2020 Our lamp is alight, Finally disappearing 2021 Our lamp will again burn brightly More brightly than ever before TOMORROW IS WELCOMED. With this, now slowing, comes peace Not knowing what tomorrow brings Removing susceptible grief Finally, somewhat abating Too soon for applause Though danger is beginning to slow A good time will warm us all Stand straight and aligned, all countrymen It’s always the right hour for a song 2021 is here, let’s all stand straight We must remain strong Hands together, we await! Last year we were all weakened. In God’s eye, we did no wrong. —  HK —

Many years ago, I found myself enamored by a couple of ladies during a particular time period in my life; neither of which had a social connotation. Both of them entertainers par excellence: Martha Graham and Lena Horne.           What got to me the most was simply their way of communicating. Whether it was through dancing, singing, acting, or life in general, they told it to you straight from their well-traveled shoulders. It appears to me today, with our current problems, these two gals still provide us with much we may all learn from. From Martha (left): “Misery is a communicable disease”. And from Lena (right): “It’s not the load that breaks you down, it’s the way you carry it.”

Thinking and Dwelling           A baby asleep quietly in their cradle, for most of us, remains in our mind’s eye as a vision of peace. Then, a stir is added to the mix, and the simplicity of an infant’s crying may be the signal of a family’s rude awakening to the pendency of what a future year at large may hold. Those without incidents of life, being turned upside-down, were free of anything symptomatic of what nature held in store for every living, breathing, human-being worldwide, and remain far outnumbered by the masses.           Three months into the now fabled 2020, our cradles were about to be rocked vehemently. The menacing symptoms science named COVID-19 were challenging everyone in the world. Human mutuality, inhabitants of our world’s societies, were about to experience the bitter taste of relenting punishment for an ominous crime we did not commit. We were all allies, joining forces in a fight against an assailant we could not envision as being possible. Almost all of us became, or were, about to become totally cognoscente of our God-established human mutuality.

(If you sense my resentment over the political intrusion by elected officials into my life as a heavily taxed citizen, congratulations on your perceptiveness. Cathy and da harv, husband and wife, as well as business partners for the past thirty years, hereby offer da harv’s GENERAL “PISSISSATUDES”!)           Yes, without reservation, during the many years, our business life has prospered. We, the two of us, are happy with our chosen profession. From coast-to-coast of this great land, our integrity-driven exploits are noticeably respected throughout the voiceover industry.           For both of us, nothing beats the pleasure of helping people in an effort to improve their lives. Our company, Kalmenson & Kalmenson, as casting directors and educators, has been instrumental in the success of the untold, thousands of actors, worldwide. We don’t keep people from working and making a living, we provide a track for them to run on! Cathy and I have acted as a continual conduit for literally many millions of dollars as a bridge to an unheard number of deserving actors.           We know and understand what it entails to compete for work. I seriously doubt if any of our elected politicians have any idea of what we go through on a daily basis in order to survive. Can you imagine any of the stalwart members of Congress having to audition daily? Or, for that matter, having the nerve to tell their agent to book them out for a recess?           As educators, we don’t receive residuals. We stay in business and continue to grow, predicated on the personal human device known as integrity. We sanctify our brand by our implacably driven display of continually driven business integrity.           On March 15th of this year, 2020, we at Kalmenson & Kalmenson (a seemingly successful small business), had no choice but to close down and cease operations of our extremely prominent voiceover education operations. All current, as well as all prepaid future students, were individually contacted by yours truly, Harvey Kalmenson, who personally informed them of the business and personal debacle we faced. For those of you who are curious as to what our shutdown entailed, herewith follows some very short and salient points of the actual arithmetic of the stall. March 15, 2020: Burbank, Tustin, and Santa Monica went dark, following the edict as set forth by the governor of our state of California. Thirty classes per week were postponed until further notice. Currently, we have about three-hundred students awaiting our reopening, during our first six-week cycle. (Formerly, before the stoppage, we operated on an eight-cycle per year schedule.) The good news is pleasurable. We have had a steady flow of calls from past, and prospective students, enquiring about our return to business expectancy schedule. Cathy and I are prepared to work, day and night, in order to solve the needs of our students. Our hands-on integrity approach to every actors’ education is cranked and, God-willing, we’ll make 2021 a better year than the last.           The happiest of New Year's to all our friends. We especially offer our prayers to our friends and associates in the restaurant industry. There are many entry-level actors who rely on part-time restaurant jobs in order to help them remain active in the voiceover world we live in.           And one more thing, if you have the time for recess. Okay, here I go, back to grammar school again. As a kid, I was under the impression the word ‘recess’  meant it was time to urinate, take a break from studies, and play in the schoolyard. It was all good, for sure—either you didn’t have to worry about not making it to the bathroom, or you got away from the teacher and were allowed to play for a few minutes. If you screwed up, one way or another, our teachers were allowed to inflict some form of punishment. Things like: making you return to the classroom without having a chance to play.           We actually had a teacher who required a student to stand in a corner, facing the wall, for the remaining time left during the recess. These severe punishments were usually dolled out to the boys in the class. For some reason or another, it seemed like little girls never screwed up. Come to think of it, nothing has really changed for me. The little girls, even the big ones, never have to take the blame for screwing up. I mean, I ask you, has Nancy Pelosi ever made a mistake? Oh, I’m sorry, that was political, wasn’t it?           That will have to be it for now. It’s time for recess. If I were a politician, I’d go stand in the corner. That, of course, doesn’t apply to voiceover. We don’t stand in corners, we go around them, where success lies for all the good boys and girls. Happy New Year, to all my friends! HK

Always and Always

What to say

And how do we convey

The sincerest, best wishes from every member of our

Kalmenson & Kalmenson clan

This year has been extreme

Needless to say

Every family and

Each and every friend

Have joined together

With fervent dreams and prayers

For all to be safe

For a joyous Christmas

And for the happiest of New Year’s

Good health and prosperity for all!

– From all of us at Kalmenson & Kalmenson –

Stillness

On this Monday, December 14, 2020

-

How responsive can this a recipient person be

When truly listening,

Dreaming to their heart’s desires

While listening to their mind

Time slows, peaceful in stillness

For those who listen

How sublime a trait

No need to complain, answers appear

Day and each night

Before prayer is offered

When with quietness and stillness

From ones’ heart and mind

Giving willingly, free from rhyme

Guiding, while accepting another’s thoughts

Amazingly, with great fervor

No matter the size of young men’s hands

A new form of herald

To sketch, to sing, and to dance

With almost all others

But most of all

Within the stillness of one’s mind

Smiling when knowing what was learned

By quietly listening

To what another has helped you to find

        There was this kid, in our grammar school, let’s call him “Bobby”, who at best you might describe as being quite raucous. Trust me, that’s putting it mildly—Bobby wasn’t fun to be around. He was a full year behind me at P.S. 233, in Brooklyn, New York. I was thirteen, and he was twelve. (Translation of the schoolyard mentality: I was considered one of the big guys.)
        By then, I was already a seasoned director. (Translation: I was the guy who took charge and told all the rest of the kids what they could or couldn’t do in school, or outside in the playground.) Funny how some things never change. The interesting part about all this was the fact I wasn’t looking for command in the beginning. It always seemed there for me to take charge, and after a while, it became accepted by my buddies.
        In the schoolyard, we always had at least two games going all the time. It usually was baseball, basketball, stickball, touch football, or a variety of oddball games we invented on the fly; two more were: kick the can—and the outright favorite all the parents loved watching from their porches—punchball. Almost every kid from the streets of New York, especially the burrow of Brooklyn, played one form or another of punchball.
        It’s an easy game to understand. In actuality, the game is just like baseball, but without bats or gloves; a rubber ball and your own fist are all it takes. Even the most famous baseball players of all time played punchball. If you’d like to know how popular punchball was, and still is, try this on for size: the one and only Willie Mays played the game.

NOTE: "Popular in New York, especially among poor children who could not afford bats or baseball. Baseball Hall of Famers Nick Hoffman, Sandy Koufax, and Yogi Berra played it growing up!"

        Please don’t get the idea I was as good as Willie or Sandy—I just thought I was. In any event, all of our games began the same way. There were always a couple of guys who were exceptional at a particular sport; those were the guys who were designated to choose up players for their teams. The captains for each team were always one of “the big guys”. I guess some would refer to us as “bullies”! (We weren’t bullies at all. Modestly speaking, we were good athletes, and all of our buddies accepted the way it was.
        Until one day, along comes Bobby (young Mr. Raucous). Referring to me, Bobby said, loudly enough for me to hear, “how come he always gets to be the captain”? Without hesitation, I informed Bobby he was never going to play with us again. I was satisfied I would never hear from Bobby again—I was wrong.
        The very next day, I was summoned to our school principal’s office. There he sat, in all his glory, Dr. Sigmund Fogler. It was a strange meeting. “I need your help on this one”, the principal said. He was serious but at the same time, cordial. He continued, “Bobby’s mother was in to see me. She’s having a tough time with Bobby since his father passed away.” I was instantly taken aback. It came as a double dose. It was my first real, up close and personal, exposure to the death of a friend’s parent, and I found myself speechless. Dr. Fogler instantly picked up on how uncomfortable I had become.
        We had all been wondering where Bobby had been for the previous three weeks. The principal continued to explain how Bobby’s mom and dad had not been together for about a year. Bobby got to see his dad only on weekends. And Bobby had lost his only real friend. That evening, when I was alone with my dad preparing to listen to a Dodger game, I explained what had been explained to me during my visit to the principal’s office. “Give me a minute before you turn the radio on,” my dad requested. “Your principal thinks a great deal about you, Harv. He’s asking you to help out with Bobby.”
        My dad was speaking to me, man-to-man, as usual. And as usual, I knew there was a special message coming my way. “What can I do, Dad?” “Two things”, he replied. I listened intently: “Tell him, man-to-man, in a friendly way, you’d like to talk to him privately without the rest of the kids listening in. Tell him, honestly, your feelings. Offer him your honest gesture about you being saddened by his loss. Offer him your hand, the way you and I shake.”
        Then, my dad was quiet for a short pause. “Then ask Bobby to come along with us to see the Dodgers play this coming Saturday. And if Bobby says he’d like to come with us, let him know it’s okay to share it with the rest of the gang. And one more thing, Harv, make sure you listen to what Bobby has to say. Make-believe I’m the one you’re listening to. Seeing that new guy, Jackie Robinson, playing for the Dodgers may help him smile, yah think?!! It helped us, Harv, didn’t it?!!”

HK

Around the Corner and Up Your Street

        Tomorrow: it will be here quickly. Have you noticed tomorrow seems to be upon us sooner than ever before? 2020 has been a year of disappearing time. For centuries, the greatest minds in our civilization have been unable to slow the passage of time.

        In St. Augustine, the oldest city in the U.S., there's a tourist attraction dating back a century that purports—albeit in a tongue-in-cheek way—to be the fountain of youth that Ponce de Leon discovered soon after he arrived in 1513, in what is now Florida.

Ponce DeLeon: killed in Cuba, 1521. He was the first governor of Puerto Rico.

        Of course, time flying by doesn’t apply to the nature of children, especially when they’re kids in some parts of the world awaiting Christmas to arrive. Kids have far less patience for the good stuff to come. Besides, nothing is truly meaningful until any of us either feel our mortality or are fortunate enough to discover what they consider to be our purpose in life.
        Please excuse the politics—I’ve been a political news addict for most of my adult life. The other day I watched intensely as the President of the United States bestowed upon Lou Holtz (one of the greatest coaches in American history), the Presidential Medal of Freedom, our country’s highest civilian honor. I personally consider Lou Holtz as one of the most inspiring human beings our country has ever produced. Lou Holtz loves his family, his country, as well as each and every young person he took on, cultivating a lifetime of kindness and friendship.

        Don’t allow Lou Holtz’s appearance to fool you; while he appears to be a very kind older gentleman, Lou Holtz is as tough as you’d expect the coach of the Notre Dame Fighting Irish football team to be.

“Don't tell your problems to people: eighty percent don't care, and the other twenty percent are glad you have them.”

Lou Holtz

        I wonder if the attached quote is an accurate appraisal for one hundred percent of our American populous. I wish Coach Holtz would answer as to whether or not our elected officials are part of his theory? If what he puts forth is accurate, then what would be the purpose behind any of us voting?
        I would like Lou Holtz to reconsider his position regarding his discouraging appraisal (although I have my own assertions). I believe at the outset of a politician’s election to the office when he or she raises their right hand, and most likely clutches a bible as well, they mean what taking the oath of office implies. My contention is a positive one. I believe they all plan on respecting the Constitution. The problem is simple, as da harv sees it; it’s simply a fact of life, our politicians live too long. They’re in the political office far too long. They become far too comfortable, and it gnaws away at their ability to think clearly.

(17th-century English life expectancy was only about 35 years. Life expectancy was under 25 years in the early Colony of Virginia, and in seventeenth-century New England, about 40 percent died before reaching adulthood.)

        In short, today’s population is far outliving what any of our founding fathers could have possibly imagined when they completed writing the Constitution. Try this on for size: today, the average age for members of the House at the beginning of the 115th Congress was 57 years, and Senators, 62 years—about the oldest in U.S. history.
        In my humble opinion, our only solution is to vote them out. I doubt if there is any likelihood of our elected officials voting, in term limits. My question is: why should any elected official be allowed to serve for a longer period of time than our president?

        And another thing I noticed: Overall, 60% of Americans say they would definitely or probably get a vaccine for the coronavirus if one were available today, up from 51% who said this in September. About four in ten (39%) say they definitely or probably would not get a coronavirus vaccine, though about half of this group – or 18% of U.S. adults – says it’s possible they would decide to get vaccinated once people start getting a vaccine and more information becomes available.

        History lesson of little consequence: when (the) Harvey Kalmenson, of Kalmenson & Kalmenson, was a child and at the behest (make that command) set forth by his mother and father. He followed their very short dissertation and presentment of fact, rolling up his sleeve and becoming one of the first recipients in his family to receive a smallpox vaccination.

Note we all should be pleased with:

After smallpox was eliminated from the world, routine vaccination against smallpox among the general public was stopped because it was no longer needed. However, because of concern that the variola virus might be used as an agent of bioterrorism, the U.S. government has stockpiled enough smallpox vaccine to vaccinate everyone who would need it if a smallpox outbreak were to occur.

        I’m so pleased to spread the good news, it’s a page from my dear father’s book: “Begin the day hunting for something good to say!”
        Regardless of what any of the grief folks have to say, everything’s going to come up roses. I’m not trying to feed you a line; it’s a fact for everyone to know, regardless of your political bent: WE HAVE A VACCINE FOR THIS HORRIBLE VIRUS CURRENTLY UPON US ALL!! 

        An American four-star General has prepared his team, for the immediate distribution of the vaccine to begin after approval of this commodity.

        And one more thing to know, understand, and believe: no country in this world we live in is better equipped to stockpile and develop ways of protecting all of us than our American scientists and the distribution arm of the United States army! I have been there and participated firsthand in what our folks can accomplish when we stand together with our stout hearts on display!
Wave the flag, brothers and sisters, wave the flag. Some may have forgotten; it's red, white, and blue!

HK

Approximations

        By now, most of you with better than average intelligence, have figured out da harv is a prominent guy; enjoys doing things because it makes him really feel good, often times traveling his road with an unbiased, unabashed, exhilaration for life caused by undeserved blessings, despite the kind words being sent to me. Without measurement, thank you!

        If I were a king, or any counterpart of his kingdom, I’d find need to send fourth a proclamation attesting to the joys of sharing a kind word to all living creatures within my domain. The saintly Latins referred to it as an edictum. 

        In the military, we were often heard to say, "Now hear this proclamation: All of you within the sound of my voice, or within reach of a pen, are required to send out a kind word of encouragement to any of your choice. There is no measurement worthy of describing the effect of a kind word received."

        Two of the many things I got from my mother and father, not necessarily in the exact order of appearance: my mother would say, “Who the hell cares what they think! Say what’s on your mind as long as you’re telling the truth. If they can’t handle the truth, it’s too damn bad!” 

        My father, on the other hand, had a much different approach to life than my mom. “Be careful about what you say. Most people, by nature, are not good listeners. If you must talk, Harv, make sure you are telling the truth but be prepared—many people won’t be able to handle the truth, which explains why politicians are free to get away with the bullshit they so indiscriminately spread around!”

        My father loved Theodore Roosevelt, our 26th president of the United States. “Walk softly, but carry a big stick”, was one of dad's favorite quotes.

        “You know Harv, the Teddy bear is named for him”. And then my dad, who never went past the fourth grade, recited just about everything President Roosevelt had accomplished during his days in office.

        And speaking of parental gifts, the year was 1929... New York City had a population of approximately 6.5 million. On Black Monday, October 28, 1929, the Dow Jones Industrial Average declined nearly 13 percent. When we had the historic market crash, my dad was twenty-seven years of age and married with one child, my oldest sister—da harv was a mere four years away from joining them. My mom and dad were flat broke: no business, no job, no money, and a few days from moving in with one of the many aunts and uncles who all happened to be in the same boat, paddling upstream as fast as they could. Between the two sides, nine brothers and sisters on my dad's and another eight on my mother's, contributed to unemployment soaring to a nifty 25% by the time they first heard little da harv complain about not having his own room.

Bing Crosby asks the question: “Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?”

        And like so many of us today, their lives were deeply influenced by an even wider variety of medical problems for them to deal with. All the many things we take for granted were nonexistent in the late 1920s, and well into the very late 1930s.

        There was no such a thing as “the middle class”. An up-to-date list of what the Americans of that particular era didn’t have is absolutely overpowering!

Note: In the 20s and 30s, vaccines were almost all non-existent.

Childhood disease was commonplace.

        Imagine, if you will, what families had to live with and face on a life-threatening, daily basis. And then, before these stalwart people could catch their collective breaths, along comes one of the most despicable incidents of a lifetime: World War II was upon them. Our American spirit had been awakened by a sneak punch! Nothing before, or since, has exceeded the determination shown by the same people of my parent's generation, who were struggling through an epic depressive decline to the welfare of the United States of America.

        In 1928, at St. Mary's Hospital, London, Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin. This discovery led to the introduction of antibiotics that greatly reduced the number of deaths from infection. It wasn’t until the 1940s that the full roll-out of these wonder drugs managed to take hold, 12 years from the date of discovery. Today, it was announced the third pharmaceutical company has their Covid-19 vaccine ready to distribute, and it took nine months to develop.

Beyond Measurement

At a time like this

When one person offers a kind word

Carrying forth great strength

Lifting the most seemingly heavy burdens

Life has presented without cause

And of the good

A kind word generates

Through endearment

An endless enabler

Far beyond measurement

This resultant allowance

A lasting firmament

The best any man may offer

To any other man

This single word

Of kindness

Deliberately spoken

HK

Gobble Gobble

Turkey Time

Just in case you’d like to know:
Our military now: there are about 1.3 million active-duty personnel, or less than one-half of 1 percent of the U.S. population. The army is the largest U.S. military service, followed by the Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard.

Source: Office of the Undersecretary of Defense. Jul 13, 2020.

    Experiencing the service we received in the United States Army at holiday time, was a logistical wonderment to behold. It was Thursday, November 26, 1953. We were part of the 180th Regiment of the Forty Fifth infantry division, deployed at a place in the Yongyu Valley near the 38th Parallel in North Korea. The temperature was about twenty-five to thirty-five below zero, give or take. The fighting had ceased on the 27th of July in 1953, Monday, at precisely 9:00 PM.

Top song was: "The Song from Moulin Rouge" by Percy Faith

    It was about a week or so before Thanksgiving day; from out of nowhere, in comes a team of engineers with three trucks loaded with building supplies to the point of explosion. Within one day, those guys erected a full and complete mess hall, capable of serving everyone in our company.

The prefabricated structure is known as a Quonset Hut,

a building made of corrugated metal and having a semicircular cross section.

ORIGIN: World War II, named after Quonset Point, Rhode Island, where such huts were first made.

    On the Monday preceding Thanksgiving, a large quantity of food along with a detail of cooks and bakers began arriving in the wee hours of the morning. The extra cook's helpers had been flown in from Japan. Turkey, ham, shrimp, two or three salads, and all kinds of potatoes, along with lemon meringue, apple, and pecan pies. I honestly can’t recall what they served for hors d’oeuvres, but, I can tell you none of us were disappointed. I can’t recall the boxes of chocolate we received, but I do remember all of us had far more than we were able to consume. The only item left out was any form of hard liquor. (We were still considered a high level combat zone.)
That next day, we came to find out this was a common practice, afforded all of us serving our country, anywhere and everywhere in the world. To this day, I think about it when the traditional holidays are upon us. If it’s at all possible, our American military is made for us to feel as much at home a combat zone would permit.
    Replacing the freezing cold with the warmth of family and friends at Thanksgiving time serves as a reminder to me of how lucky a man I am today, some sixty-seven years hence. The distress caused by COVID-19 is upon us. We’re all afloat on the same boat. While our military only represent an extremely small percentage of our population, they, as well, stand together as teammates while this lousy plague continues its effect on each and every one of us as a member of the American populous. Let’s all keep it in mind. Please join me and mine, on the celebration of this wonderful day, for giving thanks. And if I may, here’s another heartfelt remembrance which manages to touch my soul, thinking back to what was a very personal day in the life and times of yours truly:

Thursday, November 26, 1953
Sharing my short remembrance:

More gently than imagined

Dinner had slowed to a savoring state

Many smiles adorned, pleased faces

Our company Chaplin led a prayer

Giving thanks for this joyous meal

A final few words

The Chaplin stepped away

Hey Rod, where’s that record player of yours

One of the guys called out

We knew he had it close by

Not a shock to me, it was under his seat

Rod set the “phono” in place

I stood alongside, smiling

Awaiting my favorite song to begin

Hand cranking completed, the needle in place

Never foreign for Rod and me

When he played Roy Hamilton

All around, listened

1953 Thanksgiving was special

At the moment, Rod and da harv were standing

The music began, and I remember

My eyes were closed during this festival

The first bar of music, a gentle call to arms sounding

Without any musical signal

All buddies, around me began to stand

Rod and I were deeply enthralled

We began to sway to the sound

Our comrades joined in that Thanksgiving Day

It was November 26, 1953

We all listened, as Roy Hamilton musically reminded us:

“We would never walk alone”

One hundred men, not walking alone!

Swaying in place as one

When you walk through a storm

Hold your head up high

And don't be afraid of the dark

At the end of a storm

There's a golden sky

And the sweet silver song of a lark

Walk on through the wind

Walk on through the rain

Though your dreams be tossed and blown

Walk on, walk on

With hope in your heart

And you'll never walk alone

You'll never walk alone

Walk on, walk on

With hope in your heart

And you'll never walk alone

You'll never walk alone

-

Oscar Hammerstein II / Richard Rodgers

-

It was November 26, 1953

It was a very special day.

HK

Mutual Trust

With a Friend, Or Without

You may speak as one to another

Or not to another at all

Or to a person like yourself

About today, about tomorrow

Or a long ago place on a forgotten shelf

Perhaps all with an inner perspective

One might be for sure

The other merely a maybe

Yours truly, an elective

For all of us, we ask

When will this horror come to its end

Sooner than later

For one or another

Today it remains difficult to comprehend

Borrow we must from an Aesop Fable

Make it our perspective

Let us all bend in the breeze, perhaps a weak limb

Once more will we endeavor to survive

For tomorrow will be a great day!

The other day I thought about chatting with this man
It had been many years, since last we communicated
Not by design
Without malice, we just hadn’t given it thought
For some reason, comfort still existed

When I spoke, he might listen
And if he spoke, I would listen as well
Remembering, recalling our lives
From way back when first we met

Wasn’t about ourselves today, as we are,
More likely when two young boys
Took their best shot at growing up
Many things from yesterday’s
Beach, sand, getting a tan

Burning red skin
At play, always laughing
Was our way to understand
Never spoke of the negative
Wasn’t part of our plan

There was no need for plans yesterday
Us, boys, certainly not yet men
Young and brand new
We couldn’t wear out, it was our credo, we thought
No noticeable perils at hand, calm seas, quiet skies

Without warning, days upon days flashed quickly by
No premonitions of the days to come
Suddenness was the word
I wore a uniform now, and carried a flag
Marched with many others like me
Drums beating as we stepped forward

Then traveling with winds blowing
Across a troubling sea
Being a man didn’t occur to me
A new storm had brewed for my friend and I
He had never come by

It was time to call him, that friend of mine
To compare notes of what was traveling by
For reasons unknown we had drifted apart
My trusted friend and I
From boys we became men
He remained in my heart

Waiting, I sat there alone
Where we had agreed to meet
It had all changed
So different now
Faces were old
Steps no longer bold
Not much smiling there to behold

What has grabbed us all
Each human is being touched
All are feverish over this specter

What to do, I’d ask my friend
If he ever showed
Think of the new, he might reply
This putrid hazard of life is soon to pass
Like life itself, I offered
I knew he would agree

As when we were young
For my trusted friend and I
The skies cleared
The storm lost power

Without notice, days flashed by again
With no perils at hand, calm seas, quiet skies
Venturing out, my friend and I, if he showed

Don’t forget your mask, my trusted friend might tell me
If he ever showed
Nor you, I'd reply

I looked around before taking leave
The skies shown blue, a glistening sun appeared
None wore masks now, there was no need

The time had come to think to myself: What if this virus ended tomorrow?
For all the people, with kids in this park
Each and every one smiling together
Oh no, what am I to do?
Nothing to worry about

Wait a minute, there’s not a minute to lose
Got to run over to Gelson’s
Before the turkeys run out!


HK

An Honest Observer Observes

Scribed this Veterans Day, 2020

Wouldn’t you have to agree 2020 has been a rather strange year, at best?!

---

        Some facts can’t be denied. I do believe you’d have to agree with what I just conveyed. When I was a little kid, I heard for the very first time, original source unknown: “The only things in this life we know, for sure will occur, are death and taxes.”

        Seemingly, a very short time later in my life, I heard: “Sending a text message on your phone while you’re driving on a freeway, especially at excessive speeds, is a dopey thing to do!” Whether Democrat or Republican, you’d have to agree, a vote leaning towards idiocy would be declaring complete disregard for friends or neighbors...

        Admittedly, there have been many more personal things and experiences living the years of my existence on this world's stage. What I’m willing to share with you are a wide combination of events: good, bad, unusual, but never with complete indifference towards my neighbors and friends.

---

        Today’s commentary is being stimulated by my past. Like I said at the top, I am writing this on Veterans Day, 2020. Da Harv happens to be a member of this group, personified in many ways by what, we, military, have in common.
        During my time in service, women didn’t serve in any immediate combat zones. You might imagine what our way of life in a front-line arena without ladies around may have been like; language by us troopers was beyond belief— “pass the f---ing butter" —was entirely acceptable. The restroom facilities were always void of privacy. The contradiction to the way we communicated with one another was almost always as gentlemen. We, of the military, laughed together a lot and we cried a little as well. The laughing could, at times, be cruel but never in a lasting or continual manner. A tear or two was usually caused by a buddy’s sharing of a downer letter from home. Never once did I feel there wasn’t a guy there covering my back.
        Ten men living in a tent together for a prolonged period of time is a definite challenge, don’t you think? There had to be similarity. There was no voting. We didn’t have Republicans or Democrats. We all wore the same type of clothing; everybody even had the same color transportation. We all earned very close to the same amount of money. No air-conditioning, and the very worst experience I’ve ever had was the tomb-like frost of the northern Korean winters. We all fought against the rigors of frostbite. If we were allowed to vote for likes and dislikes having to do with the climate, we’d have an unanimous agreement. All hands up together, voting, hating every moment of it. What a concept, don’t you think? A vote without politics to consider. We all felt the same, regardless of anything you might come up with.
        Without an uninformed media to explain how we should be feeling. Without a young woman or man-child telling us how we should or shouldn’t be living our lives. Love is love and when it ain’t, it ain’t! And there was one more final possibility demanding an immediate unanimous vote—take it from me, in that tent of ours we didn’t consider race or relationships as a voting matter. When we were freezing our asses off, we huddled together out of necessity. Nature without mercy made us work together as an American military. It’s still the same old story.

HK

It's still the same old story

A fight for love and glory

A case of do or die

The world will always welcome lovers

As time goes by

This Veteran Remembers

Chuncheon, Korea:

Located approximately six miles from the DMZ,

45 miles northeast of Seoul.

Early July, 1953

Heat and humidity, unbearable
Time of day, in the wee hours of the morning
On a troop train without indoor plumbing (holes in the floor)
Note: There are no adequate words to properly describe the abominable stink
We’re jammed in, this young civilian army of mine
Average age amongst us: twenty-two, da harv not yet twenty
I was a volunteer soldier; I’d do it again if I could!

Who were these people

These shoeless urchins

Hands reaching out to us

Late and dark, all sore, full ties

We, the men, little older than the children

We soldiers carried arms to fight

They, the children, some armless

Within their plight

They begged for nothing more than food

Our train stopped often, along the way

Heading north in the relentless dark of the night

And at each station the kids came from the night

Screaming with lungs about to burst

All faces crying out

All yelling up to us

“You have candy, you have candy, G.I.?”

To the man we opened our pockets

Bars, all names and sizes, were flung from the windows

Some children, trance-like, unable to handle their plight

Too many, the reflection of a malady of war

All they could do was beg

Not a Mother or Father in sight.

        One night, along with three other guys, we were put in charge as our train plodded into yet another station. Each of us were to guard the four entrances to each car as the train came to a stop; no civilians were to enter or exit the car while we were in the station. The army referred to it as a “lockdown”. On this particular night, we pulled into the station and our guys came prepared for the kids. During the daylight hours, we had meetings all up and down the train and managed to collect quite an array of candy in anticipation to greeting the next entourage of children.
        When the train pulled to a stop that night, the children came running towards us, all hands sticking out, pushing, shoving, kicking, shouting, little kids stomping on other little kids trying to get something, anything, to put in their mouths. None of those Korean children were prepared to find out what American (kid) soldiers are about.
        We had to hurry, our officers in charge could only keep their backs turned for just so long. We had collected all the candy and whatever we could find on the train we might be able to fit into burlap sacks, now all filled to the brim. Somehow, one of our guys managed to light up the train station. Lighting up a train station at night in a combat area is a total no-no. Not to worry, in not more than eight minutes the deed was done and our train moved further up north to what had appropriately been named, “The Frozen Chosen”.
        The remainder of that night, as we lumbered along, the men in our car were reacting the way we did in a high school locker room after a winning game. Kids can and will be kids, while men can and will be men anywhere our country sends us.
        The next time you take notice, seeing a couple of veteran service men or women meeting up and comparing memories of past deeds done, you'll see what causes pride to swell. There are children all over the world who have experienced the culture of our veterans. Perhaps you can understand why veterans seem to bristle when they hear anyone talking about any American veteran mistreating people in a foreign land; don’t try telling it to any of the kids who were there on that fateful candy night in Korea.

…in the wee hours of the morning

On a troop train without indoor plumbing (holes in the floor)

My personal tribute to all my comrades, past and present

And those of my family and friends, especially who gave far more than I will ever be able to repay

God bless them, and the United States of America.

HK

Let the games continue!

Meeting Stanislavski

        Dorsey High School, here in Los Angeles: At the time my prime interest was playing baseball and one day, signing a contract to play for a professional team. Studying and becoming a renowned scholar never entered my mind, at least not initially. My drive consisted of play, play, and more play.
        In the beginning, thoughts about anything other than baseball were nonexistent. I don’t recall ever using the word 'discovery' during those formative early high school years. I doubt if I ever opened a book during my first year of high school.
        So much of what they were teaching here, in the state of California, I had already learned during my grammar school days in New York City. Growing up in my family was a guarantee, we were all going to be good in math, or as my Dad referred to it: arithmetic.
        Like many immigrant parents, both my Mother and Father had very little formal education, but it didn’t keep them from excelling at almost everything they attempted to accomplish. They craved learning, it was their driving force, along with making a living and providing for the upbringing of three children: two sisters and da harv.
        One sister is six years older, and the other is nine years younger than me. Not exactly a well-planned household. The big separation of years between us created an enormous family upheaval on many occasions, mainly between my older sister and me. I never thought about my gift with words. Vocabulary and writing skills just happened to be there. Years later, one of the actresses explained to me: in a past life I probably knew how to speak Latin. My Mother claimed my vocabulary skills were derived, because she began reading to me from the time she first became pregnant with me.

        Year two, a freshman, brought with it: discovery. I actually began planning what I intended to study. By the end of my freshman year, I began to understand what our California teachers really had going for them, especially the women. Many of the female teachers had come to Los Angeles as aspiring actresses. The one I was lucky enough to have, this teacher, came equipped with degrees having to do with theater. Many of the production skills she picked up were derived from some of the most renowned fine art related universities in the country.

The song called out to me:

“Whatever will be, will be

The future’s not ours, to see

Que Sera, Sera”

Jay Livingston/Ray Evans

Note: My favorite version is sung by one of my most favorite ladies, Doris Day.

DRAMA 1

        Day number one, on my first day ever in a legitimately-taught drama (acting) class. Our teacher had been an aspiring actress who ventured out, from the small town environment she had grown up in, to the movie mecca of the world. At the time, Los Angeles had many young, beautiful, and extremely-gifted teenage girls, discovering, along with their Moms, how overpoweringly competitive becoming a working actor would be.
        Her Mother had enrolled her talented daughter at Los Angeles High, at age fourteen. She graduated at age seventeen, and went on to earn her graduate and post-graduate master's degree, supporting herself by waiting on tables at a very well-known Beverly Hills restaurant. Her skills as an exponent of the great Stanislavski, were far more than scholarly—this lady wasn’t pedestrian in any sense of the word. Concurrently, I was entering a period of my young life when my capacity and aptitude as a receptor began to show itself.

THE FIRST DRILL

Location: alone on our high school stage, our very first beginning drill

Two students picked randomly:
The teacher had assigned us, each in our own way, to free form the recollection of an actual personal (true) experience encountered from any time period we chose from our past.

The first two students:
He and she had, in common, an incident they each chose to remember and bring forward during a drill in our first week's drama class. Their story could have been funny, but it wasn’t. It could have been deeply dramatic, but none of us got their gist.

Note: Without exception, none of the students had heard the name “Stanislavski”.

        Not many high school teachers had past exposure to the teaching of the most prominent exponent of the great Stanislavski's method, or system. Not until I began cutting classes and making it over to one of the many little neighborhood theaters, did I have any knowledge of who Stanislavski was. I was about to find out.

ENTERING A NEW SPORT: THEATER

        Many of us, including yours truly, was required to try the same drill the first two students experienced that very first day. Our teacher moved around the room randomly choosing who would have their turn on stage. For no discernible reason, I was last to get up to perform. There I was, center stage. I took a comfortable breath and began to talk to them as if they were a crowd sitting in the stands, watching me pitch.

        “This feels like I’m on a pitching mound looking in at my catcher, just the way my Dad showed me how to do it.” The students began to laugh. (I shook off their laughter without anger.) “No. He really did teach me. He taught me a lot of things. I can remember a long time ago. It was one of those Saturday summer days, my Dad and I were at Ebbetts Field together, taking in a Dodger game together. They played their games in Brooklyn in those days. I’m smiling now, because that day with my Father is one I will remember for the rest of my life.” (The students became quiet, they seemed to lean in a little closer. “Tell us the rest of what happened next”, the teacher called out to me.) 

        I began again: “The Dodgers were up at bat. The game was on the line. My Dad told me to stay awake. We were sitting pretty close to where many of the foul balls were often hit. Up to the plate came my favorite Dodger of all time, Pee Wee Reese. Stay awake, my Dad said again. Then Pee Wee hits one up in the air and it came quickly our way. We all instantly stood up. My Dad raised up to his full height of five foot five inches, stuck his left arm up in the air, and low and behold made a bare-handed catch of that foul ball off the bat of my favorite dodger, Pee Wee Reese. God, I loved that guy, but I loved my Father more.” (The students applauded.)
        During the course of the semester our wonderful teacher often repeated the same drill as we all became aware she had, herself, learned as a working actress and student of the great Stanislavski.

INGREDIENTS: STUDY and DISCOVERY

        The word STUDY may not occur to those in the earliest stages of discovery itself. Study is imperative as a driving force for anyone and everyone who is held captive by even a modicum of flowing creative juices so presented by nature's indelible will. An absolute necessity in the cultivation of lasting and prominent skills.
        STUDY and DISCOVERY are essentially the same PROVIDER, bringing forth both conscience and subconscious enlightenment, without which these two ingredients, creativity becomes nothing more than a burdensome and unrewarding task. That was then, and this is now. I never go a single day without both of those marvelous ingredients entering, and reentering, my treasury.
        When I returned home from Korea, neither study nor any human pertinence allowing for who I really was at that moment in time, was anything I intended to share from my private thoughts. In other words, looking back, I was quite introspective. Two short years later, what I considered a fixation became a fact of life.

***

        May I please take a moment to acknowledge a few persons before me, who taught me the how and why systems work, for all or any who fall to the long and often fickle deceptions of creativity.
Note: My acknowledgements are now complete. I chose to make them introspectively; often it's what I do as I prepare to write my next piece, or am in the process of delivering a verbal discourse in a most intimate flow of words. Often during trying times, the likes of what we are now experiencing during this plague, I can easily conjure, at my will, the very image of my Dad reaching up, catching that ball, then instantly handing it off to his adoring young son as the crowd cheered him on to new heights!

“Dear God, let the games continue!”

HK