Personal Cop Out

Chapter 21: Personal Cop Out

By Harvey Kalmenson

I remember my first car as if it were yesterday. I returned home from the service and my dad somehow found a way to give me a homecoming gift of five hundred dollars. At the time, he must have cleaned out his bank account in order to make it happen. We went to a Ford dealership and picked out a young guy's dream car: a 1955 Ford convertible. It was aqua and white with a tan top and white sidewall tires. The inside upholstery matched the outside paint perfectly. Man, was I gaudy or what?     My car color matched the times we were living in. Things were beginning to percolate, 1956 was right around the corner as we all readied ourselves for “Heartbreak Hotel”. And the man who introduced a brand new era, the one and only, “Elvis Presley”.

1955 Ford convertible– we paid $1,500 brand spanking new. It left me with car payments of $90 a month. At the time of purchase, (not yet da harv) was earning a grand total (after taxes) of $57.50 per week to take home. That would be worth $522.75 today, the equivalent of an 801% increase. To help put this inflation into perspective, if we had invested $58 in the S&P 500 index in 1958, our investment would be nominally worth approximately $32,214.58 in 2021. This is a return on investment of 55,442.39%, with an absolute return of $32,156.58 on top of the original $58. (Excuse my impertinence, but every so often my other life as an investment counselor comes out and I just can’t help myself).

Anyway, I have always loved cars. At this stage in my life, I have it down to a final choice between two superlative machines, either a Bentley Continental GT or an Aston Martin, like the one driven by 007.

If ever it happens to happen and I somehow have the ability to purchase either one of them, I will, of course, have to do so. I mean, if a dream comes true who am I not to act on it.     It occurs to me, there may be some of you out there who are of the opinion thinking about luxurious automobiles is not exactly a wholesome dream for anyone, especially me, to set as a dream goal. Well, there was a time when I put having a really super house as my goal, above all else. It was a strange phenomenon when I discovered how much more important having a house was than having a car. In actuality, I needed both.     The house proved to be far more essential for a guy with a family. It’s doubtful that people go out shopping in search of a used house; the terminology is usually reserved for when you shop for a car. A house is your family's home. A car is for transportation, especially when both the husband and the mom have to go to work every day as we did!     What sealed it for me regarding the big difference between the importance of a car compared to a man’s home became apparent abruptly. While it’s true we weren’t evicted from our family homesite, the threat was an ominously dark experience. Cold, hard-to-take, and straightforwardly frightening. Multiple letters announcing the ominous date my home was going to be sold at auction; at least when it comes to falling behind on car payments, they give you the courtesy of not kicking you out of your home with all the neighbors standing around and watching the community hanging.     And at the last moment, God showed up, mission impossible was accomplished, and as one of my great friends said: “All’s well that ends well”.     My two little kids didn’t have an inkling of what had transpired. Each and every day when the girls spotted me walking down the street, coming home, they’d both dash towards me with big hugs, yelling loud enough for me to hear them from down the street, “Daddy’s home!” Those girls were helping me survive. I often felt like their hero. That was many years ago, a big time difference between then and now.     We’ve got a tenant leasing the same house today. I still own it, but now we own two houses; one of which is our home. We affectionally refer to it as “Da Villa on Da Hilla.”

The days before:     I pulled my beautiful convertible into the parking lot at the Palladium nightclub, across the street from Earl Carroll’s. An extremely appropriate gal was enjoying my Ford convertible as much as I was. It was a good time to be alive while spending my money like it was the last day I’d be allowed to do so. I mean, I had eight hundred and fifty dollars the United States army had given me as mustering-out pay.

I was carrying it all rolled into a bundle, in order to make sure everyone near us was able to see how a wealthy man hangs out. I think this last sentence gives you an idea of my cognizant abilities at that moment in time. As the great Duke Ellington had summed it all up: I was about to cop-out.     The evening had been a spectacular experience. The show came to an end. I dropped my date off at her home and found myself alone, examining my feelings about what I had just been privy to.

Chapter 22: Thinking Back     To this day, without equivocation, I can say with complete conviction: Sammy Davis Jr. was the greatest all-around performer I was ever privileged to be personally entertained by! I had watched him many times on television, all the way back to when I was a child myself. For me, he was without equal.     During my allowed position in life, I have been asked by usually an aspiring actor: who in my opinion was the most outstanding actor I have ever met, seen in person, or have worked with? And my answer has always been the same, all these years, from the moment he stepped on stage to thoroughly capture all of us: Sammy Davis Jr. Nothing Sammy did as a performer was ever a cop-out!

The Revelry Of Bad Times

“A letter to a very young friend”   Dear Zeb, The bad times they a-turning now Like in the good old days of yore Days free from deceit Replete with the revelry of joy in my feet Makes me be laughingly sweet No need to be crying To a neighbor lady down the street How’d in the name of God, You and yours, and me To all around our town Ever able to bring this virus down Somehow managed, brought back All people brightly bristling While neighbors shared coffee And sinfully fattening doughnuts Sugaring, glistening The bad games are almost over now Remember how it was Walking together in the sun Take what’s left, my boy It’s about done... Strength! ...We’ll need it again Not time to be still… So much work for all of us The magic of each American's soul Remains strong… stalwart… Forged with freedoms glow… For all who have wept… A sweet backdrop of light Yours Forever In the sun Please say hello to anyone who knows me. Your older friend, Barvey …and sorry for the ‘kinds of writing I do.

...And one more thing, perhaps with meaning. And if not, I’ll understand 'cause it’s what some of us when needed due, do for others as if the case was to benefit family, friends, and fellow Americans at large. Lest it may be misunderstood:         Zeb, the kid I sometimes address my letters to, was a symbolic little kid who existed in every American generation as it was when it was ever-changing as it grew. We all had the innermost feelings we would experience a handsome degree of success, largely because history reflected justly; American dreams were always possible.

Zeb’s Dreams Scribbled My eyes are closed Yet I don’t rest Sleep never comes easily When so many around me Family, some friends Those merely being acquaintances I worry ‘bout tomorrow First day of school, again My nickers are threadbare My friends are going to laugh, I think   Better day than yesterday Or the day before My nose stopped running That damn cough seems to be gone I’m sure glad its summer again Everybody, all happy again I love our new house You know, I still miss the farm   Never thought about making it all the way I’ll put my dreaming away for another day Couldn’t imagine what it would be like So far from home To see all the townspeople The children around me all crying to be fed I wonder if I’ll ever see them again   How in the world did we get this old The flags got fifty stars Children moved out They got their own Morning now All those people All those dreams All my best wishes To those through all the great years Mostly they were my dreams Lucky to have them Happy to share   One day I may visit the White House I dream about it Dreaming it will still be there - hk -

Books Are My Closest Friends

BOOKS ARE MY CLOSEST FRIENDS       It may have started way back in time, when I was a kid in high school, probably at age sixteen… Or it may have begun as an eighteen-year-old entering the United States Army—not the most likely period. Then comes some certainty as a man turning twenty-one years of age, beginning to recognize how little I could consider of any great or meager consequence. Everything was still in my own little niche of what I effectually consider a young person’s “rectal delirium”.       Please do yourselves a favor by not attempting to find the definition. It’s a Harvey Kalmenson coinage for a man who still had his head up his ass. My baseball coach delivered the line to me as I prepared to sign a professional baseball contract; his actual words of advice to me were: “Keep your head out of your ass and you’ll ultimately be okay.” Of course, Coach was correct in his assumption that all teenage boys only looked like men. Their chronological age required them to remain as boys with their heads you-know-where and remain for many more years to come.       Ergo, after suffering an athletic injury, I left home and found myself at age twenty at the top of a hill in North Korea, twenty-five miles north of the 38th parallel.

My reading consisted of newspaper articles written by reporters from the three Los Angeles papers then in existence, sent to me by my older sister. For whatever reason, I found myself being more and more detached from the reportage contained within the news clippings. As I entered my second year in Korea, I found myself in the strange position of not even attempting to read any of what my sister sent me.

THE TIMES THEY HAD CHANGED       By then, I was living in the operating room of a World War II, bombed-out, Japanese hospital. It was a complete “Shangri-La” in comparison to my previous lodging in an army ten-man squad tent (similar to the ones on the TV show, MASH). I was no longer in any bodily danger; a cease-fire was in place.

I was put in charge of a major Eighth Army engineer supply point (yeah, yeah); I was the sole leader of the joint. And believe it or not, although I wasn’t as yet aware, I was becoming “da harv”. And would you believe, I had a houseboy to take care of keeping the place sparkling clean? Unfortunately, I don’t have any pictures of the place.       I gave my army cot to my houseboy, who lived in a very comfortable side-storage room—but I had my own personal toilet—given the circumstances, both were unheard of. Poignant note: The houseboy’s name was Gin-gie. About 4 months went by and he asked me if he can bring his dad by to meet me. “Sure, but I’d have to get him a pass to get onto the compound”—with the materials being hot commodities, it was well guarded. About a month later, Gin-gie showed up with his dad. We bowed to each other upon meeting, shook hands, and I said, “Glad to meet you, Mr. Kim”. He was dressed in a nice jacket with a shirt and tie and cleaned up for the occasion. That was about the extent of it until the time came for me to rotate home. Mr. Kim showed up once again and this time, he brought a nameplate that he had personally carved for me. Although he couldn’t speak any English, it was a tearful moment when we said our goodbyes.        Somehow, I got my hands on a twin-size bed from a Korean trader; it cost me about two bucks. I can’t recall what the sheets and bedspread had cost me, but it wasn’t much. Having a bed, as opposed to an army cot, proved most favorable for me at certain times (figure it out—only for adult consumption). Note: My army work had nothing to do with voiceover, but it did allow me to really dig into a series of articles being written for a magazine called “Fabulous Las Vegas”, by my cousin, the comedian, Dave Barry. During the time period and continuing for sixteen years, Dave was the opening act for “Wayne Newton” in Las Vegas.

It was then that my life really began; “let the games begin”. I discovered there were more Kalmensons in the entertainment business than I was ever aware of. I began noticing the name Kalmenson, here and there, scattered around in a variety of books about the old days of Hollywood. It wasn’t a big or world-changing event, but in a brief moment, my life of discovery took hold. It was moments when books began to take shape for me, and what turned out to be lifelong friendships. Books became my erstwhile partner; I knew they’d be there for me to turn to for the rest of my life. RETURNING HOME       Without knowingly going for it, learning had become a very healthy obsession. The neighborhood public library was my free college and in short order, my own private university. Once, and almost each and every week, my young wife would be out doing our grocery shopping, and also stop by the library in order to bring home the friends I would entrust with my in-depth schooling. There were always one or two shopping bags filled with books to be found in our small apartment.       In those days, what I read was a real “Clobbiosh” mixture of many intellectual things, especially of an abstract nature caused by the input of many European societies (usually brought to the USA by German immigrants, we think). In case you want to know, Wikipedia states: “Clobbiosh, also known as Bela, is the Anglo-Jewish trick-taking card game variety of Klabberjas played in Jewish communities in many parts of the world…” And the beat goes on. How often some things never change.

Follow The Leader

Following a leader, if you will, it may deter the most critical of life’s happenings: STANDING STILL Tempting to find a leader When leaders don’t abound Removing a good one When he, or she, Black, white, or brown Or any other shades comes around Not a good thing to do Say brethren today Echoing this country’s past….       Not too long ago, country folks came together and Abraham Lincoln became our sixteenth president. Standing still was beneath him—standing still was never purposeful for Abe. He was, and remained, on a mission (with us, a brand-new American society) where all men have the same color blood flowing through their veins. Abe’s integrity, aroused from the Bible, showed indomitable cause!       Once more, as a people, we lurched forward. Once more, one more time, Abe urged us all to join hands together. Today, our enemy is a virus. And like Abraham Lincoln moving—not standing still—remains the parcel of our American integrity. It is and will remain our survival. Only one single moment in time will show itself more than once upon its face. It will belong to you, alone, as your chance to do with it, stimulated by your singular will to accomplish, or to stand still, watching, unable to avoid the stymie you, and you alone, are free to remove. Standing still is not limited to remaining in one place being singular, or without any thoughts of personal choice. What it does mean, in as short and sweet a definition to be found in any annals of society, is a simple fact: if you are in life’s race without movement, you are in the process of losing. Life is definitely a means to its eventual end. Without forward movement, one will find themselves in retreat; often, in retreat without conspicuously or consciously being aware of it. hk   2021

May I recommend: “Abraham Lincoln: The War Years” A four-volume biography by Carl Sandburg, published in 1939. It was awarded the 1940 Pulitzer Prize for history.       It took Carl Sandburg eleven years to research and write this compassionate description of what leadership is all about. These award-winning volumes, at one time, were standard teaching tools in almost every state in America. Today, the vast majority of high school students have never heard of Carl Sandburg, a very great poetic leader.

“Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.” Carl Sandburg

And one more thing….       A little tip of a thing I do when I’m in search of something I need in my life (what I refer to as 'recapture'), what I want, preferably what I love and/or like, all just things many folks might take for granted or don’t notice when they are there for the most of the time… Why do I choose to offer this to all who surround me? Because at this moment, I find my own mind in need of stimulation.       Educating others has been a mainstay in my life for as long as I can remember. When a current or past student calls our office or writes a letter of thank you, it serves to placate any thoughts of my personal failures. Here’s a secret: the greatest failure of mine remains any contemplation of standing still. Don’t look for mollification when you didn’t do anything wrong.       In a moment of silence, or this man’s (me) valueless deeds having been miraculously accomplished, seeking to reclaim my burning desires for success motivation, fitting in with my personal fulcrum—the fact is, the right side of my report card will always read: “could do better!” There are times when I talk to myself about what can cure my needs. I’m alone and I say, “Okay then, light my fire”. This year, 2020, I’ve needed help more than any other time in my life. Note: I scribe this piece because of what we’re all going through at this moment in time. #19—The world’s current and most active pain in the ass. It’s difficult to cultivate a motivational desire for success when you’re worried about losing a loved one, family, or friend.       Here’s the tip I promised: simply stated, I look for a new fact—a piece of knowledge to add to my arsenal each and every day of my life. If I’m learning, I’m not standing still. When pain enters a life situation, I turn to a leader—current or from the past—to show me the way to move forward.       It’s a simple trick, but it does take application. Single pages in books, or often a single paragraph, helps me to move forward with a rush; making comparisons to myself and the heaviest and most devised pressures life has to offer. Lincoln’s life pressures far exceed anything I’ve ever had to deal with.       Today, just looking at any remembrance of our sixteenth president offers me a needed stimulus—his world-acclaimed Emancipation Proclamation, established in 1863, close to four years before the Civil War would end in 1865.

And then came Winston, Leader Personified Note: Great Britain declared war on Germany in 1939, as a result of Germany’s treaty-breaking invasion of Poland. Winston Churchill was a leader in the wings. He took the helm for his great empire, alone in the world. He received the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”. And of course,  his goal was to end them, with or without the help of the United States of America. Nazi Germany declared war against the United States on December 11, 1941.                I was always under the impression as a much younger person (while just beginning my high school exploits—or education you might say) we were the real heroes of World War II.       Most of our team’s athletic coaches also doubled as regular teachers. Mine were mostly instructors in American History and or U.S. government. It was during a practice when one of our coaches introduced us to the likes of his hero—a man he referred to as Winnie—known to the world as Sir Winston Churchill. My life was about to change directions, on that very spot, in that one moment in time.       What occurred then in a single moment was to be etched in my mind’s eye and would remain with me to this very day, as I convey my innermost thoughts to you all. Our coach had introduced his history class to a few of Winston Churchill’s most well-known speeches, amongst them were the same quotes from his “Their Finest Hour” speech. Winston Churchill epitomized the term ‘leader’. Many historians believe, if not for him, the second World War would have been lost to an axis triumphant. The man stood alone without equal.

"Final painting by Winston Churchill of his 'most special place in the world' which he gave to his bodyguard is expected to fetch £80,000 at auction. Wartime Prime Minister gifted 'The Goldfish Pool' to bodyguard Edmund Murray Sergeant Murray received painting just years before Churchill's death in 1965  Murray had had even helped the politician prepare his easel and paint brushes Churchill completed 544 paintings after he took the hobby up in the 1920s The painting has never been exhibited before and is expected to fetch £80,000"

Pain Into Gain       For many more years than most, it has become my habit to put into practice a ritual each and every day of my life. I will not end said day without the same practice taking place. Whether it’s a word, a paragraph, a page, or many chapters. I seek to take from another’s writings, at least a modicum of learning.       For me, there will never be exhaustion too great that would, whatever the circumstances arise, hamper, or serve as a deterrent in order to assuage my desire to learn something of value to my life. Learning has become my fountain of youth. No pill can compare to the curative aid to one’s existence helping an individual during and after a time of strife.

HK's latest read: "The Splendid and the Vile" by Erik Larson "Highly recommended." -Harvey Kalmenson  "I can [already] tell it's going to be good, all the way through." -da harv