RICOCHET: Thinking about yesterday, contemplating tomorrow…

Ricochet Stepping below Attainment Often from the edge Praying, were it a ledge Safely resting on a breeze Of righteous thought… I thought Meaningless… when bought Disguised in his dormancy Betrayed favor Jested by these fanatics Religious clods Human struggle beneath An entire country’s grief They rush in New thrones, there to replace the old Always they are the same Those, the sanctimonious play for all Indifferent sides, results separated then rejoined This massive surge of humanity alone When Fresh newborn breezes seize the moment Some move back from ledges Others fall as nature dictates Fear dissipates New longevity bolstered Each life  Weak or strong Taking unwanted roads A precipice hidden beneath a new ledge Deeper than others People, right or wrong Fear each new breeze Learning during man’s mortal stay Longevity rules Too often deceived by one's self alone Not forever to stay To float Above a new ledge, ladder perched Not obstructed by another’s will Moving up using each rung Your heart assures You will not fall You will not fail You belong A new ledge to form Ricochet your norm -HK- Monday, 19 August 2002

I guess there always will exist a "why" and "wherefore" for all of us to ponder from time to time. I readily admit to being a ponderer. The piece you just read was written by me twenty years ago in August of 2002, on a Monday. And if you’re interested, it was a pondering day for me. Please take note, the word "ponder" should not be confused with the word "pander", even though men and even some ladies might be involved with either.         When pandering is in the hands of so-called "leaders" —and it’s less than artful gestures have been directed towards our friends, trusted allies, and most importantly their constituents the very people who have voted them into command— chaos always represents the precursor for defeat. And yet, with all the proven crap we are systematically fed by those at the top since the beginnings, we American people have managed to grow and prosper. We all must take a breath, make that a deep inhaling of only what we all know to be the truth; “We shall overcome!”         Longevity and ledges are the world's salvation. Some ledges stand for eternities while others crumble —hopefully into beautiful white sandy beaches for humanity to enjoy for centuries to come.   And one more thing… Notes (with a smile): Qualifications to be a United States Representative To be elected, a representative must be at least 25 years old, a United States citizen for at least seven years and an inhabitant of the state he or she represents.         In order to serve in any branch of our United States military, a gal or guy must have a complete physical exam performed by the branch of the service he or she plans on serving in. The exam is thorough to say the least, usually taking a full day or more, depending on the chosen branch of service. Additionally, in most cases the first week of service is dedicated to a complete battery of mental exams as well. Mental and physical results will determine whether or not you're qualified to serve. After all, a person who may have a mental condition should not be allowed to deal with any form of weapon (you would think). After all, many lives are at stake.

If you have a moment or two to help me out with a couple of burning questions, I’d really appreciate the help: 1. If the military strives to make reasonably sure a new recruit isn’t mentally or physically impaired by requiring mental and physical tests, why isn’t the same requirement exist for anyone running for Congress? If I was able to serve, I would. But da harv is far too old for the military. Interestingly enough, I could run for Congress —they don’t seem to have an age requirement. As a matter of fact, I could run for governor of the state I’ve been living in for the past seventy-four years. 2. The president of the United States is limited to two four-year terms, but some of our congress are at the point of being far too old for the Woodland Hills Actors' home. It’s my humble opinion the founding fathers never expected to live as long as we do today. I wrote this great song for election time. It’s all wrapped up in a professional bow and ready for a listen. My song is called: “It’s What America Is All About”. It is a complete and professionally produced demo which has been suitably copyrighted.

Winnowing continued...

Winnowing Thoughts My Struggle To Preserve Prolonged thoughts often stay with me, becoming more and more aware of a need to serve my needs. Often ideas strike me, without pre-determinations, yet aware they exist for me to reap. When it happens, vague reasons accompany them. Rarely, if ever instantly understood, answers serve as a presentment of questions following anew. Thoughts play the music in my mind, never with initial meanings, simply there for me to question each time, my self will to be determined are my thoughts released for me to capture, only as a scribe. In order to preserve them before even a gentle breeze manages to winnow away the remainder forever of what creativeness always succumbs to... Sifting through whatever depths remain intact. And though experiences are familiar… They remain for this scribe, each a humbling event! Satisfaction temporary Elation without notice Today turns to yesterday Tomorrow a new thought Annie there to sing it (Tomorrow)

When did this stirring commence within this evil little beast? Dad said I had just turned two, when I began making musical sounds as an accompanying human instrument to whatever the tune was he was using that night while singing little da harv to sleep (1938, maybe). Eddy Arnold (cowboy) Little Man You've Had A Busy Day Lyrics: Little man you're crying', I know why you're blue, Someone took your kiddy-car away, Better go to sleep now, Little man you've had a busy day... Johnny won your marbles, tell you what we'll do, Dad will get you new ones right away, Better go to sleep now, Little man you've had a busy day...      But if you are still young enough, and your child is as well, I would recommend singing Perry Como’s version of the song. It’s really easy enough to memorize; suitable for mommas, as well.      Dad stood on the platform…and watching as I boarded a train heading up to Fort Ord for my basic training into the United States Army… Gazing from my window seat, I witnessed something I had never before seen my father do. Free of shame, my dad was crying. It was a first-time experience for me… sixty-eight years ago, and I can still sing the song he sang to me when I was five… From condition, to attitude, by way of sincere reflection: It is ours to use by all— the Kalmenson & Kalmenson Method. We teach what God gave us. -HK-

Winnowing

Winnowing         …Excuse me, but I’d like to begin with one more thing. Damn it—because a thought popped in and up—that’s the way it works for me. If in the event you’re not the guy or gal who has this curious bent, not to worry about what I have to say—because if the shoe doesn’t happen to fit, don’t read it. Okay, then it leads to another thing. Some are saying it doesn’t make sense, anyone with half a brain knows you can’t read a shoe. Well, stop right now, and listen to me. I didn’t make this up. A thought ascended and I remembered way back to when I was “younger than spring time, was I”.

…It was back in 1953 when I was stationed thirty-five miles north of the thirty-eighth parallel, somewhere in North Korea. "The weather outside was frightful", stolen lyric from the 1945 song “Let It Snow”, by Sammy Cahn & Jule Styne. Neither of those gentlemen had anything to do with my story. As a matter of fact, when they actually wrote the song, it was in the middle of the summer in a place called New York City (I think).         Back to Korea. It was about 2AM, a very heavy storm was making our lives hellish to the tune of thirty-five degrees below zero. Wouldn’t you know, without any real warning, nature called. Hurriedly, I threw on my clothes and made a mad dash to our company latrine, where I was semi-surprised to find a buddy of mine sitting on the pot with his shoes in hand, while he shined his flashlight lighting up the inside of his boots.         "What the hell are you doing," I barked at him. “I can’t go to sleep without reading”, he answered completely embarrassed. “There was nothing to read in here”, he explained. Our company chaplain, who happened to be one wonderfully funny guy, commented to a few of us when hearing the story about reading your boots: “You know, guys, in life sometimes shit happens.” We all fell down laughing.         What made that tidbit cross into my thought pattern at this moment in time is beyond my comprehension. Some thoughts last; some disappear instantly. I guess what you remember has a reason for recollection. My shoe size happens to be size eleven the last time I looked. …and so on with the show! To be continued... -HK-

Make Room for Zoom

…It’s upon us, and here to stay, (I think) Make Room for Zoom         In the event you might not have noticed… it seems like everybody you know "iz",  or has become a “Zoomer”. It’s an easy enough name to remember: “Zoomer” rhymes with late bloomer, groomer, bath-roomer, and many, many more I’m sure, like gloom, and ok, tomb, broom, monsoon (I don’t have the patience to look for any more right now). Time for me to "re-zoom"!         Well, zooming right along, whenever there happens to be a change in our industry, said change either moves right along as is the case with the trending of “Zooming”, or any of its so-called derivatives. Or raises up to a momentary high before falling on its ass, like a mule without a continuous braying—rhymes with praying—which mostly never works out well when it comes to earning money, especially when it has to do with the lottery. I’ve been buying lottery tickets and simultaneously praying at the same time; the first California Lottery tickets were sold on October 3, 1985.

Zoom is a web conferencing platform that is used for audio and/or video conferencing. They didn’t have none-a-dat when I was little blue-collar da harv in Brooklyn. For me, the web was a place for spiders. I loved the comic strip “Spider-Woman”, and so did almost all of my friends. According to the comic strip, she actually lived in a spiderweb—there was never any mention of a conferencing platform. A platform was something the then, ninety-ninth, New York City mayor La Guardia ran on.         And one more thing to hear: “ZOOM IS HERE” at Kalmenson & Kalmenson, our newly-forming classes are being launched immediately. Our class schedule can be found on our website. Take a look, we’re global. Our internationally known Kalmenson Method for Voice-Over Acting has been made into a perfect vehicle for actors in all stages of their careers. "From condition to attitude by way of reflection." We are the original creator of a method that has successfully provided men and women with a track to run on... A hand to hold that will last a lifetime.

Zoom is upon us... Kalmenson & Kalmenson is here to stay, Rhymes with "HURRAY"! (And HK)

For classes: 818-377-3600 education@kalmenson.com

Sixth Grade & Much More to Tell the World

Sixth Grade & Much More to Tell the World         For all the folks who know me personally—or by way of attending a class or series of classes I’ve taught in the past—most likely you’ve been made aware of my keen interest in history, and how important it can be as a tool for survival, as well as a personal method of modification of one's behavior in order to excel and succeed at what life may or may not place on our individual paths.         All of what you’ve just read may seem like phycological gobbledygook, and frankly, most of what a wide variety of people experience in their personal lifetime endeavors can be corrected by the simple magic of the truth. And so my friends, let’s take a short trip back in time, and examine some historical truths; not really long ago, and far away, but they are mine to relay!

Back in Brooklyn, again: It’s an easy enough thing to do— the remembrances seem to stay with big-city kids for a lifetime, don’t they? There were thirty of us in our classroom at P.S. 233. Without choice, we all knew each other intimately. Most of us attended every event our school had to offer. Our parents, all at one time or another, attended a school open house where private parent-teacher meetings took place, usually not to my liking. But, that’s not part of what I intend to share with you all today.         Almost without exception, all of us kids were first-generation born in “these great United States of America”, as said, with an assumed and undeniable pronouncement of fact. Our folks (parents) weren’t there to make America great again. Across the board they, to a man, agreed to become American citizens, assimilate and add to their new country’s continued growing respect for human freedoms. After all, we were already great!         Our TEACHERS, COPS, and FIREMEN were treated within our mutual culture as respected members of society. The thought of rising up against any of these providers was absolutely unheard of by kids within our community, be they black, white, brown, or whatever the mix.         Note: I, Harvey Kalmenson, must admit my respect for these three groups was not by any means a balanced one for my personal tastes to tolerate. The cops and firemen were all fearless athletes as far as I was concerned. Some of them took part as returning soldiers in weekend softball games in the schoolyard at P.S.233. (I was often asked to join in with them. It made my dad very proud when he watched me participate with the grown men). My teachers, by and large, became my adversaries. For whatever their reason was, teachers never seemed to want my help. (It didn’t matter to me. Whether they, the teachers, liked it or not, I gave it to them anyway! I’m not going to offer much more about my teachers. I was taught not to say anything demeaning about the dead (in writing). And one more really big thing………..         And yes, it was 1947, and Harvey Kalmenson had a habit of, without teacher solicitation, pointing out some salient facts many of my teachers failed to point out to my fellow classmates. But, they just didn’t get it; they never did, they never would, and all because none of them were equipped to understand. I was never the class clown, just a kid who explained to all of them, I considered myself to be a humorist a la “Robert Benchley”. One of my dad's favorites.

"Robert Charles Benchley (September 15, 1889 – November 21, 1945) was an American humorist best known for his work as a newspaper columnist and film actor. From his beginnings at The Harvard Lampoon while attending Harvard University, through his many years writing essays and articles for Vanity Fair and The New Yorker and his acclaimed short films, Benchley's style of humor brought him ... Occupation: Writer, critic, actor, film director" Source: Wikipedia

…And I’d like to add: Any person who wishes to help stimulate his or her desire for culture while allowing the nurturing of their sympathetic and humorous bent towards life as it is dealt to us, might seriously consider the efforts of Mr. Benchley, especially if you’re over age twelve. …A happening at P.S.233, still 1947         A particular teacher made the mistake of challenging my integrity, during a class she was conducting. The class was called “Choral Speaking”. The way she did it seemed to me at the time to be kind of stupid. It wasn’t because I didn’t like poetry, it was because she had the entire class reciting the poems out loud as a group. When she pointed out the importance of what she was teaching, I raised my hand and asked her what I thought was a simple question.         “Why is it important?”, I asked. Before she had a chance to answer, I asked her abruptly if she didn’t think baseball was far more important for me to know about than poetry. She became extremely red in the face and raised her voice as she told me to sit down immediately. I did what she told me to do without reservation; well, maybe just a little, I guess. “Why don’t you have our class sing, 'Take Me Out to the Ballgame', as I obeyed her wishes to sit down, simultaneously. Note: "Take Me Out to the Ball Game " is a 1908 Tin Pan Alley song by Jack Norworth and Albert Von Tilzer which has become the official anthem of North American baseball, although neither of its authors had attended a game prior to writing the song. By the way…I had become a member of the PAL, "Police Athletic League".         In 1947, most of Major League Baseball was being played during the daytime hours. During the summer months when school was out, I would find myself traveling alone to Ebbets Field to watch the then Brooklyn Dodgers play during the day. PAL members would line up in a street area designated by the cops, and we would get in free of charge. (Those left field grandstand seats were regularly priced at $1.20 each.)         It was at one of the 1947 Dodgers home games, my father had purchased us the best tickets he could lay his hands on. It was my night to remember and recall many times during my life—a history lesson in the making—while past history was being explained to me by my dad. Even with only his third or fourth-grade education, he was so much brighter than most of the school teachers I’ve come across in my lifetime of experience within the confines of formal education.         I do believe it was the first night game I saw in person. As a reminder: in the early days of 1947, I was not yet 14 years old. I was overcome with emotion. Every sports page of every newspaper in the country was talking about the man who stood before me—his name was Jackie Robinson. His day had come, and like my dad made sure in the simplest of terms, this was going to be a life-changing time for everybody in our country, not just one colored man. (As a reference, please keep in mind, the term “colored man” was the correct and accepted usage of the period.)         In retrospect, I guess I already had cultivated a romantic approach towards things. Today, people would have to refer to Jackie as “one handsome dude”. When the team traveled, the players always dressed with respect for the fans; they looked good, all clean-shaven, and in restaurants, most wore a jacket, shirt, and tie. Jackie was a total gentleman.

To this day, it remains an inward spirit constantly being nurtured by fans not only in these great United States of ours but all around the world. Anywhere and everywhere, baseball is played and enjoyed by people, it stimulates goodwill for all.         In 1954, I pitched for an army baseball team in Seoul City Stadium, South Korea. There were thirty thousand Korean baseball fans in attendance. I wish I had a recording of the fans singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" in Korean. It was heartwarming and awe-inspiring.         Today, Korean boys have made it all the way up the chain and are well-represented as professional baseball players right here in the USA. Sports in South Korea have consistently blossomed. American fighting men and women helped them achieve their country’s peoples' goals. We can all take great pride in our usefulness. AND YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT AWAY FROM US! HK "The KBO League (KBO 리그), officially as Shinhan Bank SOL KBO League for sponsorship, is the highest level league of baseball in South Korea."

Jamsil Baseball Stadium, South Korea