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.

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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

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…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...