman, short, to second, to first for a double play. My team and coach were all over me as I returned to our dug out, as high on life as could ever be perceived.

***

I was a kid of sixteen, participating at a high level of high school sports, and in general parading around school in my letterman sweater, under the impression I was indeed a "big man on campus." It was difficult to fight back the swollen head syndrome. Think about it, even some adults develop over active egos, when expansive degrees of acclaim come their way; deserved, or not, earned or merely by being in the right place at the right time.

My head was filled to capacity with the dreams of a young man yet to accomplish anything of real substance. Like many teen-age boys, our values are unduly misled by the extent of our God given athletic prowess. By that I mean just because a guy can throw a baseball shouldn’t qualify him as the towns advice giver. But it happens. The local newspaper does a story on you, and the next thing you know your popularity around the school campus soars. Added into my mix was another pleasurable ingredient. My Father never missed seeing a ballgame when I was scheduled to pitch. And since he was my biggest fan, and as I recall one of the most ardent baseball enthusiasts I’d ever met, it served me well as a confidence builder.

Dad wasn’t there on my monumental first day, because I wasn’t scheduled to pitch. He got the complete story that evening when he came home from work.

When our second baseman had encouraged me to think of the headlines in order to get me to relax under those game conditions, I doubt if he ever perceived the extent of the press I would receive the very next day. The banner lead in headline read: “Kalmenson Comes Through”. Unbeknown to me was my Dad's early on adulation over my baseball accomplishments that day. The newspaper accounts of the game was clipped and duplicated in order for Dad to send it out to all of his brothers on the east coast. In addition, for many years, he carried a copy of the article in his wallet, as a memento. The original of the article remains in my possession, and is framed and hangs on a wall in my office; more as a remembrance of my Father than as an ego feeding depiction of a teenage exploit.

Prowess displayed during a moment of a person’s life may help in the building of ones confidence, but it may also act as an ego stimulant. Certainly, confidence and ego are not the same, although many people have assumed the two must go together. Both can be bruised, and deflated. Both may become over done, as in an enlarged ego, or the person who is over confident. Don’t get the idea I knew what was happening during the monumental event I’ve described. I’m reporting what I truthfully recall to be the case during my teen-age years.

While I find myself smiling as I recollect the glory of a past event, there are other truths to behold. Recollection can make a man or woman shudder. I’m sure many of you out there can identify with being embarrassed over the recall of an adolescent occurrence. It may be a thing you did, or said without thinking.

There is also what I refer to as “Pride Recollections”. These are things you’ve done or said which somehow give you a warm feeling about yourself. They are yours to make wholesome use of, whenever you like. It can be a wow moment, like saying to yourself, I never thought I could pull it off, but I did. I studied for that damn test, and I aced it. One of my favorites, as told to me by a rather prominent actress. When inquiring about a certain role, this actress was told, “This play isn’t for you”. And then she went on to star in it, a movie was made, she starred in that also, and now long ago retired, she recalls the expression on the face of the individual who told her she wasn’t good enough in the first place.

For me personally, it’s an occurrence that transpired just before I was to graduate from the same high school where Mr. Gross remained on as school custodian. It had been a full two years since Mr. Gross made the remark to me about never wanting to sober up.

It was the year of my eighteenth birthday. My thoughts were generally and in particular almost entirely self-centered. I guess that’s what a teen-age boy is all about. First and foremost, upon turning eighteen, a guy had to worry about being drafted into the military. That probability of course doesn’t exist today. Along with wondering about an athletic scholarship to college, or being fortunate enough to sign a baseball contract, complicated the package weighing heavily on my daily mindset.

It was mid morning of a regular school day. I was sitting alone in the schools senior circle, an area reserved for only those students in their final year. Rarely was I ever alone at school. The welcomed solitude was not only appreciated, it was necessary for contemplation over what my future would hold. I was sitting there staring at nothing in particular when I felt the presence of a person standing along side.

“You look as if you’ve sobered up”, Mr.Gross said.
“Are you okay?”, he asked. I explained how I was caught up with thoughts of what the future would hold for me.
“Life can be a sobering experience at times, regardless of what you’re attempting to do,” he advised.
“Well two years ago you told me how you never wanted to sober up,” I replied.
“I said I never wanted to sober up. I didn’t say I could stay happy all the time. What I meant was life throws things at you. I found out a long time ago, I loved this school, and I especially loved baseball. Each time something crappy happened in my life, I dug in even deeper to my work at school and the joy brought to me by baseball”.
And with that Mr. Gross walked away, after shaking my hand and saying good luck, and God be with you.

A stranger taking the time to show interest in a kid’s welfare is everlasting isn’t it. Like Mr.Gross before me, I never want to sober up. A quickly dealt injury instantly removed any thoughts of an athletic scholarship, or a baseball contract. The contemplation process became simple.

Hello, Private Harvey Kalmenson. It was sobering, but not for long.