Down, Not Out

Down, Not Out Down, not out Its not who we are Not destined to be There again Setting out Tasked with Learning how to win Discovering difficulty Almost everyday Along each road taken When the lights come on again All over our world Rewards mostly forgotten Somehow not forsaken We prepare for tomorrow With yesterday’s gifts in hand Believing the lights will come on again All over our world And God-willing For all the people we will Continue to touch Though life remains An abstraction of the love We vow to forever seek For an educated man Must always share Regardless of times so bleak! - HK - RECAPTION         The day was Tuesday, March 17, 2020. Kalmenson & Kalmenson had twenty classes, per week, being conducted by our seventeen teachers at three locations here in southern California. It was on this day we began contacting each of our current students—as well as all students who had paid in advance for an up and coming course of study—personally by telephone, in order to announce the temporary suspension of our current and future classes until further notice. We explained to each and everyone of them: “It would probably be about three months before we would most likely become able to return to business as normal, once again.”         It has been seventeen months subsequent to our fateful announcement. Since I had never been trained to abandon ship, the thought of learning a new craft wasn’t on the agenda!

Now, here's the good news: In short order, we'll be sending out an announcement of how the Kalmenson & Kalmenson band of successful sailors are about to launch our newest vessel of education!

In mid-August, we’ll be bringing back our method, by popular demand —dah-ra-ra-rah-rarah!

To all to practice: we’re going global by way of Zoom. ALL OUR GOOD STUFF WILL ONCE AGAIN BE COMING YOUR WAY. Stay tuned.         Finally, at long last, what were our grandiose plans for the future are taking shape. We’re getting set to “zoom” back into the lives of all the wondrously patient folks who have stayed in touch with us for all these painful months. The lights are coming on all over the world.

Note: “When The Lights Go On Again All Over the World”, was a 1942 song referring to WWII coming to an end; with things returning to normal, like boys returning home, and, once again, things like wedding rings. I thought it is an appropriate comparison to the Covid-19 crises we have been riding with for close to a year and one half. HK

Dingbat Dan

Dingbat Dan (Not a Sunday kind of man)

Tomorrow's notes, today: I grew up hearing the descriptive, “dingbat”. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but then again, it definitely wasn’t really a nice thing to say to or about another individual, be they male or female. Then, there was the time as a supposed adult male responding to another supposed adult male chitchat question: “So, how was your date last night?” I almost instantly remember my dad's advisement: “Be careful about what you say, it might come back to haunt you.”         Through these many years, my father's words have proven to be sacrosanct. “Remember Harv, a person's privacy might be their most important thing they have going for themselves, don’t betray it.” Almost salivating as he waited for me to give him all the details of my date, he asked me the question. This time, by giving me the open-handed reiteration. Although, at this point in life, it’s difficult for me to appear as dopey as I was as a teenage—this old dude will have to suffice:

I answered him with, “Like you know, she was drop-dead gorgeous.” Now he began to salivate. “Yeah, yeah." He asked again, so I continued: “She really had a nice singing voice. But without warning, she stopped singing and out of nowhere blurts out how hers were better than almost any of her girlfriends'. Now she really had my interest, to say the least. Then she says—from out of nowhere again—how all this talk made her hungry, and without hesitation, it was what she had been talking about when she mentioned her friends' cooking abilities. 'You know when I said mine were better?' I gave her a quizzical look, and she says, 'my hamburgers, you ninny'."         All that occurred in retrospect was simple—we were on our way to my favorite drive-in restaurant teenage hangout, and Miss Gorgeous had been thinking about it all along. When she explained it to me, she meant her hamburgers were better than her friends'. And all I said to her in a smiling, loving, disbelieving way was, “You're such a dingbat”. Dingbat: a silly empty-headed person. A dingbat is an ornament, character, or spacer used in typesetting, sometimes more formally known as a printer’s ornament or printer’s character. The term continues to be used in the computer industry to describe fonts that have symbols and shapes in the positions designated for alphabetical or numeric characters. What’s the origin of the word Dingbat? dingbat (n.) 1838, American English, apparently originally the name of some kind of alcoholic drink, of unknown origin. It has joined that class of words (such as dingus, doohickey, gadget, gizmo, thingumabob) which are conjured up to supply names for items whose proper names are unknown or not recollected. Dingbat. In typography, a dingbat (sometimes more formally known as a printer’s ornament or printer’s character) is an ornament, character, or spacer used in typesetting, often employed for the creation of box frames (similar to box-drawing characters ). The term continues to be used in the computer industry to describe fonts… Google Note: The name has been changed in order to protect the innocent, but the lyrics do pertain to my inquisitive long-ago friend.   “Dingbat Dan”   Dingbat Dan Wasn’t too smart a man Yet all the ladies loved him Just the same Plain speaking Like a politician leaking Dingbat Dan Gave those gals far more Much, Much more Than females should ever be seeking Not 'cause of all he could do More like what he would do Always with his banjo at hand Dingbat Dan, Dingbat Dan Oh he was more than just human He was a one-man-band Not just the music he’d send them All the charming notes All his precious thoughts Whenever he chose to lend them They’d call Dingbat Dan From out of the blue I’m only a short way away from you With something special I think you’ll know what to do He’d smile with a little prayer Then with a new lyric for them to remember He’d sing and say My banjo is in my office That’s where I play Almost everyday And those who came up his stairs Would quiver and shiver And you might hear them say Oh that Dingbat Dan What a hell of a man Play another for me Before you send me away Not today was his reply Time for you to leave now Won’t do any good for you to cry One tune is all my banjo is good for Dingbat Dan must rest awhile A teardrop dried A sweet and gentle smile took its place A banjo back in its case Another day with Dingbat Dan Without a murmur Without a trace -HK-    “Remember Harv, a person’s privacy might be their most important thing they have going for themselves, don’t betray it.”         And after all these years of being a successful director, predicated by my learned skills as a professional listener, it is also remembering the artful form of not sharing from the privacy of what another has placed within the confines of my trust. I have never saved an outtake in order to benefit by experiencing the foibles of another dingbat such as me. HK

You can't...

You Can't Fight City Hall (Really?)

It was a common colloquialism around the lower east side of New York, as one might expect to hear echoing from one tenement building to another—back when I was a kid: rules were rules. We kids picked up on everything our parents might be using in their daily conversations, regardless of their country of origin. Many times in our neighborhood, a kid would come home with a black eye after telling a schoolyard friend he was an asshole, and when the friend told him to take that back, he'd replied, “This is a free country, I get to say whatever I want to say”.         In general, kids learned—at street level—how games were played. Sure, this is a free country but oftentimes there were penalties attached, especially when the friend you were insulting was bigger than you were. The parents were the ones who accepted and took on the responsibility of teaching their children the rules of the road from the moment they became their children! Without reservation, first-generation Americans, like me, had little choice. Respect-wise, the family came first, followed by school teachers, the police, and the clergy. Those were the groups who led the way, supposedly.         The subject of politics never became much of a family discussion in our small East Flatbush (Brooklyn) home. It was sometime when I think I was in the sixth grade, I found out substantially why my mother and father considered most politicians to be “on the take”, as they both put it. The phrase “not in my house”, was conjured up and used long before professional basketball players came along.

Polly Adler

Da harv often recommends reading material, and so, with no hesitation at all:         "Pearl "Polly" Adler (April 16, 1900 – June 9, 1962) was an American madam and author, best known for her work A House Is Not a Home. Of Russian-Jewish origin, Polly was the eldest of nine children. Her early education was from the village rabbi. Adler migrated to America from Yanow, Russia, at the age of 12, just before World War I. [At age 15,] she moved to Brooklyn, living for a time with cousins. At 19, she began to enjoy the company of theater people in Manhattan and moved into the apartment of an actress.         It was at this apartment that she was introduced to a local bootlegger and gangster, who offered to pay Adler if she would allow him and his girlfriend to use her apartment. She began to procure for him and his friends and became successful as a madam. She opened her first bordello in 1920, under the protection of mobster Dutch Schultz and a friend of mobster Charles "Lucky" Luciano in 1924 which contained hidden stairways and secret doorways.         Her brothel's patrons included Peter Arno, Harold Ross, Desi Arnaz, George S. Kaufman, Robert Benchley, Dorothy Parker, Milton Berle, John Garfield, New York City mayor Jimmy Walker, and mobster Dutch Schultz. There has been speculation that the New York State Supreme Court Justice Joseph Force Crater, missing since Aug. 6, 1930, died in Polly Adler's brothel.         Adler was a shrewd businesswoman with a mind for marketing. She determined that gaining publicity would be to her advantage, and she cultivated newspaper coverage by dressing flamboyantly, making grand appearances at nightclubs, and drawing attention to her beautiful employees. She also made large bribes to city and law enforcement officials to keep her business open.         In the early 1930s, Adler was a star witness of the Seabury Commission investigations and spent a few months in hiding in Florida to avoid testifying. She refused to give up any mob names when apprehended by the police. She survived by providing half of her income to her underworld safety net and closed her business. She retired in 1944.         Adler attended college at age 50 and wrote a bestselling book, ghostwritten by Virginia Faulkner, A House Is Not a Home (1953), allowing her to live off the proceeds. She died in Los Angeles in 1962. A House Is Not a Home was made into a movie two years later, starring Shelley Winters as Adler. Her notoriety led her to be included in Cleveland Amory's 1959 Celebrity Register." Wikipedia

Some refer to it as the oldest business known to man, or even the oldest business in the world. Immigrants were well aware of what prostitution was all about. They arrived in the United States knowing Americans didn’t invent it, nor were we the first ones to discover how the business of protection racketeering works. Each generation being born in the USA, or entering from another country, finds out we have to this day many of the same problems they brought with them. My mother and father didn’t trust politicians because they learned mistrust from their parents and the beat goes on; “hanky- panky” remains “hanky- panky”, regardless of the era.         I began my wonderful Sunday message by saying “You Can’t Fight City Hall”, as told to me by my mom and dad too long ago to remain believable. But this is 2021, and I’d like to revise my belief, mostly as a modification, also personally sanctified by da harv. I learned this from my elders, those I knew, and those I never met, but remain within my bloodline forever. da harv's note as an editor: the lead which read, “You Can’t Fight City Hall” is a title. Really? Well not for me! I believe we must all fight back, even if the culprit happens to be “City Hall”.         What do we do after going through what pundits refer to as devastation or experiencing a disaster? Our politicians (pundits) refer to it as providing us with a disaster loan. If you’d like to call what I am about to say as "fighting City Hall", you’ve got it right.        Ultimately, we, the people, get what we voted for. We vote for the people, men and women, who make the most endearing promises. When we discover they don’t live by their word, they will end up privy to the slings and arrows of those like me who acknowledge and understand the position we live and abide by each and every day.         To all government officials, and members of any and all organizations, including unions, who receive their sustenance predicated on allowances provided by our monetary contributions as citizens of this country: be advised, we are the taxpaying team members who provide your income.         When we pay dues to a union, said money pays for medical insurance, as well as what other services are deemed necessary for the benefit of all who have their well-earned dollars providing for the union's survival. Members of unions should not have to sue the people running the union they belong to because the union itself arbitrarily denies what a member rightfully has earned. Along the same line of practice, all of us who participate as American citizens in good standing of the taxpaying team should not be talked to or considered less than the employees who have anointed themselves as our pundits with lifetime exemption and immunity.         During the course of the last thirty years, our team at Kalmenson & Kalmenson has provided a profit-making service for the capitalists whom we happen to be. We are proud of what we do for a living as voice casting directors, providing work for actors, men, women, and during the course of the years, many children as well. And at the same time, we have literally provided an educational program for adult actors—men and women—who successfully succeeded in the world of voice-over professional acting.         HANDS DOWN THE SATISFACTION WE GET—PURSUANT TO OUR PERMANENT QUEST OF HELPING OURSELVES AND THE LIVES OF OUR PATRONS—COULDN’T HAVE BEEN ENVISIONED ANY BETTER BY US WHEN WE BEGAN OUR BUSINESS THE MANY YEARS AGO. THE MONEY EARNED AND CONTINUING TO BE EARNED BY ACTORS AND ACTRESSES THROUGH THE YEARS TOTAL IN MANY MILLIONS OF DOLLARS. WE WILL CONTINUE TO FIGHT CITY HALL FOR OUR RIGHT TO WORK. ALL THE MANY RULES AND REGULATIONS BEING HEAPED UPON US CONTINUES TO ADD DILATORY INGREDIENTS FAVORING FAILURE AS OPPOSED TO REACHING OUR HEALTHY SUCCESS POINTS ONCE AGAIN. FYI: It is common knowledge, the IRS is over sixteen weeks behind sending out our tax return money. They claim they are understaffed and haven’t been able to complete what was sent to them on time, months ago. The very same situation exists regarding so-called disaster loans. NOTE: If you happen to be curious, and would like to find out what da harv plans on doing, come on in, and give my song a listen! HK

 

Yankee Doodle Dandies

Sunday, July 4th, 2021 To all you Yankee Doodle Dandies

“Hip, hip, hurrah” to and for all of us who have a love affair with the greatest country in the history of the world, the way we believe, and pray it will remain forever. This is to the United States of America, the very grandest on Earth. Cathy and da harv will be celebrating all this day and into this evening, along with Dorothy Zukoski, Cathy’s mom, who arrived from Chicago this Wednesday last. We will spiritually be raising my most expensive pre-iced glasses of single malt scotch in honor of God, family, country, friends, to any and all who have helped to predicate, with hands clasped tightly together, simply stating who and what we stand for as Americans.         …A little da harv history as remembered by a nine-year-old patriotic realist: Born and bred, lived, and will remain thrilled by growing up when it was a good thing to root for the winning team. Always we fought for the downtrodden, or at least that was the way it was explained to me. The odd thing about most of us who began our lives as first-generation Americans, somehow never considered ourselves to be downtrodden. We were all believers in our American dream. Each and every one of my friends heard the same thing at home.

Women shipfitters working onboard the USS Nereus at the U.S. Navy Yard in Mare Island, circa 1943. (Department of Defense)

In our home on Friday nights when the sun disappeared for the day, we gathered around quietly, watching my mother light the candles. It was a time for our family—regardless of how dysfunctional we might have been—to give thanks for our blessings, and for our soldiers' and sailors’ safety. The last words of the prayer were always the same: “God bless America! Amen”.         Note: At this point, my father, if he was home from work, led us with a musical chant. That part was a tradition cultivated by him and his nine brothers and sisters when he, too, was a child like me. It was always upbeat. The translation from Hebrew to English was, “Let us happy be.” Many of the pieces I was able to play on the trumpet were the music picked up from the bible. Years later, I discovered those same musical passages were being used as background in our films.

The year was 1942. Once again, it was my father and I alone together attending a movie. It was an era when audiences felt the passion, one and all, applauding our American flag when it was shown on full screen before the film began. Everyone in the audience, one way or another had a direct attachment with World War II. My father had been exempt from the draft because the age limit for being drafted was thirty-eight, or being the parent of two or more children. Dad was age forty with three children. I had reached the ripe old age of nine.         So there we were, a forty-year-old and a nine-year-old, about to experience one of the great films of all time: "Yankee Doodle Dandy". As the story reveals, it was the life and times of George M. Cohan, a famous vaudevillian song and dance man, who was also known as one of the great composers of the era. The song “Yankee Doodle Dandy” tells within its lyrics how Cohan was born on the fourth of July (in actuality his birthday was July 3rd).         George M. Cohan was one of those individuals who left his mark on society. Immigrants from everywhere imaginable fell in love with his patriotic bent. He was the king of Broadway doing his thing. My father fell right in with the immense crowd of "Cohan followers". Like father, like son. My fire had been parentally lit.         When we walked out of the “movie house” (as my Dad referred to it) we were singing “Yankee Doodle Dandy" together, with countless others. I can’t imagine anyone other than James Cagney playing the lead role. It was lock, stock, and barrel all Irish-American! *Lock, stock, and barrel is a merism used predominantly in the United Kingdom and North America, meaning "all", "total" or "everything". HK

Lyrics to “Yankee Doodle Dandy” I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy A Yankee Doodle, do or die A real live nephew of my uncle Sam's Born on the Fourth of July I've got a Yankee Doodle sweetheart She's my Yankee Doodle joy Yankee Doodle came to London Just to ride the ponies I am a Yankee Doodle boy