I Beg Your Pardon

        Good, bad, or indifferent, towards my efforts as a communicator during my past forty-seven years of endurance within what many of you wrongly refer to as “show business”. In 1951, I stumbled on a book by Al Hirschfeld entitled “Show Business is No Business”. Admittedly, I didn’t grasp what the well-traveled Mr. Hirschfeld was getting at.

        It was seventy-one years ago. A much younger man about town named Harvey Kalmenson was eighteen and had recently graduated from high school here in Los Angeles. I had two goals—I was going to either become a professional baseball player or become a big-time operator in the magical world of entertainment, or the "attainment" industry.

        Three years passed, and I returned from Korea and the army; “Let the banging of one's head into this new world of "No Business" begin”. And so, now at the magnificent age of nineteen and void of any near great mental eruptions taking place, an uneventful— sometimes successful—lifetime adventure began taking shape. Or so I thought! Age twenty-one. Love, luck, or skill?

da harv, 2021

In testament to transformation

All was right

At age eighty-nine, how divine!

Once more

Too many to recall

I’ve been asked

How I might describe

My pursuits

Those I’ve dared taking

During my life’s travels

Banging my head against the proverbial wall

As a rabid dog might

In search of whatever

Vainly travailing, consistently in wants

Even the smallest morsel

Considered to be success

Even if remotely stumbling upon it

Many are told

Be careful what you ask for

Many don’t ever ask

In fear they might be a receiver

“Sex burns calories, but you gotta move. But that shouldn’t be your only reason for gleaning from the experience! Luck rules the world!”

HK

Crazy Times

These Are Crazy Times...

We’re Living In Today

        Our conversation had begun with two ordinary guys thanking each other for their service to the country. He was an ex-marine, and I was an equally proud ex-army man. We could tell by the monogrammed hats we were wearing, we had both served in Korea. We spoke to each other as if we were past members of the same social club.

        As he spoke I found myself in agreement with almost all he had to say. We found ourselves in a condition of mutual wonderment. “Has it always been this way?” he asked. These are some of the craziest of times neither da harv nor the stranger had ever lived in.

        While not yet at wit's end, it became a chance for a pair of old guys to commiserate. It had started out with the two of us overhearing this gal talking about the drug problems being suffered by many families today… It wasn’t to be a joyful conversation to kick off my day. It seems like, with a little practice, a guy can jam a lot of anguish into just a few minutes.

        “What weird times these are, what with inflation, and crime running rampant in our cities, the war in Ukraine, Covid-19, and so many other things for us to be thinking about. And lest we forget China, Russia, Iran, and our borders being violated on a daily day and night basis.”

        All that came from the minds of total strangers, as part of nothing more than a casual conversation at our neighborhood Costco. If I were to direct a play, about a family living in some very tough times, I might describe what these actors were portraying as they all were living within their daily lives.

—

Director: To the actors at their first table reading
Time: 2022
Scene: Costco, Westlake Village

Two Blue Collar Strangers In Conversation:
Up and Back Comparing Notes

Setting:

        A common laundry list: a family member with a severe drug problem, years of political tumult, turmoil, confusion, disorder, unemployment, neighborhoods in a state of fear caused by crime in their community... Often, too much to think about. Though those who are made to think, find ways to learn from those men and women who write books.

“I cannot teach anybody anything. I can only make them think.”

– Socrates

        Socrates was the guy who taught Plato how to educate himself and a pretty big group of Greek guys who through the years would get together and do a lot of thinking. Rumor has it they invented whatever they happened to need at the time.

        One of the guys, who was really good at math, helped out a buddy of his by discovering angles and how to use them… He was the guy who established the right angle. They called him Pythagoras. He was really good with numbers! (Yah think?)

        But, guess what… your thoughts would be as good or even better than mine. What if it had been decided to call it a “wrong angle” instead? What differences, if any, would have changed the world we know today? Perhaps the famous leaning tower of Pisa would be leaning in a different direction?

"All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances,

And one man in his time plays many parts"

- From “As You Like It” by William Shakespeare

        But if life is a stage—all the world cast with its players, our portrayal taking place within these United States of America, da harv aptly appointed to direct the show—well, then, I would council our cast of actors and we will begin with some fruitful nostalgia. I’ll embark by encouraging all to return to the year 1965.

• In January of 1965, one of the greatest leaders and heroes of perhaps all recorded time died. As encouragement and inspiration to all, I recommend reading the speeches Sir Winston Churchill delivered to his people in 1940. The United States had not yet entered WW2.
• The Watts riots of 1965, Los Angeles — a city afire.
• Immigration Act of 1965
• Martin Luther King Jr.’s 1965 UCLA Speech: On April 27, 1965, in what would come to be known as his “Segregation Must Die” speech, Dr. King acknowledged that it was a fact that some progress had been made.

        The above is nothing more than a scratch to the surface of the unimpregnable skin that Americans have learned that will, and can, ultimately block out the evil vermin who seek to destroy what we have built into the greatest country of all generations to share forever.

        But, in order to justify one's beliefs, each individual must discover for themselves. I've discovered the more I read, the more truth comes to bear as a deterrent to evil. Few writers can manage more than a modicum of exaggeration in what they scribe. Politicians appear to have the most ability to deceive. However deceit doesn’t last forever; in most cases, the falsehoods begin to appear as soon as they’re elected—or defeated, for that matter.

Then in America

Our people were up,

down,

in and out

all around town

known to the world we lived in

Momentary delays

They came with the territory

Life’s ordinary pebbles

To be shaken

loose from the roads

we, the thinking people,

decided on our destiny

Pebbles, always to be swept away

There was far more to 1965 than this missive will reveal!

Many years passed

Then came da harv

No time to cipher

For his theories

To be cast

So he borrowed

From the others

Swiftly he could read and write

His only plight

Paper hadn’t been invented

Tablets of sand notwithstanding

Soon disappeared

Each day when the rains came

Almost any

Who might scribble

Dabble in

Or dribble on

Applauded

His written lyrics

Neither right nor wrong

Straight nor tilted

Leaning or centered

Both sides elated

Much of his dribble

Scorned by some

Receiving many ducats

From princes and lords

The common folk

Never did partake

They had not yet learned to read

Nor were they allowed to vote

For all the commoners

All was at stake

        And two men completed their conversation. Both showing smiles of a time well spent… a partial day in their lives… to be recalled if they choose for as long as they remain on life’s stage.

HK

Gotta Be This Or That

With great aplomb,

And all the satire I can muster at this late date in life,

Just as if he, or she,

Whatever this slanted society decides upon

Which comfort station

Thinking they know is correct

For a person of their supposed gender

May or may not

Contrive

Offering God-given dexterity to make the proper use of!

        ...Somewhere, somehow, it was uttered in the believed year of 652 BC. And yes, yes, yes, they did have some form of a given structure in the year 652 BC. (They had a king, and while it may not have anything to do with a politico movement, they had an established theatre…)
        "The theatre of Ancient Greece flourished between 550 BC and 220 BC. A festival honoring the god Dionysus was held in Athens, out of which three dramatic genres emerged: tragedy, comedy, and the satyr play. Western theatre has its roots in the theatre of Ancient Greece and the plays that originated there."

“Keep Pushing, You Bastards, Keep Pushing”

Note: Some bastards would rather pull than push. And so it was claimed to be the start of the two-party system of government.

        And somewhere, while habituating within the depths of their ignorance, some elected to pull – although it was a strange notion for the times at hand. These, the self-indulgent folks, were from then and ever on identifying themselves as politicians.
        To the general public, this group was also known as "shleppers", the Yiddish word for always just coming along for the ride! They represented forty percent of the population.
        Then arose the other forty percent, who upon considering the desperate plight of the “shleppers” were living quite well on many of our largest big cities' streets.

        When nature bids you the relief of a healthy bodily function, the bidding does not require a politician's approval or consent – regardless of which side you happen to vote for – or even if you happen to be the kind of individual who always must find a way to vote against the person, man or woman, regardless of skin color, whom you happen to hate the most.
        If you happen to be a forty percent member of our United States voting population, you won’t agree with most of what I have to say anyway. So with complete deference to your feelings (not to worry, I promise not to be concerned with your feelings), it’s my way of presenting a lukewarm gesture commonly presented by a more than the vast array of today's politicly elected breed.

        And now time for hip, hip, hurrah – here comes the remaining twenty percent of the public at large; half of whom, ten percent, will cast their ballots at election time in order to select the politicians they feel to be the most honest, or at least those who have existed as public servants up and until they are ridden with old age. These adoringly wonderful individuals have labeled themselves to be forever known as: “Independents”. I have met many during the course of my life who have claimed to be “Independent”. None of them ever became president of the United States during my lifetime.

        There was a song entitled “Gotta Be This Or That”, written way back in 1945. I guess it was a time period, like many others in this great country of ours where people were having some degree of problems with “self-direction”. My God, that was seventy-seven years ago.
        Almost everything we, Americans, were dreaming of was hopefully being prayed for. For many of us, during this year of indecision and misleading decisions simultaneously being heaped upon us, the song lyrics of band leader Benny Goodman’s “Gotta Be This Or That” tolled true by way of his big band jazz musical rendition.

The song Gotta Be This or That was written by Sunny Skylar.

Lyrics by Benny Goodman and His Orchestra in 1945.

Dwindling Breeze

Maybe more rave than there is to go around

Moving more slowly

Laden deep, these swelling waters

Older flags having ragged edges

Yet, humor still displayed

Nature vehemently ever

In charge

We, passengers, deny goals

While seeking mere survival

New horizons no longer being sought

Yet, somehow,

With eyes sparkling

Freshness from a small breeze billowing

Sails struggling

Still willing to move us forward

Have we a momentary reprieve at hand

What manner they be

These passengers of mine

Again, no matter

Nature will decide

Those viewing our ship will never understand

Colleagues, Troopers, Lovers

All past have been mine

All actors, we

Manage to sail forward

Though desperation be our band

One single light remains downstage

As if waiting for an audience

Who will finally understand!

HK, 1983

...It was today.
Awakening from a sleep
I had dreamed of yesteryear
A young lad on his long Saturday morning walk
Hand in hand with a father's protection
Without notice, we arrived
Lincoln Terrace Park, Brooklyn, New York
1944, a war's magnitude still permeating all lives
Dad was a man of forty-two, I, a boy of eleven
Suddenly, as dreams often do, it came to its end…
One man spoke to a group of others: “Did you hear?” he said to no one in particular, “Charlie caught a ball for his kid. It was the other day, the Dodgers were playing the Giants. I think it was off the bat of Pee Wee Reese”.
I smiled, it became reality. It was time to begin my day; this day in 2022, as da harv, now a man of eighty-eight…

So, my friends, “What’s new with almost all of you?”