Preserving Our Integrity

  The year was 1947 when I first got my California drivers permit. I was fourteen years old. Whether I was a good driver or not was debatable. At the time, in the state of California, a fourteen year old wasn’t permitted to drive after dark. Two years quickly past and I became eligible at age sixteen for a regular drivers license. Watch out world, day or night, wet roads or dry, sleepless, or well rested, I was as most boys of sixteen are: integrity-free while driving a car. A thwarted mind behind the steering wheel of an automobile, usually going a little too fast for society to cope with. And speaking of going places… my buddies and I never had to concern ourselves with the cost of gasoline; 25 cents per gallon in 1947.

I rather doubt if any of us had heard the word integrity as yet. Personally, I had no idea what it meant, up and until I heard my high school baseball coach use it as a description, praising his men who were players on the city of Los Angeles. Our Coach "Harry Brubaker" was given a standing ovation when introduced as the man who led his men to a national record of forty-three straight wins, over a two year period. “During my long career as a teacher and a coach”, he began “I’ve been privileged to work with many fine athletes and students. But never ever had a group of young men to put on this magnificent display of team integrity before. Men I’m indeed proud to have worked with you all!”. My Father, who was in attendance, was absolutely beaming with pride. That evening, I looked up the word integrity. Like father and son privately we celebrated unabashedly! It was seventy two years ago, hence, thank God the burning remains.

Above all

Burn with it

Learn from it

Teach with it

Allow it to grow

Where there is truth

Integrity will abound

Yours to sustain forever

HK / 12 / 23

                                                  

                                            -da harv

Integrity: the quality of being honest hand having strong moral principles; moral uprightness: he is known to be a man of integrity. 2 the sate of being whole and undivided: upholding territorial integrity and national sovereignty. º the condition of being unified, unimpaired.

An “Oy Vey”! Day at K & K

 (But we ain’t complaining)

 

Place: da villa on “da hilla”

 

Da harv to Cathy via intercom at 6:06 AM

 

He: on the third floor (his bathroom)

 

She: that would be her, Cathy in our first floor office

 In case you’re interested we built this place about sixteen years ago. For any of you out there who may be contemplating attempting to accomplish the same fait accompli, please wait until we explain the extreme tribulations of self-construction, destruction here in our great city of Los Angeles. 

Like I started to say, Cathy was down in our office on the bottom floor of our house (in her office) at 6:06 AM completing a last minute voice casting call from an ad agency producer who, as usual, found himself in desperate straits (as he described himself). As usual, they contacted us because they had tried saving some money by attempting to cast the voices themselves.  FYI, it had become a do-or-die adventure for him that required us to complete on the very same day. She was just completing the call with him, guaranteeing he had nothing to worry about. Cathy had already completed our work order simultaneously while she was on the phone with him. 

          In summary, here’s what the casting specs called for: Man or woman who sounded like an authentic Italian baker, as he or she welcomed their customer or customers into the bakery.

          One might think that would be a rather easy assignment for the world’s best (acknowledged) “Queen of the voice casting runway” to deliver.

Well, it did come to pass. That very same day, Cathy was able to make it happen. But it should be pointed out to any and all in our business, almost without exception, our clients, advertising agencies and production companies are financially much better served by coming to us first before putting a call out there in the marketplace on their own. 

A way with words

                    

                     "If you wait, all that happens is that you get older."

                                                            -Larry McMurtry

"Don't ever wait to grow older. S**t will happen no matter what age you happen to be or become". 
(It's why the caveman began wearing shoes during the hunting season). 

                                                                   -Harvey Kalmenson

BEST CAVIAR BIRTHDAY EVER!

 Keep the past present…

Opening the pages of a book

As if given a gift

Though difficult to explain

Knowing becomes magical

Often, when we least expected

Another’s writings stimulate

Forever yours to read well

From a great distance

An old story

A new storyteller has to tell

Surprise becomes a man’s theme

I do muse

Often times a lot

From many years in my past

Reliving a scene or two

This lady recalled a distant muse of mine.

Did cypher from my personal remembrance space musings

Hers became mine

From thirty-one years of trying

What partial divines has wrought

Mere musings of this storyteller

My ninetieth birthday

November 28, 2023

 

Thank you, Catherine! It was sublime!

 

 

 

“da harv”

 

And to all of my friends out there who took part in the Cathy Kalmenson & Kalmenson home movie celebration of my 90^th birthday, one more “muse”.

(All I ask) “Please say hello to anyone out there who knows me”.

 

-      Harvey Kalmenson.

What Questions Should I Ask, When I Don't Know What Questions to Ask?

The questions rarely ever change from generation to generation. For as long as actors have ventured forth, on whatever the stage, whatever the time of day, whatever their age, or what age it happened to be. Actors would and will continue to raise their questions. First, they aspire to the heights. Then, they fall from favor. Families have debated the question for centuries. Why would their children, fathers, mothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, or just passing acquaintances, ever want to become actors?

Long before anyone ever heard of the voiceover artist, the same questions were being asked. Remarkably, not only are the same questions being asked today, but also the same answers are being given. Many of you might query what I have to say for a prospective voice talent to find worthwhile. Voiceover is the truly subjective art form it happens to be. And make no mistake: voice over is an acting craft.

For me, the bottom line will always be the same for actors:
I always advise actors to look out for those (out there) professing to be the last word when it comes to how an actor can accomplish success. What we are involved with is a Method for helping actors to establish their true signature. It’s a way for actors to find out who they are today. Nothing is ever a tougher direction for an actor than when they are told to be themselves. Act natural is another of those seemingly simple enough directions for an actor to handle. In truth, it’s these simple directions that send many actors into a state of shock.

Fifty years has allowed me to gather what certain individuals have found as their important tricks of the trade. I couldn’t help but look back at the actors who have come my way in what feels like such a short period of time. Some folks might receive a great deal of satisfaction as they sit in their counting house, looking at what coinage they’ve been able to accumulate. In my case, the satisfaction comes from the thousands of voice actors that have gained from my teaching method, the thousands that have crossed my path as a director.

From telephone answering machine announcements to the likes of Orson Welles reading a dessert menu, from a voice at an airport warning that the yellow zone is for loading to Buddy Hackett portraying a troll in an animated feature film, from the joy of Brock Peters functioning as the voice of a sage to experiencing the patience, and professionalism of a Cloris Leachman, coupled with the relentless over and over approach of a John Houseman or Howard Duff. And the beat continues to go on. The list swells, and the learning process continues.

The names that I mentioned are a mere sampling of the actors and directors that I have gleaned from. It is virtually impossible for an actor to exist by themselves. Watching and listening plays a big part of any good study program. I can remember as a very young guy, having the privilege of interning for a short period of time during the Alfred Hitchcock anthology series. With Mr. Hitchcock, an intern learned (when he wasn’t doing a wide variety of tasks) by watching and listening. Certainly Hitch (that’s how the "in" crowd referred to him) wasn’t about to talk to anyone of my limited attainment. Maybe a small amount of eye contact took place if he was trying not to fall over me.

Even at my then young age, I understood how important focus was to any creative person. I marveled at the way Hitchcock watched and listened with unbelievable intensity. But it was his listening to what the actors looked like, that astounded me. What I learned then is what I practice today as a director. If I can hear the smile, or feel the emotion of anguish or frustration without being influenced by the actor’s visual display, then as the director, I've received a very strong message that I am on track. For that ability to listen, I respectfully submit my thanks to that one short, round man.

It has always seemed like such an obvious trait for the actor to develop. The ability to listen, and the ability to focus, are just about one and the same you might think. Often people profess to be listening. And while they appear to be listening, the what’s missing is the fact they are simply not really focused on the direction. Direction might come in the way of a question. It might be a case of the director asking the actor a question in order to get a response that would allow for where the actor was emotionally at that moment...

Harvey Kalmenson

Veterans Day 2023

 

What brighter light could burn, then that which has been nurtured by those who have understood and appreciated the gifts that endow, any and all, who may venture within the boundaries of this country's great heart. - Harvey Kalmenson

Again Awakened

Moving on with Life (Mine)

Warning: You may not care about what experiences I've personally gleaned during my march towards my life’s pre-determined completion date, this would be a great time to stop reading; it will probably be one of the few times in my life where I have placed myself in command of another’s individual's decision making process. (Or maybe not.)

With concern, no modesty. Just the truth! Mine alone! Thinking way back to age six isn’t as demanding a task as one might imagine it to be, especially, if the someone happens to be Harvey Kalmenson.

Both sides of my mother's and father's families had immigrated from Eastern Europe. Dad from Russia, Mom from Rumania (Romania). Both became prideful citizens of America, as ardent a pair of patriots as God allowed them to become during their lifetime together.

Between the two families we had eighteen cousins, brothers and sisters all being reared by grandparents stemming from immigrant stock. Without exception, my relatives became successful within the confines of the greatest country ever to exist on this planet, the United States of America.

The year was 1939. And the world as we knew it, then, had been ignited with a match struck by a mad bastard named Adolf Hitler. Hitler's trip into power brought with it his goal to eliminate the entire world population of the Jewish people.

In order to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I find myself suffering the same malady of my immigrant relatives. Yesterday is once again rearing its ugly head. This former six-year-old boy is now a few days away from being ninety. I’m being horribly reminded of what transpired some eighty plus years ago.

My thoughts today remind me of the yesterdays of a six-year-old boy. Without trying, I became a fearless adult known for his athletic skills. Today, as I read what I had written to my wife, Cathy, I found it impossible to hold back my tears. While there wasn’t any noticeable odor in my office, this soon to be ninety-year-old man was again reminded of the horrible stench of death.

My father's words to me became mine. And so I offer you a father and son's painful retrieval. As passed on to his son, me, and again brought back to life soon after returning from my service in the United States Army. A relentless dream never diminished by the passing through of a newly believing generation. Some remain in disbelief that the Holocaust ever happened.

A Revisited Dream

Awakened again

What his parents were forced to see

They killed a wife and grandfather’s child

Without reservation, I cried

Each day, forever

Stopping only for the time to take life from you

Your death didn’t relieve my grief

I will cry forever!

And so we do

Harvey Kalmenson

(Try to) Always Tell the Truth

Hi everybody, da harv here. Thanks for joining me.

Oftentimes, the toughest assignment for an actor is to remain natural. Many years ago as a young teacher, I was warned by my mentors to try to stay away from asking a student to be themselves. Many students didn’t have a clue to who or what they really were at that stage of life. In fact, I was also told that many are under a misguided conception of what their truth really is.

I was part of an extremely large group who found out the hard way; “If you don't want to discover and practice your own individual truth, you decrease your chances of experiencing success.” As an aside: while it may not make you happy to discover your truth as a human being, it will definitely give you a tremendous leg up as an actor.

In my travels, it has always managed to blow me away when I encounter an actor in an everyday situation. I mean a chance meeting, at some sort of function, or whatever. I come away from the encounter with a feeling that this guy or gal came across as being extremely shallow, and that they didn't have the ability to share their true feelings with me.

And then, to meet that same person in the actor/director environment, only to be elated as well as surprised at their total ability to tell the truth through the eyes of another. That "other" person that I refer to is the character they happen to be portraying. What they don't want to give into is the fact that whatever they may think of as play acting is still a way of telling the truth.

Perhaps one of the greatest actors of all time said it as succinctly as any actor I've ever heard, when he responded during an interview, about what his acting method was. “...Look [the actor] in the eye and tell the truth.” The truth was always evident in any role portrayed by that actor, James Cagney. 

Many actors who had the opportunity to be directed by Alfred Hitchcock usually were in for a big surprise when they discovered how little direction he offered in a way of acting. One day when Cary Grant asked Hitchcock for some advice on how to interpret the meaning of a particular scene, Hitchcock responded with, "You're here because you're right for it." In his own way, he was telling Cary Grant to be himself. That was the end of the acting direction. Hitchcock sought the truth and that's what his actors gave him.

During another incident involving Mr. Hitchcock, a visitor to the set asked Hitchcock why he wasn't looking at his actors during a rehearsal of a particular scene. Hitchcock’s reply, "I can hear what they look like." His response has become a major part of my professional career. For many years, I have earned my living by listening to actors, being your audience, and trying to feel the truth with my ears. If you tell the truth—good, bad, or indifferent—more often than not, your ability to influence others automatically improves.

And just for a moment:

Late last night, and then early this morning, I found myself listening and watching the latest news updates. I consider myself to be a good listener, and an excellent observer as well. (Many of you out there know what I just said about my skills happens to be the truth. Mine!) I found myself saying to myself:

“If only they’d tell me the truth!”

Harvey Kalmenson

“The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men”

"The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men"

The poem was first written by Robert Burns, the Scottish Shakespeare.

“The best laid plans of mice and men” comes from a poem entitled “To a Mouse” by Robert Burns. The expression was then popularized by the 1937 novel, Of Mice and Men, by John Steinbeck. In the poem “To a Mouse”, a farmer expresses regret after accidentally destroying a mouse’s nest while plowing.

(Interpreted by: Harvey Kalmenson)

When should I think about life? Shared alone?

Caring to think along with me, or by one’s self

So be it

We all, often many of our turmoils daily recalled 

Not driven by self-request

Too many questions remain

Decisions not relayed

Gems left delayed 

And of yesterday’s happiness

Free from today’s grief 

Perhaps tomorrow

Will love nor hate remain unrequited? 

Must there always remain decisions to be made?

"Of Mice and Men, novella by John Steinbeck, published in 1937. The tragic story, given poignancy by its objective narrative, is about the complex bond between two migrant labourers. The book was adapted by Steinbeck into a three-act play (produced 1937). It was adapted for television three times, including a Turkish-language version, and for motion pictures twice (1939 and 1992).

The plot centres on George Milton and Lennie Small, itinerant ranch hands who dream of one day owning a small farm. George acts as a father figure to the large and mentally challenged Lennie, calming him and helping to rein in his immense physical strength. When Lennie accidentally kills the ranch owner’s flirtatious daughter-in-law, George shoots his friend rather than allowing him to be captured by a vengeful lynch mob." (https://www.britannica.com/topic/Of-Mice-and-Men-by-Steinbeck)

Often It's Unexpected...

…Not as if I wasn’t selfishly in search of an upper. I honestly didn’t think at the time I was in search of anything at all. I can remember one particular day, many years ago, when it appeared to me that my mom was down in the mouth about something. When I questioned her about what was troubling her, she responded with a very simple, “Oh nothing, I’m just feeling blue today.” Back in the 1940s, feeling blue was a very common phrase many folks would use in the English speaking parts of the world.

The rather smug definition of what my mom said about her feelings was given to me by my older sister who said it was known as a colloquialism. At the time, I was about ten years old. My sister was sixteen and about to enter college. During that stage of the game, sis was a real pain in the ass. It annoyed her that, because of her, I had developed a marvelous “gift of humorous gab”. Rather colloquial, don’t you think?

Writer's note from a very current da harv:

Please think of colloquialisms as a soft trainer for developing a method for a suitable menu for the development of conversational improvisation for the actor! And for those of you who don’t, want, or can’t “get a handle” on what I just offered you, I heartily recommend looking up the definition of the word: colloquialism.

Good night

Bad night

To sleep

Or not to sleep

Aye, that was my question

Upon awakening

This morning

5:30 AM

I staggered from bed

With legs gingerly placed

Uncertain of my steps

Not caused by any disabling fall

Merely two days climbing

This old and unpleasant ladder

But then I entered my library

My room of depictions

Three hundred close friends

All reminding me of the past

These were my books

All neatly stacked

Row upon row

In shelves installed in a single yesterday

All my friends

All were and remain

My pleasant vow

Carrying life’s sustenance from when and now…

By Harvey Kalmenson

Another note, this time from da harv…
For many more years than I choose to remember, I’ve considered my books as I would consider many new friends joining me in my library. As I placed them in and on the brand new shelves, I caught sight of my image in a library window reflection. It was the countenance of a sincerely pleased man in celebration of continuance.

Fond Memories

Ethel Waters was born in 1896.

        My father, Charles Kalmenson, was born in 1902.

                Harvey Kalmenson, that would be me, came along in 1933.

I have many fond memories of the wondrous roads I’ve been lucky enough to trespass on during my life to date. I use the depiction as that of a man who has experienced trespassing, because like many of my mentors, there comes a time whether we like it or not, we feel lost.

When Ethel Waters entered my very young life, there was little thought of her having such a wondrous impact on me.

Four people from my past

And one more

Me, past and present

Four which influenced one

Amazingly

With benefits, forever continuing

Please keep

Your eye on the sparrow

He’s doing the same!

Soon to become 90

My God-endowed heart remains strong

In retrospect, it was one of those times again for me. There I was with my dad. I was about ten years old. We were attending a movie together called, “Cabin in the Sky”. My dad loved musicals. He had a very nice singing voice, but he never flaunted it. I can remember him being able to sing much of what he had heard the singers do in the movie that we just experienced together. It was like osmosis.

This film was especially meaningful for me. I was absolutely spellbound by the all Black cast. My dad was beaming when he saw the look on my face. While Ethel Waters wasn’t the greatest singer in the world, she got into me then as much as any performer, past or present, has done. My only regret to date is that I never got to see or meet Ethel Waters in person.

For Whom the Bell Tolls (1943) Official Trailer

This movie came into my life long before I took it upon myself to use the contents of Ernest Hemingway’s novel, “For Whom the Bell Tolls”, as a factor in the make-up of ingredients stimulating who I was to become after reading “ His Eye is on the Sparrow”, the autobiography of Ethel Waters.

Today, I have become enabled even more so than I was at the time of these two individuals who unknowingly became the ingredients for my future life’s development.

And then, in the novel “A Tale Of Two Cities”, Charles Dickens opens with: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

A Tale of Two Cities (1935) Official Trailer

For many of you out there, you might have concluded that my comparison of Ethel Waters, Ernest Hemingway, and Charles Dickens borders on insanity. Today, I offer my less than discrete observations of these three as literally cosmic. Based on the life experiences they lived, and the tales they told about the past and the days they lived with, the truth was told. I doubt if they did so as teachers. They were three human beings who did profess true emotions of what they saw in people during their time of life.

Harvey Kalmenson

Directive from da harv:

This is for: the person of extreme, and or limited intellect who has everything (or so they may think), the person who has "stuff" they’ve acquired, or the person who doesn’t care to acquire "stuff" during all of our more than speedy life’s naturistic journey’s.

If there was such a thing as insurance, our neighborhood didn’t grow up having any; young families hadn’t even heard about such a thing. What we all grew up with was known as assurance. Immigrants all had that wondrous ability of knowing and taking care of one another. Especially us kids. Our particular grandeur was the variety of foods the tenement inhabitants had in common. Variety was the essential ingredient for the life we inhabited from our proud parents. They came here and had many children. Almost every family I grew up with waved their American flags. They celebrated with marvelous block parties when entire neighborhoods from all over town danced and welcomed our heroes home from WWII. 

But there was much more to talk about. Saving pennies in a tin can was a common testimony to the God-respecting alliance shared by the New York immigrants. A family’s country of origin would be the determining factor for what they named their family’s savings "can" (bank).

Without exception, the small amounts of money placed in those cans went to some form of neighborhood charity. Growing up in what was definitely a poor neighborhood never justified sleeping in the street. Nor did being poor qualify or add justification for shoplifting at a neighbor's candy store or market.

"The origin of piggy banks dates back nearly 600 years. Whenever folks could save an extra coin or two, they dropped it into one of their clay jars — a pygg pot."

From birth up and until now:

Do you have, have you ever had, been given, or purchased one or more of these in your lifetime?

A pig with a broken back can't be trusted with money.

Too much makeup — still a pig.

Before inflation: a clueless pig.

A pig without a clue can’t even buy a gallon of gas; soon to become bacon.

The Modern Pig

These are pigs not to be eaten

Nor to be beaten

Don’t shovel food in them

Never honey, just money

Paper or coin

May be held within

By youngsters and old sirs

Maidens and men

Fill them to the top

Then begin again

Never buy an electric pig

You won’t find a station

To plug them in

In days of old

When knights were bold

And piggy banks were not yet invented

Older politicians' blood ran cold

They couldn’t steal from the public

There was no piggy bank yet invented

Then alas and alack

A Hebrew man

Who was not allowed to eat anything that oinked

Opened the very first toy company

And the world's first piggy bank was invented

But lo and behold

All the children of the land lamented

There were no lids to be found

To keep the money safe and secure

In their piggy’s tummies bottoms

They had to be cemented

And would you ever think that then, as is the case now, many city dwellers had no homes or apartments. It was over two thousand years ago when beggars with outstretched arms were first heard calling out, “pennies for the poor”. Just as now, all the world felt the despair. But feeling and having the gumption to do something about the world's ailment had not yet appeared on our world's drawing boards.

-----

If you’ll please permit me, what follows is a short dissertation with as much graciousness as my God-given pomposity allows:

The year was 1905 when twenty-three immigrants boarded a ship at the port in Rotterdam, Holland. Their destination was listed on the ship's Manifest of Alien Passengers For The U. S. Immigration Officer At Port Of Arrival (New York).

Four of these passengers were from Russia, relatives of yours truly, the not-yet-conceived Harvey Kalmenson. They were my grandparents, Max and Ethel Kalmenson, my father's older brother, Ben (four years old), and my two-year-old father, Charles Kalmenson. Max and Ethel had escaped the tyrannical upheaval of the Russian czar. Ben and Charles became part of a family consisting of nine children. And all without reservation prospered as American educated citizens. All were legal entrants into what Grandma Ethel always called “the United States of America”.

And for your information, the requirements for entry into the U.S.A. were strictly adhered to. Here’s what was printed as part of the ship's Manifest:

Required by the regulations of the secretary of Commerce and labor of the United States, under act of congress approved March 3, 1903, to be delivered to the U. S. Immigration Officer by the commanding officer of any vessel having such passengers on board upon arrival at a port in the United States.

In 1942, during the month of November, I became nine years old. I’m guessing about exact dates but I’m not guessing about what I was up to during that part of my life. Without fear, during whatever downtime I had from school, or if I wasn’t involved with playing some form of street game, there I would be, Harvey Kalmenson, the renowned world traveler. Of course, my world was mostly limited to the five boroughs of New York. In my mind though, I was gathering knowledge for my latest weekly imaginary radio show. If I happened to be visiting the Brooklyn Museum of Natural History, that’s how I described my intro:

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, no matter how old or young you happen to be, this is your genuine neighbor and friend coming into your home today from the beautiful Brooklyn Museum of Natural History”.

By the time my dad came home from work, I was ready for our regular ritual of introducing my radio show, starring me. In retrospect, me introducing me was the beginning of da harv's “The Kalmenson Method”. 

So, “Dad, from up, down, and all around town—Let me paint my picture of what was experienced by me. The one and only, Harveeeeey”. My dad loved that one!!!

Harvey Kalmenson

Source: The Financial Brand (The Piggy Bank Origin Story), Google Images, Yahoo Images

“The What Ifs”

Thinking about stuff

Along our way 

Yours

Mine

Perhaps theirs

With or without a sigh 

Many might say, “who cares”

Not I

He, she, man or woman

Not withstanding

Rarely a smile

Often a pout

None bearing influence 

Void of clout

Free from saying what they mean

They spoke during the year 650 BC. It was a time when few could vote, or raise a hand and swear to a higher force. In their era, shirts had not yet been invented. The actors and politicians wore gowns. Most were referred to as clowns. Life expectancy was around age thirty for actors. Unions and I did not exist until: 1933.

“Stop the presses”, this just in... Many important folks have stopped for a second or two to say, “I can’t believe how fast it’s gone by”. Well, that’s not a very great or discerning discovery one might stand up and cheer about. I’m talking about life in general. For most of us, up until when we get out of college, “stuff” moves along very slowly. I’m pretty sure the European immigrants thought “stuff” meant crap. Like anything stored in a garage that they didn’t have the heart to throw away...

Okay, I’ll move on with my love of storytelling, especially about things and stuff touched by my happy past.

When we were very, very young

We learned about things

As they were told to us

Usually it was Mom or Dad

Happy to share what they had to say

They both always seemed in touch

Telling about an old aunt or uncle

Nothing was ever understated

Words and music

All responding without a blush

A time for raucous laughter

One day, Mom’s laugh turned into a tear

Dad motioned for me to be quiet

A finger across his lip

Mom dried her eyes and quipped

The good stuff goes so fast, she allowed

I love you all, she said

I’m so damn proud!

And Dad with his smile back in place

Bent at the waist

Bowed towards her

As an actor would

Harvey Kalmenson
Tomorrow, in your very next AM
With all you remember, perhaps you might expound
While wishing for the very best
You’ve earned it forever
Good stuff will be found!

CHEERS FROM A CLOWN, PAST AND STILL PRESENT!

Harvey Kalmenson

Recalling A Past:

“The Troll”

- Originally Published July 2022 -

There were many who worked with Cloris Leachman before Harvey Kalmenson came along, and certainly many more who were privileged to follow in my footsteps.

But none will be able to claim more lasting joy forever than I.

Yes, I got to work with Cloris Leachman.

A day to last a lifetime!

Right smack in the middle of working on a movie, called “The Ice Whale”, at a meeting conducted by Don Bluth himself, we were informed the production was being stopped and we were immediately beginning work on “A Troll In Central Park”.

NOTE: There’s quite a story that goes with the cause for Don Bluth making his decision, but perhaps one day someone will make a movie out of it. It won’t be da harv.

“The Troll” was how I referred to it from day one. The next day, following the announcement, scripts began coming from Ireland. Pages kept flowing my way. I was enjoying everything about what was transpiring into a constant excitement and challenge it offered us all.

After completing my personal script breakdown of "The Troll", I was ready to move ahead with my celebrity choices for the some forty or so speaking roles, beginning with the lead(s) being cast first. My very first choice to be sent to Don Bluth in Ireland, seeking his slam dunk approval, was for Cloris Leachman as “Queen Gnorga”. She would easily be our biggest named star of the film; I was sure of it.

Other than leading roles being written and secured as soon as possible (the nature of the way feature films take place, having to do with financing being secured), there is usually a flow of rewrites through the project duration, requiring additional and constant assignments being made throughout the casting.

Early the very next morning, my supervisor, John, called me into his office to let me know he wanted many more actresses to choose from. I was absolutely shocked and disappointed, to say the least! John relayed the message from Don Bluth, loud and clear, he wasn’t familiar with Cloris Leachman’s work. I couldn’t believe my ears. "Come on, John”, I said. “Cloris has more awards for acting than just about any other currently living actress alive, and still at work and in constant demand!" All to no avail. The word had come from Don Bluth, and that was all there was to it.

About eight weeks went by and almost all of my celebrity casting had been completed except for one remaining role, that of “Queen Gnorga”. Once again, I was told by John he wanted me to submit Cloris Leachman for the part. I got upset a little when I was told by John he got the idea for Cloris Leachman from his next door neighbor. “She was my first choice ten weeks ago, and you told me Don wasn’t familiar with her work!” He answered, “Well, he wants you to send him some samples of her work.” I explained to him her work was available in every English-speaking country in the world. “I mean… give me a break. This has to be one of the silliest assignments I’ve ever been given!”

That same day and into the evening, I went after it like a rabid dog in search of food! Something different that would make Cloris the only possible choice in the world who could possibly be right for playing “Gnorga”.

And you read correctly. It isn’t unusual at all for it to take many weeks in order to cast the celebrity voices on an animated feature film, especially in today's market arena when a casting director and the producers might be scattered all over the world. In this case, my work was made a little easier because of the fact it was a “favored nation's arrangement for all the celebrity casting”. (All the celebs got the same money…) Much has changed, especially da harv!

It was hard for me to believe it could be possible for the head of a studio not to have been familiar with the work of the one and only Cloris Leachman. It was like first-class “One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest”! Then, without notice, two good things happened—I can’t recall in what order.

One of the premier artists at Sullivan Bluth, who was considered a key player with the company, explained to me over lunch of the process at Bluth. Turned out, Don Bluth knew all about Cloris Leachman.

I received a call from a distant friend who worked at the UCLA Film library. He had discovered a recent series of film clips that had been put together in celebration of a Cloris Leachman birthday party. The film was almost entirely a collage of excerpts of scenes of her performing a wide variety of roles in award-winning performances being requested by guests at her birthday party.

The next thing to do was get them off to Ireland and into Don’s hands, along with my note congratulating him on having chosen Cloris as his first choice. Within twenty-four hours, I was on the phone making a deal for Cloris to become our “Queen Gnorga”. The way it worked out: my first and only choice for the part of "Gnorga", Cloris Leachman, ended up being the only celebrity casting that was never replaced during the production of "A Troll In Central Park".

Queen Gnorga from A Troll in Central Park (1994)

Our Day Together At Work

In no uncertain terms, I became the stage manager for all and everything taking place during the recording of “A Troll in Central Park”. Even Don Bluth and Gary Goldman acknowledged my work as being the best they had ever experienced. To this day, it remains a strange happening—or should I say, even though they paid me well, Harvey Kalmenson’s name never appeared on anything emanating from the Sullivan Bluth organization. That’s not to say either Don or Gary had anything to do with the supposed oversight. They had both been extremely cordial during my stay with them.

1974 Cloris and friends

Never a dull moment. She was always working with the best performers Hollywood had to offer. For me, it was once again “hog's heaven” time.

As planned, the limo carrying Cloris arrived at the studio right on time, and as planned, da harv was there right on time as well. “I’m Harvey Kalmenson”, I offered. Cloris placed her arm in mine. “Oh, I know who you are,” she said as we moved away from a large crowd of people who had gathered in anticipation of her arrival. It was all business for both of us.

My young assistant was introduced to Cloris, and he instantly reported to me. He had checked out the back seat of the limo, as well as guaranteed the phone number of the driver, and acknowledged he would be in the vicinity of the recording studio in order to pick Cloris up at our request.

At my instruction, it was to be the same driver who would be picking her up at the end of the session. The driver was to remain with Cloris until she was securely home, or at the location of her choice in Los Angeles. Cloris Leachman would be receiving the star celebrity treatment she had earned—never demanded.

At the end of the session, Cloris had come around and into the control area. I had put my head down, resting for a moment on my hands. Cloris deliberately ignored everybody in the control area and moved over to where I was resting while she began to rub the back of my neck. It was then, that the one and only Cloris Leachman said in a very polite voice for all to hear, “Thank you for your help, Harvey”.

My goodness, “A Troll In Central Park”, was about forty-nine years ago. The best part of this business for me isn’t the money or the acclaim. It was the genuine graciousness of the very one and only: Cloris Leachman.

Harvey Kalmenson

Without Supposition

When he made the announcement, he intended on becoming an actor, his third grade teacher offered with her best Shakespearean interpretation (a touch sarcastically), “You are already an actor!” When his classmates stopped laughing, he asked his teacher, “Was that from Shakespeare?” His teacher shrugged her shoulders as a reply, and said, “You’ll have to ask my older sister. It’s from all those books she reads every day!” 

And so the stage had been set for him, by him, inadvertently.

And I suppose, at this stage of the game, I am forced to admit many of life’s happenings come by accidental means. 

A person can know and go

With what they think

Was sent to them by an angel of things

When in the form of dreams

Their angel has wings

And for certain

My angel could sing

Sarah Vaughan - Dream (Live @ Mister Kelly's Chicago) 1957

Sarah Vaughan was suggested to me by my friend, Tony, who had returned from Korea. It’s a strange, and in many cases an all-encompassing, event for men in the service finding themselves far from home. I was enamored by Sarah Vaughan's voice; listening to the lady sing was soothing. It was a dream to be as good as any of life’s realities could ever purport to become. Sarah singing “Dream” came at me as a blissful indulgence: “Without Supposition”.

And again, free from supposition, may all your dreams during a living, loving, and mirthful Labor Day be yours as a reality!

Harvey Kalmenson

-----

…And just in case you haven’t heard, Catherine and I are more than merely proud to announce the successful formation of our latest venture:

Welcome to “DreamBuilder”

Offered in our newly launched “Life Success Coaching” Division, Cathy Kalmenson under the banner of Kalmenson & Kalmenson has begun her latest prominence in the field of human guidance. More to come...

Traits

One morning I was asked, by a kid looking into a mirror, “What’s a trait?” That kid was me. Once again, I was guilty of a game I had devised many years prior to that morning; it’s called self-appraisal.

An aside: Folks, if da harv was miraculously given a gift of pride, over his human character trait of integrity in all the endeavors he might attempt to accomplish, perhaps he would genuinely smile as he looked in the mirror each and every day.

  

  

Traits may be or become

Yesteryear or from now on

Sure or uncertain

In front of the world

Or shyly

Sneaking a peek

Alone with observance

Momentary

Ignored during a lifetime

Bowed while receiving applause

Free from it being a lifetime accident

Events nurtured by my climb

And on this next and very particular morning

Once again these kids

With their new day dawning

Clasp hands

Altogether deciding to share

Their newest trait

Theirs will be each day

Integrity will sweep our land!

Harvey Kalmenson

-----

Of personal note to all who may know of our mutually effectuated character traits, Catherine and I are more than merely proud to announce the successful formation of our latest venture:

Welcome to “DreamBuilder”

Offered in our newly launched “Life Success Coaching” Division, Cathy Kalmenson under the banner of Kalmenson & Kalmenson has begun her latest prominence in the field of human guidance. More to come...

Winners Are Habitual Dreamers

Winners Are Habitual Dreamers

(at least for Cathy & da harv)

"Well, excuse me", sarcastically uttered by a person of great inherited funds was heard to say.

Their names have been changed and placed in the categories of my choice. These are some people I’ve come in contact with during my life as a habitual dreamer.

And for the eight subcategories, depicted above, has become time for them to move on with life. 

If it is your most important desire to grasp and hold onto what tasty juices a dreamer is always ready for, well, then, my friends, you are a dreamer.

My point is: What in God's name are we supposed to make of all this?

Lincoln Terrace Park, Brooklyn New York 1941

I secretly overheard my father telling a friend of his, in a quiet manner, “That’s all the kid thinks about—is playing baseball.” Then, without hesitation, he added: “And right until he falls fast asleep, he’s squeezing the life out of a baseball and dreaming about tomorrow’s game in the park. The kids got talent!”

Almost every night, I was dreaming about something good. I didn’t realize at the time that I was an eight-year-old kid who was destined to remain a dreamer—hopefully forever!

Sooner or later

Out or in favor

New beginnings

Arise to savor

Two finally have become one

It’s still referred to as marriage

Then, like in a moment or two

A pram appears

Dudes and dudesses call it a baby carriage

That’s life, and wouldn’t you know

Some trouble begins

Oh my, out come twins

One and one multiplied

Two had become four

Young no more

But not yet old

These four moved to a larger space

Nothing glamorous, this extra room

And, oh yes, one more than a little thing to contend with

Overnight

Two sparkling little kids had become ten years old

And so they had to move to an even larger place to live

It was a time to be bold

On each and every Friday night

The four clasped hands

To say a prayer

Without another word

The candles, mom would light

Home became a castle

Each and every Friday night

This now is a very short epilog of what became the

Story of two becoming four...

Who worked hard...

Keeping a family together...

Clasping hands...

Relying on faith...

And all together dreaming

All together within a candle-lit castle

A king, his queen, a prince, and a princess

Still beaming and dreaming of much more!

Excuse me now, it’s time for me to move aloft in order to partake as a constant habituate...

Sweet dreams to all

From da harv

Keep the faith (yours)

May your castle beam on forever and a week!

If you need a disclaimer, here it is:

I can probably guarantee that what follows will be almost impossible for you to understand. I, for certain, can’t explain the true meaning or creative effectiveness of my thoughts having been turned into an honest appraisal of their meaning. After all, my old gold stories stem from a dreamer's mindset.

Good luck be had by all of ya…

"Old Gold Stories Told"

Old gold stories told

From within mind’s eyes

Worldwide

Admissive during one’s lifetime

Dismissive, almost never

Pad nor pencils ever a necessity

Public reciprocity never offered

For all people over eighty

Still strong enough

Allowing visions

Of old gold stories recalled

Pleasing insightful memories

Yours forever believably unfold

Past performances

Hot and sweet when first they came

Unannounced

Each a new discovery

For you to claim

Youthful grails to be held, and behold

There within

A method for my madness lies

Often one must be gentle

When preparing to unfold

A pleasant remembrance

May not always be for your taking,

Not always from a happy time

Revisited

A person, place, thing, or happening

Accompanying this dream or that

Often quietly still

Free from reason, rhyme, or formality

When certain memories resist

When generosity begs for the forgettable

Life presents dreamless sobriety

It summons, deflates, challenges,

Perhaps 'tis new, this unabashed paradigm

An inhaled, unencoded, undesired spectacle

Of what life places within our human paths

Will it serve as a final engrossment

Who amongst us will endure

Frets stemming from life’s past

When deceptive age

Chronicles one's present

We gather from the past

Serving as a possible remedy

Presenting new goals

For the present and future

And then, too many years ago

Do you understand,

You are nothing more than a dreamer?

“Perhaps”, he replied, in a free form I had never heard before. He spoke of what and when my mother explained to him on the day I was about to be born. “This one, I can tell you, has a mind of his own”, while her groan was heard as well. And as my dad went on with his story of this new beginning, it became a stream of consciousness he used under his breath explaining to whoever might have been listening: “How did she know it was going to be a son?” She must have dreamed it. My mother might have been a dreamer. Often, dreaming ran rampant within a man or woman’s family. Often, it’s all a dreamer is free to do within their entire span of life.

A Tale of Two Cities is a historical novel published in 1859 by Charles Dickens, set in London and Paris before and during the French Revolution.

Dickens opens the novel with a sentence that has become famous:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

...And for a few moments at this special moment

A distinct time in one's life, yours to conjure and celebrate

To take and reshare with yourself all you’ve seen and felt, and, yes…

All you can humbly store within a choice of dream-like treasury…

Dream humbly and great magnitudes of life and joyous well-being will become dream-like…

With great humility, joining your dreams in a salute to the very best of times…

With my special thank you to Charles Dickens

Harvey Kalmenson

Source/s: charlesdickensinfo.com