I’ve Been a Cheerleader My Entire Life

My God…I’ve been a cheerleader my entire life. That statement isn’t an attempt or a continuance of a hopeless endeavor at me gaining praise. I just do what I do because I do it. But there are times; as a matter of fact there have been a few times when I find myself asking “What the hells wrong with you Harv? Give it up…leave it alone already.” One of those times occurred not more than a week ago.

A (not yet) star with an attitude walks briskly from the set of a film many would die for. (Isn’t that a stupid statement? I mean if one dies, they can’t actually play the part anyway.) Today, my situation is quite a bit different from his. I can’t remove myself from the project I’ve been hired to direct because I’m the designated entertainment committee. I’m the one charged with the responsibility to keep things going; to cheer the ingrates on to new and loftier heights than even the wildest supposition of their self imposed entitlement might demand or require. Fortunately for me, in general not too much bad attitude finds it’s way into our world of voice over. Most of the veterans who make it; those who are able to exist on what they earn as a voice over artist; rarely if ever put on a pout face. The newbies, those who make it into me for the very first time to audition, usually have been forewarned about the dos and don’ts practiced and expected by us at the Kalmenson & Kalmenson ranch. What it all boils down to is nothing more than common courtesy. Just as I don’t appreciate an actor with bad manners, I try to set an example for my own Kalmenson teammates. A hectic day isn’t an acceptable excuse for being rude. And rude is the word, which covers a wide variety of poor taste. Hectic comes with the territory. Hectic is our accepted parameter of our life in voice casting. Ignoring the needs of the people sending us the casting assignments would be tantamount to running our business with the snail-like dispatch of derangement necessary for those seeking an end to their business world. Without a doubt we are guilty of catering to those who are helping to place bread on our table. Likewise, without actors, we don’t have a business. These two salient points demand an unequaled display of social grace by all concerned parties. By this I mean, the actors coming in to audition for us, and we the people who endeavor to keep the clients we have in a constant state of the "happy camper" mode. In other words, we need whom we have, and we know whom we need. To ignore either side would spell ultimate disaster.

The Ignorish People

The little known or publicized country of “Ignoria” has a reputation for boasting about how his or her people and leaders pay little or no attention at all to anyone, including their own “Ignorian” citizenry. Hence, the new and revised Kalmenson dictionary of refined letters has coined the word: ignorish;one who pays absolutely no attention to anyone or anything of a productive vain; as in, it was a non productive vain and or attempt.

Another common use of the word ignorish would be: Most politicians are ignorish.

Actors as a special breed must never be, or become ignorish. Ignorish actors usually suffer banishment.

1859 As A Philosophical Abstraction, Or Maybe Not.

A Tale of Two Cities (1859) is a novel by Charles Dickens.

Excerpt:

"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."

The man wrote in an era when much of what God had beseeched was still in a "to be determined" process. His A Tale Of Two Cities was to be ultimately dubbed a masterpiece -- in my humble opinion, not the least bit an overstatement. The two cities were London and Paris. They were, at the time, a mixture of the extreme haves and have-nots: Those who never worked because of their life’s station, and those who didn’t work because work wasn’t available. They were the rich and the poor with inactivity as their sole mate.

Was it the past of which Charles Dickens scribed what he saw, or was he gazing into our future, here in 2011?

The words of the past, mainly those expressed in a form of complaint, seem to always resemble today’s most common disorders. There were those who dwelled high up on a hill, while the rest hunted for a place to sleep, and a crumb or two in order to keep their inner fires burning. Nothing has changed regarding our subsistence needs. Lets face it. It’s what all human beings have in common: We need to eat.
Grilled Cheese

Around 4,000 years ago, people started to breed animals and process their milk. That's when cheese was born. It was most likely a strong reason for the first politicians to get elected.

Villager #1: "Elect me as your mayor and each of you will have a goat to milk.”
Villager #2: "Elect me as your mayor, and I’ll send a serf to milk your goat for you.”
Villager #3: "Elect me as your mayor and I will deliver a jar of milk to your abode each and every day of the year, free.”

Well, if you’re interested in the outcome of that very early mayoral race, I’ve taken it upon myself to do a little research. Villager #3 was a big time winner. In those days, the counting up of votes didn’t take very long because most of the villagers were functional illiterates. They voted by physical acclamation. The three candidates would stand in front of the gathered villagers in the town circle. At the precise signal (I was unable to determine what signal was used), the villagers moved directly behind the candidate of their choice. It wasn’t really a difficult process because at the time of this election, less than one hundred people inhabited the village. All worked out well until directly following the mayoral inauguration. In short order, the people began to complain about not receiving delivery of their free milk. Some unforeseen problems which were not allowed for began to pop up directly following the election campaign promises.

Word of mouth had spread the news from township to township. Come and get the free milk, even if you’re not a citizen of our village. Bring you’re family and friends. The only good thing to come from all of this was it didn’t affect their village school system. They had no schools. The mayor made many speeches telling the villagers how things were improving. But more and more of them were unable to earn any money to give the mayor in order for him to supply enough free milk to make the cheese. Most of the villagers found it far too expensive to buy their own goat. Soon the people began to leave what had become a large community in favor of finding a different village to live and work in. The mayor served one term, and is now a very successful goat handler.

Way back when, not that very long ago, in these United States of America, the most famous sandwich of all time would have to be the grilled cheese, or up until that point in time, depending on who was the reporter writing the food column, and what were his or her leanings, politically. Some would ask, "What sort of abstract baloney are you spewing now? What could cheese have to do with anything politically?" To them I would answer, "Just everything, you dolt."

(If you consider the foregoing as being in the abstract, then it would never be my wish to visit an art gallery as your companion.)

The facts have been with us for centuries. If you make it, bake it, milk it, grow it, farm it, raise it, sell it, or live in the vicinity where any of the former transpire, it will be now, or ultimately a short time in the future, a political boondoggle (a scheme, which wastes time and money).

But for a short moment, long before governments knew anything about taking large quantities of oil from the ground, the healthy business of extracting oil from the fat of whales thrived, that is, thrived for those countries which could boast a strong maritime fleet. Many of you won’t recognize the name “kerosene.” It was the main product for lighting one's home - lamp oil - that and, of course, the development of natural gas.

Ancient societies were known to be using the oil, which managed to seep up from the ground in many parts of the world, since prehistoric times.

Petroleum became a major industry following the oil discovery at Oil Creek Pennsylvania in 1859.

Please take note: A Tale of Two Cities (1859) is a novel by Charles Dickens.

Do you think I’m being a little too abstract? Not for me, I’m very happy with it, and myself. You see, I take the greatness of this country of ours very personally. Think about it for a minute. Oil has been around since prehistoric times. In 1859, the United States of America was an infant state. We were just then beginning to bind the wounds suffered by every American during the Civil War.

Charles Dickens might have named his book “A Tale Of All Countries.” It may have begun in 1859, but by the late eighteen hundreds, the United States was producing more oil than any other country in the world - 83% of which took care of our own needs. Our capitalistic society was almost in full bloom. What followed were all the necessary ingredients for brewing the greatest success story in the history of the world. At the time we had a total of 31,(443,321 M) - thirty one million, four hundred forty three thousand, three hundred and twenty one of us Americans preparing to serve grilled cheese sandwiches to the rest of the world.

320,000,000 later

I hated grilled cheese sandwiches when I was a kid. They lacked gusto. I remember some kids bringing American cheese sandwiches to school for lunch. I never traded with them. I was so pleased to find out later in life, the infamous American cheese was processed, and those in the know were quick to point out the drawback of eating processed food. Those infidels were not only eating processed cheese, but were in the process of shortening their lives by doing so. Yet, to my deep chagrin, just yesterday I was made aware of the fact, processed cheese in some countries was considered a deterrent to contraction of scurvy while sailing around the world. I’m going to hold off believing the credibility of this report, as it was filed by an Afghanistan wire service. My operatives were unable to check out their reliability do to a shortage of electric power service in their area of the fifth world. It does however sound suspicious, since Afghanistan keeps no admiralty records. The United States continues to fund the Afghani Navy in expectation of them one day having one. Credit must be given to our general accounting bureau as they have formally discontinued any shipments of grilled cheese sandwiches earmarked for shipment to Afghanistan.

And speaking of Afghanistan; where were they back when Dickens so vigorously went to the quill? If you said: “They were being occupied by a foreign country,” your answer would be correct. Dependant on what one reads, it appears since 500 BC, all kinds of folks have been trying to take hold of them. My point is, we aren’t the first to enter with thoughts of calming the searing heat, freezer chest winters, and mountainous terrain of this cruel societal location; land locked, desperate, and without structure.

And just maybe an American pioneer was heard to say:
Begin now!
Start the rest of your life
With this first day,
And each day they’re after
Serving as the canvas for your own
Personal masterpiece.
Each day is your audition for the next!

(A Primer On) Compiling “Ten Thousand Hours Of Experience”

Theater Shows Film

Just prior to this monumental period of my life, I had merely dabbled in the world of show biz. My ex-wife’s opinion of what I was doing represented far more than dabbling. A couple of years before, she had asked me pointedly if I didn’t think I was getting a little too old to be an intern. Her question followed directly after she found out Hitchcock didn’t pay interns. As a matter of fact, the man didn’t even speak to us (I do believe the woman was beginning to tire of my antics). Come to think of it, my ex-wife was wrong. It was a great time to intern, be alive, and make the most dominate decision of my life: To follow my heart.

Ten thousand hours of storage begins at birth for all of us. I refer to what enters our brains as storage because, not being a medical man, it’s the easiest way for me to remember what many refer to as "our own personal think tank." Is it a mental or physical attribute? We’re usually equipped with both. Storage begins for most at or around two years of age.

All things being equal, regardless of the time period, I had not yet arrived as "da harv," but neither had Walmart. That same year, 1962, Sam Walton opened the First Wal-Mart discount store in Bentonville, Arkansas. All Sam did was become the biggest and most successful retailer in the world. He didn’t begin at the top, and he wasn’t the first to open a store. At the time, the J.C.Penney Company had seventeen hundred stores, and Sears Roebuck & Company boasted seven hundred fifty department stores. Then there were others, like Macy’s, the May Co. and many, many more.

There are those who argue it was much easier to make it back in the old days. I think not. Sears Roebuck began in 1886, and the first J.C.Penney store opened under a different name in 1902.

Today, about fifty years later, some new giants have arisen: Home Depot, Kinko’s, Costco, and of course, the most famous of them all, “SpongeBob.” Few were given any likelihood of having success.

Let’s face it, how many of you would have invested money in a Starbucks coffee shop? I mean… give me a break. They’d have about as much chance of making it as a talking square pants sponge named Bob.

Cost Of Living 1962:
Year-end close of Dow Jones industrial average: 652.
Average cost of a new house: $12,500.00.
Average income per year: $5,556.00.
Average monthly rent: $110.00 per month.
Tuition to Harvard University: $1,520.00.
Average cost of a new car: $3,125.00.
Eggs per dozen: 32 cents.
Gas per gallon: 28 cents.

Folk music was evolving into protest music thanks to young artists like Bob Dylan, and the birth of surfing music by The Beach Boys grew in popularity. Meanwhile, in England, the Beatles were recording the single "Love Me Do." The new hit on TV for that year was "The Beverly Hillbillies," and the first of the James Bond movies, "Dr. No," was an instant success. Some of the other movies released included "Spartacus" and "El Cid."

Alternatives:
In Beverly Hills, on little Santa Monica Blvd., there existed one little theatre group seemingly on every corner. These groups began forming in the forties. Just about every character actor you might think of at one time or another took part in some form of little theater. Most came from locations all over the country, seeking to make it on what we knew as the silver screen.

It was also the era of big time radio broadcasts. During the daytime hours, the soaps prevailed. In the early and late afternoons, all the kid shows came on. The history of film and radio go hand in hand.

New York’s Off Broadway and Off Off Broadway was a respite for most of the actors before coming to Los Angeles (they thought), attempting to break into films. As they arrived, they encountered what actors had been experiencing since time and memoriam: Competition.

It was an absolute certainty: Without radio and little theatre, actors in general found few venues for practicing their craft, let alone making a buck.

On January 1, 1962, NBC broadcast the first coast-to-coast color television presentation of the Rose Bowl football game. Walter Cronkite replaced Douglas Edwards as the anchor for the CBS Evening News. He lasted nineteen years.

But most importantly, 1962 was the official kick off for da harv. I do believe that comes to a total of forty-nine years. Let’s see now… if we count it up, forty-nine years would be 2,548 weeks, and at fifty hours per week it comes to a total of one hundred and twenty seven thousand, four hundred hours of me practicing my craft.

The last nineteen plus years have been devoted entirely to the field of voice over.

I chose 1962 because much of my official academic world schooling had come to an end. Truth be told, and that’s what I’m doing at this moment. My theatrical training began with the subliminal exposure I began experiencing as a child. Anything vaguely resembling a group of people (two or more, sometimes even one) became my audience. They didn’t know it. They were sent to me by a divine power in order to have their way of life improved upon. They all needed me - even those who attempted to push me away. It was all to no avail. Even the Army, in a much earlier time period of my life, recognized I was the guy put on earth to tell people what to do, whether they liked it or not.

I doubt if there are many who may claim fame or accomplishment without fording an endless stream, or taking less than ten thousand hours of their life’s dedication. Admittedly, any thoughts of hours of study were not an occurrence of mine as I embezzled the first moments as they came to me. There were no explanations, because no one close to me was prepared to understand a person toiling without monetary rewards, either gained or offered. In the beginning, I cherished the smallest plaudits more than any man should.

Seeing my name printed on a playbill for the first time was an unequalled event. Stepping forward to begin a show produced by me brought my heartbeat to a crescendo I knew could be heard by those in the back of the house. Sharing the pain with a troupe of my players about to strike a set, the next day reborn and hopeful over an unexpected gig to direct a dream cast. The radio programs, the industrial shows, the films, the commercials, and the thousands upon thousands of actors I have had the pleasure of directing, are all in a special place within my now incomprehensible number of hours at work practicing my craft. But at the very top of my list, and what I would deem as the most rewarding adventure of my lifetime is an easy one for me to choose: It is as an educator where my most treasured plaudits lie.

What I didn’t know then, I do know now. It began during the first twenty-nine years of my life. The physiological brilliance of my father. When he asked if I would give him a hand with something was by far the most important life shaping moment of my young existence. He knew his kid well. I was bursting at the seams to show him my talents as a helper. I don’t remember what he had asked me to help with. It doesn’t matter. The thought of being paid to help someone with whatever they were up to never occurred to me. At eight years of age, I guess I was feeling like a pretty big, big shot. We lived directly across from the schoolyard, so I never ran out of kids to help.

There was this one kid in particular who became a fan of mine. He was a poor soul who was a real klutz. He constantly showed up in the school playground with his shoes untied. When I called it to his attention, he told me how his mother yelled at him for not being able to tie his own shoelaces. I kind of felt sorry for him. I learned how to tie my shoelaces by watching my dad do his own. I told the kid I would tie his shoelaces for him every day until he learned to do it for himself. It turned out to be one of my simpler feats to accomplish. Each day before he was called to return home, we both untied our shoelaces and then as I retied mine, he merely mimicked my every move. By the end of the week, he was functioning on his own. But something else happened: The kid no longer came across as the playground schlep. (Schlep: A person who drags his or her feet in an ungainly fashion would be referred to as a shlep; German origin)

Nothing has changed. A teacher is a helper. A person who is always joining in for a free ride is known as a shlepper. Schleppers rarely make it in acting - a profession where a free ride is almost nonexistent.

Saying "try it this way" to an actor, and then seeing the proverbial light go on is an amazing feeling. Nowadays, many of the actors I run into aren’t wearing shoes that need lacing, so I have resigned myself to helping them improve their acting skills. What I ask our students to do is continually practice their craft. The question comes up quite often. How long do I think it will take for them to make it? There will never be an exact answer for any question with as subjective a nature to it.

I remember seeing Tiger Woods as a child of no more than six years of age come on the Mike Douglas show along with his Dad. He put on a demonstration of his ability to hit a golf ball. Well, by the time Tiger had his ten thousand hours compiled, most golfers were just beginning to play the game.

Questions only you can answer:

1. When did you begin?

2. How much do you work (number of hours) at it each day?

3. Are there things in the way?

4. How badly do you want it?

5. Are you financially able to hold out for an indefinite period?

6. What must you do to avoid being average?

Within my hours of practice, I have experienced many of the lifestyle encumbrances which would keep the average guy from making it in our voice over world. The most important word in the previous sentence would be “average.” Average is a term which, when applied as a description of an actor, translates to “unable to support himself or a family."

For the answers to all of the above questions, please take a time out, and with not another soul around to disturb your process, answer the six questions presented above. I was honest with you. What I recommend is you be brutally honest with yourself.

da harv’s answers up:

1.When did you begin? Around age eight.

2. How much do you work (number of hours) at it each day? I usually hit it for about ten hours, six days each week.

3. Are there things in the way? Only I get in the way of me!

4. How badly do you want it? To be able to say, "I have helped more actors to win than any other man in history!"

5. Are you financially able to hold out for an indefinite period? I have been for the last twenty-five years.

6. What must you do to avoid being average? Continually seek out my goal to live and make each day of my working life a masterpiece.

Baruch Spinoza (November 24, 1632 – February 21, 1677) was a Jewish, Dutch philosopher. He said:

“Fame has also this great drawback, that if we pursue it, we must direct our lives so as to please the fancy of men.”

When People Talk (To Each Other)

“Conversation"

Talk about ever-changing. The advent of our electronic age has influenced our lives and has certainly placed a variety of new pressures on today’s voice over talent. But guess what? The voice is definitely secondary to the performance, and voice over as we know it remains an acting craft. As a matter of fact, there are more inherent acting requirement skills on today’s competitive actor then ever before.

Contrary to what has become an accepted belief, the advertising agencies don’t control what the public likes to hear -- they provide it. The general public always shows their likes and dislikes by the way a commercial is accepted. The agency pundits refer to this phenomenon as a "trend." The same has applied to theatrical films since their inception.

The interesting thing about trends is they might come and go, but never entirely disappear. Often the public treats a conceptual return as one might treat an old friend returning after being away for a while.

From 1960 on commercials used almost every form of communication in order to sell product. Every fancy electronic connivance has been tried, but thankfully, the wizards of innovation have not been able to replace the human instrument (voice). God knows it’s not because they haven’t tried -- everything from talking toys, to the most sophisticated forms of science fiction delivered by computerized animation. The public stays constant with their preference for the truth. It may be a talking toilet complaining about being mistreated by it’s owner, but the voice coming at you is that of a real live human being delivering the lines while following any number of possible directions: bad, sad, glad, mad, sick, upset, bright, dull, big, small, blue collar, or upscale.

And what follows is the most consistent trend the commercial advertisement industry has experienced to date:

“Laid back and conversational.”

And yes, you’ve heard this direction before, but it bears repeating:

“No announcers.”

And the wonderful people putting out those directions by and large have never been in front of the camera, or a microphone. In other words… they’re asking the actors to do something they themselves have never been successful at professionally. We find non-performers responsible for writing most of the commercial scripts we receive from the advertising agencies. The written directions are not theatrically driven. Some of the blame must be placed on the sponsors who indiscriminately over load the commercials with facts and numbers, which translate into a pushy type of sales approach. When this happens, we (the casting company) can also expect as part of the directions, the instructions for us not to let the actors become too much of a salesman or saleswoman. And invariably, when we get our hot little hands on the script, there it is right smack up at the top, a word none of us would ever use conversationally: "Introducing."

“Accomplished actors book more jobs.”

Our responsibility as actors is to make it work. If we make it work, they pay us -- the same people who furnished the seemingly contradictory directions.

“Conversationally Speaking”

Make it real -- what a concept. Like actual human beings in a conversation. At a glance, your first thought might be, “Are these people stark raving mad?”

I can advise actors until I’m blue in the face, of how counter-productive an un-positive attitude is. Yet there still remain a number of folks who don’t get it. If you bring an attitude into the recording booth with you, it will be hard to shake loose of it during your performance.

“Be a listening type observer.”

There are many questions about the every day occurrences of people having, or attempting to have a conversation.

“Rely on your past in order to get and keep a handle on today and tomorrow.”

About conversation:
* Is it general (in nature)?
* Is it casual?
* Is it polite?
* Is it off the cuff?
* Spiritual?
* Meaningful?
* Of importance?
* Of great importance?
* Of no importance at all?
* Is the person doing the talking speaking at the other person with the singular intent of hearing him, or herself talking?

Note: The more an actor listens to him or herself while attempting to perform conversationally, the less chance there is of accomplishing a creative portrayal of any kind or type.

Be aware of people holding conversations. It doesn’t really matter where or when. You may notice the person doing the talking doesn’t have to be an actor in order to be enraptured with themselves.

My concern is always improvement, whether it is self or another’s improvement as a person, or improvement in order to enhance one's income. Improvement means individual growth. Growth and success are not necessarily synonymous in the immediate future, but without personal growth, success becomes problematical. Learning some guidelines about conversation spells growth.

For the time being force yourself to discern some basic conversational differences. What kind of conversation are you observing?

* Polite and cordial?
* Passionate?
* Concerned?
* Matter of fact or off the cuff?
* Sarcastic?
* Imperative?
* Deliberate advice?
* Who are you conversing with?
* Where are you?
* What time of day is it?
* Why are you in conversation with this person?

The above are only a short list of conversational possibilities. In reality, the list is endless. If you get nothing from this offering other than the following two advisements, you’re well on the road to improving your conversational skills.

“At the audition”

1. Don’t be afraid of asking your imaginary conversation partner a question, either verbally or by doing your own subconscious degree of wonderment.

2. Be genuinely responsive to the person you’re attempting to have a conversation with.

The above items are excerpts from a syllabus first presented at the University Of Southern California by Harvey Kalmenson, and is currently used as an application within our current Kalmenson & Kalmenson educational curriculum.

… and speaking of income,

When it comes to an actor’s possible income, my professional mentoring remains, of course, in the field of voice over.

As a director, educator, and casting director, I find myself in the admirable position of being able to offer salient points to actors which are necessary for them to compete in today’s highly charged marketplace.

And certainly a key word in the preceding paragraph is definitely today’s market place. What changes tomorrow will bring are unknown. The actors who have developed a strong basic repertoire of emotional deliveries will always meet our industries nuances with confidence; which breeds success.

The ball is in your acting court. As we say at the beginning of our Level Two workshop: "How badly do you want it?"

Snowbound

It was six in the early morning of what was my usual work weekday. When a full screen appeared along with a voice talking about New York’s worst snowstorm since the nineteen twenties, it caught my attention. Just like in Los Angeles when we have a heavy rain, voices of doom seemed to broadcast from one corner of the country to another. New York’s mayor had some unbelievable story he was feeding the public about how the city was just not equipped to handle that amount of snow. And the common folk were heard whining as only New Yorkers can. Inclement weather shouldn’t come as a shock to inhabitants of the city of New York (yah think).

Come rain, snow, hail, or even a hurricane, regardless the inclemency, the networks all managed to station some weather person outside in order to establish the degree of problems they might be having. How strong a storm it was would serve to determine how much whining is necessary, or prudent, before an annoyed bystander came up the side of a whiner's head with an umbrella.

Have you ever noticed how audiences manage to get to the theater of their choice regardless of the weather? They may complain about the bathroom facilities not being adequate, but when it comes to making use of their high priced ducats, the better their seats, the less whining you’ll hear.

Descriptive notes regarding above average actors:

Above average actors (they're the ones who aren’t constantly listening to music being piped into them via a surgically attached headset, in place of reading, or understanding real news); they don’t require a mayor’s explanation. Most New York actors are perfectly capable of understanding inclement weather. Although at a recent audition one of them asked me, “da harv, did you hear how they're suffering out on Long Island?” “No,” I responded (sarcastically). I would have had to be comatose to miss it, the way the media was constantly broadcasting updates.

At our auditions, I have long since given up on general discussions of anything having to do with the conditions our world is in; not that I consider myself some kind of knowledgeable, world-recognized sage. It’s just that most forms of whining get in the way of any productive outcome. There have been many times in my life, when having a whiner around was not only non-productive, but also served as a disruptive force.

Whiner (to da harv): “Do you think I’ll ever win one of these spots?”
da harv (to whiner): “Not a chance!”

Long ago in a far off land, I found myself, along with many other men - visually similar in body and dress - sharing in the earliest beliefs of the folks who founded our country.

You may have guessed, we were in the service of our country, specifically, the United States Army. Our age-range was from nineteen to twenty-five (on average). We were a mixed bag; every race and color you could think of was represented. The most outstanding attribute we had going was the respect we had for one another. Contrary to what the average person stateside might think, we were an army of outstanding gentlemen.

Keep in mind, this was an era long before any form of political correctness had been introduced. Being in harm's way some how eliminates a need for political correctness. In any event none of us had yet to hear the term expressed.

From basic training on, and all through the fulfillment of a required tour of duty, for us common soldiers, all things were equal. And I mean equal! We ate, slept, showered, prayed and went to the bathrooms (if you could call them that) together. And what whining there was, managed to come across as a factor for unity. There was no separation of states (life's stations). We laughed at and with each other. Sure we all complained, but for some reason, it didn’t come out like someone whining about the weather, or the table a waiter showed them to. All of our seats were the same price. There wasn’t anything special about being up front.

Without consciously going for it, in our own makeshift way, many of us were becoming amateur philosophers. We existed in a no holds barred environment. Personal questions were asked and usually answered with total honesty. We wore whom we were on our sleeves for all to see and feel. Sure there were times when things raised in conversation became too personal for a guy to handle. A build up of incipient anger flickered, then was headed off and defused before turning into anything more than a little extra heated conversation. Only when serious drinking was involved did we ever experience some uncommonly difficult moments. I guess that’s why the army did whatever they could to keep us enlisted guys away from hard liquor. The definitive word is “try.” American soldiers are the most inventive in the world. We always had a bottle to pass around. Admittedly, some of what I ingested was downright vile.

Still, I was only nineteen years old, I hadn’t had the time to cultivate any serious lifelong relationships at home. The guys who experienced a breakup with a stateside girlfriend were the ones who suffered the most; yet it was never an annoyance to any of us. It never came across as whining.

We managed to enjoy a diversion or two. For a short period of time we had a tackle football league (if you could call it that). A group of guys who were heavy duty jocks back home decided to continue competing while in the service. It didn’t last very long - we were systematically killing one another.

Then there was a series of other hobbies we cultivated. All they (the brass) had to do was tell us we couldn’t have something, and the next thing you'd know we’d, have more than we knew what to do with. An example of that process was the number of dogs we had in our company area. Keep in mind, this was a God-forsaken location, carved out of the side of a mountain. The terrain was treacherous. Nature’s elements never held back. Summer heat and humidity so harsh it became visible, then to the other extreme of wind and cold which served to create a living tomb like winter existence. And with it all, our adolescent sense of humor continued to blossom.

Each company of men had four or five dogs roaming around. They were our pets, and as well taken care of as any raised back home. Not surprisingly, one day at a company formation, we were informed of a new rule. It turns out the guys had been smuggling in a puppy or two from Japan. The number of dogs in our compound had grown to thirty. We would have been fine, except for the fact our mess hall sergeant was complaining about food being stolen in order to feed our animals. The stealing of food stopped, almost immediately; that is to say, corresponding to the shipments of pet food that began to arrive from a variety of charitable organizations. Some of the guys had shared our debacle with the folks at home. The dam had been opened. Our company sergeant in charge of mail delivery, and himself a genuine dog lover, never let on about the increase in the number of large packages we were now receiving from home on a regular basis. Our dogs were living in style. None of them ever experienced wearing a collar. All of them were trained to respond to the one word command “hide” whenever an officer was in the area.

In retrospect, I do believe most of our officers were as pleased to have the dogs running around as we were. Somehow, heat nor the cold, or even for some of us, the loneliness, wasn’t as dominating a factor as it would have been were it not for our smuggled in friends.

Note:
* We didn’t have cell phones.
* Digital anything was not yet a part of our lives.
* The only way our antics were shared was by word of mouth or the written word.
* Any photos deemed off-color or obscene weren’t allowed to be developed.

Another time
Was it really lived by me?
The far away place has changed
And without effort, I to changed along with it
There are no complaints to share
Whining, to whom?
I wonder where they are today
No matter, I guess
The present is where I must reside.

* "Being in the present." Nary an actor who hasn’t heard the term.
* From one coach or another: “Be in the present. Stay current. It’s the here and the now.”

This just in:

Sergeant Shriver passed away, at age ninety-five.

This is a news report of nothing more profound than a life coming to an end.

I listened to Maria describing her father, the former head of “The Peace Corps.” She talked about visiting with her father, who no longer recognized her. Maria spoke of entering her father's room and saying, “Hi Daddy, I’m your daughter Maria.” And he would respond with the words, "Are you really?” She went on to say this same reintroduction took place even if she left his room for just a moment or two to get a drink of water. When asked how she was able to cope with it, Maria responded with, “It’s my choice to stay in the present. To introduce myself to my father each time like it was new all over again.”

While Maria Shriver may not be an actress, her choice of a method to deal with a trying situation at best, represents a classical method for overcoming the weekly trauma she bravely endured.

Staying fresh and vibrant, as opposed to giving in to a living trepidation, is never a good time for grief to be experienced personally, or by your compassion for others.

And so perhaps your real audience being the people in your life, those you know, and those for you to meet for the first time. If there is to be a moment when you’re in command, it will be there for you, as you choose in taking pleasure introducing yourself to them for the first time. Each new introduction to whomever will represent a pure and living present tense.

Like me, for some, a dream brings a recapturing of the wonderment of what had been. Strangely enough the very dream, which captures the past, will allow for the pleasantness of what your future might become. (If you let it.)

“And so.” Well before six in the morning of a common workday, just as the clock “ugly’d” me up, and my eyes not yet at full rise, there came to visit another of those dream recollections; though dark in places, there again of a dramatic nature, thankfully not companioned by any form of physical disturbances. The years gone by, limiting the aftereffects, to never more than occasional numbness in my extremities, and some perspiration signaling the end of whatever an army man’s subconscious had recalled without solicitation.

Remembrances of instances lived before, during, and after a sequence of events, never of equal weight, are not consciously thought about. Recollections unable to be understood remain uncontrolled during my sleep, lasting a lifetime. All the words in a dream have become jumbled together. What was I dreaming of this time?

I looked in on what meant little to one guy, a nineteen-year-old kid, and me in reality, soon to become a so-called man feeling the christening of his mortality. It was nothing more than a surreal split of a single second, his body covered in perspiration caused by one hundred degree temperatures, and humidity too high to be measured by the meters the army supplied us with. And then, an explosion, which lifted him upward, and with a sickening jarring, returned him to a precarious and painful position. One of his older buddies sternly admonished, “You're never going to get used to it either.”

In the moment, mortality became a reality. In the moment, an experience some men never realize until the end, became his to keep within for the rest of his life.

Three days later, at 9PM, on July 27, 1953, the Korean conflict came to its unceremonious end. According to the record books, the official ending time was twenty–two hundred hours (10 PM.)

I had experienced fright beyond my previous beliefs. My life would never be the same. And although there were a number of occasions when my life was in serious peril during my tour of duty, those three days, thirty-five miles north of the thirty-eighth parallel will remain seared in my mind's eye, equaled only by the formal surrendering of my boyhood.

Watching as my words hit the paper, I do so with the belief, only a few out there who may read what I’ve scribed will understand the emanation and meaning of my moments being recalled.

And yesterday morning I was there again - or was I? Awakening by what had to be a dream. The recollections were clear, but there were no memories of fear, nothing the likes of the sweet scary induction of a shock wave, entering the top of an instep and swiftly making its way up the sensitive inner thigh, and winding uncontrollably up and through the center of a man's groin. Only standing at the precipice of a jutting cliff with a stiff wind forcing you forward could ever match in similarity the fearful anxiety of that moment.

It isn’t a fear of pain. What has happened is as totally the present as a human being may realize. Mortality is there, not as a remembrance for an actor to recall. More aptly, it is the most personal moment a man could possibly experience. A man made element had lifted me from the ground, then replaced me there against my will. But it was an act of God determining whether my senses might be left intact enough for any future to even exist at all.

That morning, the face I looked at as I shaved did not exist in the dream just gone by and lost.

The lines were not those of a nineteen year old.

The nineteen year old wore his fear in eyes experiencing a first time and unexpected moment. His face not yet etched by time. Looking deeper into the mirror before me I searched to regain my self-composure. It darkened and I must have again returned to a deeper sleep than before. The boy was gone. Only an older man awakened this time. The past had passed. I thought for a moment about shaving, and then smiled inwardly, asking myself, what if it wasn’t a dream. In anticipation, I rubbed my face. The stubble was there. I was in the present.

Down stairs: "You’re awfully quiet,” Cathy said.

"I think I had another of those dreams."

“About what?” she asked.

I honestly couldn’t tell her. The whole damn thing was so convoluted this last go-around. Part of the time I was the older man I am today, and then at the very same time, I found myself away in another place with a young body. Then an overall feel good moment as I remembered the German Shepard dog I had when I was ten years old. But when I went to pet him, he wasn’t my dog at all. He was a dog from another time and place. And I heard this God-awful explosion as I awakened to a huge jet flying over our home from the nearby Van Nuys airport.

“You’re smiling,” Cathy said.

“It’s good to be here in the present with you. We have a lot to smile about, don’t we!”

Each of us in this world we are privileged to make our living in, must look to these days as our own personal present to live in. We go forward with the intent of capturing and recapturing a new performance to be honestly performed with each and every person we come into contact with. Trying on each hello as your latest presentation of your one and only God-given experience. And if luck would have it that you find yourself being greeted by this guy, please take notice - I’ll be right there with you, in the present, saying hello and thanking you for coming in today and sharing my "present" seemingly for the very first time.

A Word To and For the Wise

A word to and for the wise.

Or, in the event you’re one of those extreme cases of being an over indulgent, self aggrandizer; living life with a singular lust for ones own selfish betterment, please disregard the word “wise,” which I’ve selected as the title alliteration for this blog.

Contrary to what you may think the word "wise" connotes, the facts of life prove, without question, from day one of our existence on this planet, even the most self-assured, self-serving, and self-reliant people we happen to think we are, still owe some degree of our success to some individual other than ourselves.

In other words… I took the long way around to get to my point .

Saying, “I made it on my own,” is bull----, .

If it were possible to be totally on your own, who would be there to hire you? Who would be there to applaud? Who would be there to hand you a Kleenex? And, if you continue to read on, where would you be without the benefit of someone like Harvey Kalmenson to express glee, satisfaction, or complete disillusionment over your display of social grace - or lack of it?

Okay, okay. What brought this on? You might be curious. I usually don’t waste my time in a display of angst over having been exposed to an individual who brings to the party nothing more than a richly cultivated superiority complex. I am duty-bound to share this incident, in order to help provide a guide of what an actor should not do, say, or put on display, especially when the recipients being shown this lack of graciousness, happen to be in the position of providing work for you.

“Don’t even think about biting the hand that feeds you.”

Endear yourself, or at least make an attempt at faking it. Certainly, this isn’t just for actors. Most parents at least attempt to instill a variety of good social grace attitudes within their children. There are some parents whom, for whatever the reason, fail. The individual who was the stimulus for this blog, undoubtedly was brought up under the poorest of parental environments.

Instead of me going into all the things our culprit was guilty of, I’d prefer to offer a few tips that might be of some help to your future as an actor.

(13) TIPS FOR THE TAKER

* Treat everyone you meet as a possible work source. ”Today’s receptionist, tomorrow's boss.”
* Learn how to remain quiet. You’ll hear more if you’re not talking.
* Make sure your questions are pertinent.
* Never tell a teacher that you already knew the points he or she was making. Say the points being made stimulated your memory, and now you’re able to make good use of a technique you had forgotten about.
* Visibly show as much attention to your teacher or coach as you possibly can.
* Avoid yawning.
* Avoid giving your opinion unless it is requested.
* Never criticize another actor’s skills or the quality of his or her voice.
* Don’t be guilty of rigidly predetermining the direction if you are aware the director will be there to give you notes. Marking up your script in advance of the actual direction can prove to be disastrous during an actual session or audition (once something gets in your head, it’s hard to remove).
* Always thank your teacher, coach, or director for the notes they gave you, regardless of whether or not you made use of them.
* Show interest in each of your classmates. Networking is the single most important factor in order to have a chance at succeeding.

As an aside, some of my most important professional assignments came as a direct result of a student contact. Years ago, it was a fellow student that got me an acting job as a last minute plug-in for an actor who was unable to make it to the set. And that job was responsible for me becoming a member of The Screen Actors Guild.

* Always cheer for a teammate. Don’t spend time commenting or trying to figure out how a competitor got a job you both read for. (It’s wasted energy. You will never get into the head of the producer who hired him or her.)
* Please don’t be or become a know-it-all. Voice over will remain a subjective (art) form. Being in the business for a long period of time doesn’t allow for anyone to remotely know all the answers.

Associates have heard me moan, “What the hell do I know?” I say those words quite often. Do I make an educated guess from time to time? Yes I do. Usually, it’s because a staff member asks me to guess who I thought the ad agency picked. In the event you’re a curious soul, I’ll end your wait. I rarely pick out who the winner is on any of our auditions. It’s not that I have fewer skills than the next guy, but the truth is once again summed up with the word "subjectivity."

The Four Friends

They all so loved to get together and share experiences. The goal was to set up a marvelous networking system that would ultimately benefit the four of them. Each week they would meet to discuss all that occurred in their careers. As time passed t became obvious to the four companions; only one of them was making any headway in the acting community.

In one of these meetings, the three non-accomplishers decided they would pin the successful participant down, and make him share his secrets. So forcefully he was questioned about his methods.

He began, "Wherever I go, I listen to people talk, I watch people walk, I try to feel like they feel, and I breathe in their presence. I sometimes shake my head in agreement and often shrug in disbelief. When I ask a question, it’s always about them; things that are going right or wrong, like a job promotion or a job loss. I pay special attention when they speak of their families and friends; you know, like, relationships. All the people I meet are just the same as you three, except when we get together, the conversations are always the same. You’re always talking about careers, and how you don’t seem to be winning. I don’t have to listen as closely to the three of you, because you only show interest in one subject: Yourselves.”

If you’re not in-the-know, meaning you lack experience, your knee-jerk reaction might be a commentary about the harshness of the winner’s appraisal of his three friends' lack of interest in anyone but themselves. But, on the other hand, if you have any degree of classical training, you would undoubtedly applaud the winning actors supposition, for even as he expressed his feelings, he did so with total truth. And as the three friends offered their objections to what he had to say, our winner was intent in gathering up their display of emotions. What the three of them were now offering our winner was what successful actors must ultimately decree: Total truth.

“But if it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul alive.”
SHAKESPEARE: Henry V

Shared Passion

The teachers who do it, those who are filled to the brim with the most valiant substance God has given us - they are the truest of teachers. They are the ones who, by nature, teach with a display from inside out. They are the teachers being recognized for there unselfishly “Shared Passion.”

I doubt if most students ever do an analysis of why they like a certain teacher. Sure, they allow how much this one or that one really rocks, but more times than not, the assertion of how much a teacher rocks, or doesn’t rock for that matter, falls far short of the true scope of what the most favorable of teachers brings to the party.

One of the world's most renowned mentors believed, and I quote:

“Profound responsibilities come with teaching and coaching. You can do so much good – or harm. That’s why I believe that next to parenting, teaching and coaching are the two most important professions in the world.”
- John Wooden, UCLA

End quote.

Few teachers ever experience being idolized by anyone. Community recognition seldom compares to the scope or magnitude of the individual teacher's accomplishments.

During school time, it’s the student’s report card that shows the significance of the teacher’s efforts. That same report card never displays the written credit: “Student Taught By.”

John Wooden received his proper credits during a lifetime of continued and unequalled successes. To date I have read each and everything written and subsequently published by John Wooden. Admittedly, at the outset, it was because I was a UCLA basketball fan. As time wore on, and my profession as an educator began to reveal itself, noticeable similarities between the “Wooden” doctrines, and those of the people I am privileged to refer to as my mentors became apparent. During his esteemed lifetime, John Wooden was a leader in the truest sense of the word. One of his favorite claims was, “I lead by example.” Wooden felt it took about twenty years in order to fully ascertain whether or not his students had really prospered from his teachings.

If I were able to personally compile all I have gleaned from my "who's who" list of mentors, one phrase would ring clear as the most common factor describing them: Personification of self truth’s.

The actor, the basketball coach, the teacher, all those who share a professional banner, without discrimination, lead by example and sign on free of deceptiveness; accepting the rigors of being an educator with dedication and courage.

And during a coach’s seminar, Wooden had a favorite quote:

“No written word, no spoken plea can teach our youth what they should be. Nor all the books on all the shelves, it’s what teachers are themselves.”
- Anonymous

End quote.

A yesterday, or many yesterdays ago, a young actor, or perhaps it was an actress, came to me, spieling with a single-minded explicitness. But when they took my hand, it was not a story I heard. It was a "thank you" for the winning report card they’d just received. Allowing for what some called a "hook for words" I had given them, on a page they studied and read.

Each and every day, we teachers are privy to an uncommon exhilaration: We are treated to the wonderment of learning. Without doubt, it is our assignment to educate. Specifically, we are attempting to provide for the professional success of those who come to us as patrons. And though we strive to give out an optimum of information, we never-the-less find ourselves, as actors, coming away with an increased understanding, of our craft and the human condition each and every day we remain as teachers.

A person who has difficulty in extending a helping hand should never be given a teaching assignment. John Wooden referred to it as each day painting a masterpiece. I share his belief.

“Hello. My name is Harvey Kalmenson. I teach voice over. I am and will remain an educator.”

Learning to Learn

"In the groove" is a common statement often heard from a wide variety of professional athletes. They speak of how the game around them has slowed down, and how they are seeing the ball or the entire field more clearly than ever before.

A golfer remarks about how comfortable he or she feels while addressing the ball. The same golfer finds himself or herself on a streak when everything he or she attempts to do works out perfectly.

Then there’s the basketball player who describes the basket as appearing twice the normal size. Every shot he throws up goes in. The guy announcing the game says how the player appears to be "in a zone."

All the old-timers agree, when skill and experience are coupled with an exceptional work ethic, one day the unusual slowdown will occur. The batter will see the ball better, the golfer becomes relaxed and comfortable, our basketball player sinks a three pointer to win the game.

***

It was probably around age fifty. A time when things in general began to slow down, appearing to all those within my spectrum, as if I was a guy who might know what he was doing. Without knowing or feeling a transition, the ten-thousand hours of toiling away at my craft were beginning to take a firm hold.

Was it others or I? Inside, the same drums continued to beat out a rhythm as background for the same word, “Learn, learn, and learn.” I may have been fifty years of age, but I was in many ways still the little kid tuned in to his dad asking him with religious fervor, “What did you learn today?” The ever-present upper right side of my grammar school report card, visibly tolling out the score of “Could do better.” The report card thing has never left me. I guess it never will.

Exactly when it happened will always remain my unanswered query; one day my personal signature became self-acknowledged. When people around me began to comment about how comfortable I appeared to be.

My life, from it’s earliest stages, was dedicated to the totally agreed upon premise of the greatest philosophers the world has known:

“Wisdom is a blessing only to those prepared to absorb it.”

When learning becomes wisdom, and one's dedication is an absolute and resolute way of life, it then becomes possible for each of us as human beings to experience being in a so-called "zone." When we are questioned and give answers while displaying a demeanor of total confidence.

Most of us, regardless of the field of endeavor we may choose, are striving to become the best we can be. Rarely, however, will a student declare their desire to get into a zone. The subject never comes up, because in life’s earliest stages, comfort zones have not yet been cultivated.

The academic world provides many of our needed tools. But the desire to reach one's goals while playing through the pain of real life experiences can’t be derived from a book. In almost every walk of life, success and endurance go hand-in-hand. A kid graduates at the top of his class, and immediately faces up to the question, "What do I do now?" In the business world, the answer is gaining some experience. And be prepared to start at the bottom.

In our entertainment world, staying in the game, enduring, and continuing an uninterrupted study of one's chosen craft, are all must have parameters for success; yet these same parameters will never guarantee your goals and aspirations will ever be met.

May I dutifully present the following life’s experiences, to hopefully serve as a helping hand to whomever there is out there in need of encouragement?

His and Hers

EXPERIENCE: 10,000 HOURS APPLIED, serving as the catalyst for the two of us to join hands and together begin the process of building:

Kalmenson & Kalmenson: The business of voice casting and education.

Catherine and I agreed:

“If we do not hang together, we shall surely hang separately. I love the man (and woman) that can smile in trouble that can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. 'Tis the business of little minds to shrink, but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles unto death.”
-Thomas Paine, The American Crisis, No. 1, December 19, 1776

Our company's goals are to always provide for our patrons the ability to share in the wisdom we have both gained during our years of dedication to our craft.

Learning will remain our theme. Cultivating our learning into the wisdom we may pass on to our students and clients will remain the driving force behind the constant passage of integrity behind all we endeavor.

The last eighteen years of business have enabled each of us, Cathy and da harv, some thirty six thousand hours, in order to turn some of what we have learned, into the wisdom we endeavor to pass on.

“Ignorance is a voluntary misfortune.”

“Wisdom will not support ignorance.”

Revisiting

Maybe it’s because digital cameras didn’t exist during my days in the United States Army, that I have maintained a fondness for the snap shots which still remain in my possession today.

Taking photos had a certain romance involved with the process. There was always a wait-and-see-what-they-would-look-like flavor to it all. Nothing was instant, especially when you happen to be many thousands of miles from home, and the vendor responsible for film development can’t speak anything more than broken English.

I’m reminded of the Orson Welles words in the wine commercials, “We will sell no wine before it’s time.”

Time. It moves when it wants to. Years, far too quickly, while a child waiting for their presents to be delivered, far too slowly.

Romance should never be allowed to turn into memories, but should take forever as it occurs, and the anguish of anticipated pain measured by less than the smallest instant taken.

Waiting for the words "you will be allowed to come home" was a time span too lengthy to be measured.

As is my want, I often review, from a time seemingly long ago, a photo in which I appear too young to ever be that young. Perhaps only those of you old enough to recognize your own physical change will appreciate fully what I will relate.

It was a time when cigarettes were ten cents a pack, my brand new Ford convertible was less than twenty five hundred dollars, and I was able to buy it with five hundred bucks as a down payment, against a monthly payment of seventy dollars. That beautiful car of mine was able to go anywhere on a couple of bucks worth of twenty-five cents a gallon gasoline. It had to be that price because I was only earning seventy dollars a week. After payroll deductions, my net pay came to a total of fifty-seven dollars a week.

But some of my most cherished remembrances are just that, remembrances. No photographs. Not even the old places I can drive by and look at. It must forever remain in my mind's eye in order to relive, recapture by the wonderment derived from the ability to reflect.

“Would you prefer color, or will black and white prints do the trick?”

Color photography for the non-professional was still some years away from being available. So today as I revisit my senior high school prom night, I see myself, all decked out in a rented tuxedo, posed along side the most beautiful girl at the prom. The orchid I presented her with is still perched, and remains in full bloom adjoining her strapless formal gown. I met Gail following the finish of a baseball game I had just pitched and won against her across-town school. She was a year younger than me, and was quite taken with my athlete star demeanor.

The photograph of the two of us is of course a still shot, but somehow it continues to have a life about it. It was an evening of romance, free from love.

Every actor, writer, director, producer, or creative source should every so often look at a time period of his or her life, and conjure what was and what wasn’t. In reflection, my prom was a romantic evening taking place at a time period, existing for no more than a single day; standing back and capturing what the truth was. And then easily describing the joy of the moment, the anticipation of Gail’s answer, whether or not she would be my date for the prom, and finally the reality of its truth as a fleeting moment.

And with reflection, often comes salvation; salvation in a form only yours to assume, if you choose to do so.

The performers I was so blessed to have experienced and worked with, first hand remain forever on the old recordings, films, and television shows. I’m free to listen to Sinatra, and view a photograph of the man taken at the time he performed in person. I was there in Las Vegas watching him on stage in complete command, while giving the audience far more than they could have possibly expected.

Las Vegas was the entertainment bargain of the ages. I doubt if there will ever be a comparable package. The best food in the world, being served twenty-four hours each day for the lowest prices imaginable.

When I first visited Las Vegas, we stayed at the old Sahara Hotel for a grand total of ten dollars a night. And it wasn’t a low-end accommodation. Appearing as an opening act in the Sahara Lounge was a rather young Don Rickles. Followed by the headliners, Louie Prima, and Keeley Smith, with Sam Butera and the Witnesses. It was free admission, and no cover or minimum. Just walk in, sit down, maybe order a drink for a $1.00, and watch the show. Then off to the Sands and the Rat Pack. Las Vegas treated me to Lena Horn, Sammy Davis Jr., Harry Belafonte, Ella Fitzgerald, and about everyone you could think of. A weekend was almost more candy than any enthusiast could stand.

But still to this day, of all the thousands of actors and actresses I have met and or directed, one woman made the most lasting impression on me as a young man. There will never be another Peggy Lee, in my estimation. Those were the high-flying nightclub days on Sunset Boulevard, in Hollywood. The two "in" places for a performer to appear were Ciros and The Macambo. I was introduced to Peggy Lee by Dave Barry, the erstwhile comedian who served as her opening act.

We shook hands outside the club, and as a young man it was all over for me. I fell in love with her instantly. On stage Peggy Lee was the sexiest performer I had ever seen or heard. A close second was the absolutely unbelievable Lena Horn. Even mentioning Peggy Lee and Lena Horn in the same sentence brings a reflection I will always be able to count on as an everlasting truth, depicting quality, and the best ever.

What You Have, and What You Were Given

“Let the artist live, let him be enchanted, disappointed, happy; let him suffer, love, and live through the entire gamut of human emotions, but let him at the same time learn to recreate his life and his emotions into art.”
- Constantine Stanislavski

"Each and every day I will place before you all that I have lived for, lived with, and have learned from, during the ten thousand hours necessary in order for the artist within me to emerge."
- Hk / 2010

I have allowed people to teach me.

And with it far too many questions arise. Is it because of the day and time I live in?

I learn, during the allotted twenty-four hour prescriptions, yet I find myself, creatively without the necessary skills to apply what I have earnestly striven to accomplish.

Why is it for many of us, the more skilled and adept at our craft we become, the less we see ourselves accomplishing all which we have set out as our life’s goals, or aspirations, dreams, and satisfactions?

Wandering through life’s numerous abstractions it causes me to often think about young children who come to our big party with a seemingly apparent learning disorder. Perhaps theirs is a version of mine?

What if we could slow down the twenty-four hour cycle by adding minutes to each hour for them? The new scenario would provide for classrooms with clocks, having faces displaying two extra hours of time.

And what if each of the children had their own button to press, which would set the clock back, giving them an expanded time period?

Do you think there might be a possibility some of those children didn’t have a learning disorder?

A man began by saying to me, “We’re going to practice some learning skills. I’m going to teach you a great way to learn. When you work on how to learn, the rest will come easily.”

He pointed out the power of our God-given senses. It was never a stock statement, like "I want you to pay attention." I would hear things like, “Look at this, Harv." I remember him saying this and simultaneously covering my eyes with his hand. Of course, I responded with the obvious, not being able to see with my eyes covered.

“That’s the point," he said. “Always keep your eyes wide open, and try to see as many things as you can.”

The man had given me a method for learning, along with the precise instructions to go along with it. The process was a simple example (covering my eyes) followed by, “Always keep your eyes wide open, and try to see as many things as you can.”

During the ensuing years, I continually practiced what he had given me. When I was very young, I was under the impression I would be able to see more things if there was a way to open my eyes wider.

As we drove together, I’d be in the back, pressed against a window, using my thumb and index fingers on each hand to hold my eyes open as wide as they would stretch. When I discovered it would cause others who drove passed us to laugh at my birdman appearance, I took it to school with me and enjoyed the laughs it got. When one of my teachers (most of them resented me) witnessed what I was up to, she asked what I thought I was doing. “I’m practicing how to be an observer,” I replied. Most of the kids didn’t have a clue to what I was taking about.

(She has to be long ago dead, so I guess it’s okay to mention her name: Mrs. Kaplan.)

By now you must have guessed, the man responsible for all of this was, of course my dear father.

Mrs. Kaplan figured she had me now, so I was told to explain it to the class, and to come up to the front of the room, by her desk. Mrs. Kaplan was so in to herself, she had little idea of whom she was dealing with. After all, I was the class humorist. I loved that nomenclature (humorist), as opposed to being called the "class clown." I wasn’t the kind of kid who might jump up on to a desk in order to get the students' attention. That, of course, would be clowning. I loved disrupting the class by telling a story I had heard. In my eyes, it's what Will Rogers or Robert Benchley would do.

In any event, there I was, in front of the class, along side Mrs. Kaplan’s desk.

Note: By now it was the fourth grade. I believe I was nine years old. My voice over career had begun. I was about to perform a living narration, explaining what a powerful tool observation was and could ultimately be. My daddy had introduced me to his way to practice when I was entering the first or second grade. It gave me a hefty three to four years of working out under my belt in preparation for this day in front of the class. The stage was mine. Eat your heart out, Mrs. Kaplan.

I asked my fellow students how many of them had a favorite baseball team. All hands went up. Not a tough question for any kids from New York, specifically a Brooklyn(ite) to answer.

I picked out one of the boys, and asked him to name each of the players on his favorite team (it was the Brooklyn Dodgers). He did so easily. Most of the kids who were Dodger fans instantly agreed. Now I asked them to give me the number of each player. They all did so in a snap, including the manager, all the coaches, and the team trainer.

We all agreed how easy a task it was. But then I went on to say, “You were all able to do what I asked, because you’re all observers. You’ve all been practicing by way of doing it over and over again. It’s called observing.” Even crab ass Kaplan liked that one, though she wouldn’t acknowledge I had done anything well.

So far I had only used up about ten minutes of class time. Then I picked out my favorite little girlfriend Miriam (last name deleted in order to protect the innocent). I had her come up and stand by me, with her back to the class. “Now Miriam,” I instructed, “Tell us the name of every one in this class in order of where you remember them sitting.” In nothing flat, Miriam did her thing easily.

* Both the naming of the Dodger team, and the placement of each student was done so by the ability to observe.

* The practice of observation creates the subconscious memorization of just about anything, when the observation itself is more than occasionally adhered to.

* People have been described as poor observers. The underlying factor however, is they are basically lazy.

Think about it. What I have just recalled is in direct alignment with my opening reference to Stanislavski.

“Let the artist live, let him be enchanted, disappointed, happy; let him suffer, love, and live through the entire gamut of human emotions, but let him at the same time learn to recreate his life and his emotions into art.”

And with a well-cultivated ability to observe, will come an automatic stimulation of the senses, our friend Stanislavski so adamantly advises us. They are the most vital of necessities, for every actor who seeks the reliability of substance.

For it is within the substance which we alone can become aware of an innate ability to look into, and dig deeply, searching for inner meanings of the writer's intent. Only then could any actor possibly bring to, and present our audience with the total truth as he perceives it to be. Then, upon one's perceiving it to be true, it will be so.

I became privy one day to a translation of a foreign language newspaper interview of Stanislavski. In it, the young reporter brought to the surface a comparison of an actor's depth capabilities he was not expecting to hear. Most of the time the questions were of a benign nature, never requiring much more than a superficial answer, especially at this particular segment of the Stanislavski career. He was assuredly at the highest point he would ever attain.

It was well into the end of the hour when the reporter asked and received more than expected.

“How does an actor perceive the truth?” he asked.

“He reflects upon it from another era, or near space in his time spent.” More or less, the reporter retorted with how he didn’t get it. Stanislavski replied, "The more one lives, the more they have in their reflective arsenal."

Propriety; impropriety; despair; elation; birth; death; ceremony, and celebration, when all are visually true, the verbal description or portrayal of the incidents may be interpreted as such. The audience will, without exception recognize the truth. They may find the truth disturbing: If they do, perhaps then true theater is an experience they too will one day reflect upon.

The audiences are the gods. Never lie to them.

Who Am I

What is it that helps you identify a person by the sound of his or her voice?

Sure the first and probably best answer would be "familiarity." That one's the easiest to remember.

If you chat with a person often enough, you most likely will be able to recognize their sound after just hearing a word or two. We all have our own distinctive voice print. High or low, fast talker or slow, or maybe as clear as a bell; maybe too darn soft, or way too loud most of the time. Some of us even might sound like they need to be oiled to help get rid of that damn squeaky sound. Or there are people like da harv who have that "lived-in" sound that some describe as whiskey, or dry, or used. Voice recognition. For sure it’s the same process as identifying a musical instrument. I mean a musical instrument that’s not plugged into a wall socket. I’m referring to the sound of a violin, or a guitar, or a trumpet. We’ve all grown up listening to these and similar musical instruments as well as listening to an enormous variety of sounds that emanate from the human instrument.

Just as there are many people who are very adept musicians, there are also many actors who are extremely good readers and, in addition to that, have a magnificent sounding instrument.

The very same may be said about singers.

What we’re getting at now is not a question of whether or not they have a recognizable sound, or how pretty that sound may be. What I’m moving towards is what we listen for as casting directors. What magic do these seemingly special people have? The people who manage to get the work. The "demand players," regardless of what art form they have chosen to pursue. Why do they manage to excel in the most subjective art form of all: The Voice Over. The verbal Picasso’s; each of these wonderful artists has developed their own comfort zone. We choose to call it their own "signature."

Imagine that we have a Stradivarius at our disposal. Arguably the best crafted and best sounding musical instrument known to man. Along with our Stradivarius, we are miraculously able to assemble the three most renowned violin virtuosos in the world. Each of our violinists will be playing the same piece of music on our Stradivarius. It’s the classical piece: “Schubert's Serenade.” As each of our musicians concludes their rendering, we find ourselves emotionally moved by the individuality of their musical interpretations.

Here’s the point. All three used the same instrument and played the same piece of music. We found ourselves completely entertained and spiritually moved by their performances. Yet, despite the similarities, there was noticeably a masterful difference that stood out. Each of our players had their own way of telling the truth. Each had an individual signature. When we examine the instant replay and slow down the tape, more of their differences can be observed without even listening to the sound. Each of our musicians handles their instrument with a different form of obvious care. Their appearance on stage is dissimilar; their stances have individuality, as do their facial displays. So what makes them different? What gives one a more dramatic feel than the others? What makes one sound as if only pleasantness has surrounded their lifetime?

The answer to all of these questions surely must be qualified as being subjective. Our experience with many years within the creative world has taught us, if nothing else, that methods for creating emotion can not be manufactured. Our proven method can only help bring out what was already there for you to either share or hide from the world.

Our musicians displayed honest emotions. What they had in common was two-fold. On one hand there were all the mechanical moves for making themselves comfortable. I refer to their setup. Their own way of coming on stage and with a nod, allowing that they were ready to perform. That was the obvious.

But in that singular instant of what appeared to be nothing more than setup time, something else occurred. In an instant almost too minimal to notice, the three of them in their own way displayed a calm and a confidence that emanated from their total and absolute belief: "I belong here. I am entitled." Every odor, every site line, every audience murmur was a reinstitution of personal joy. They reeked of belonging. And what in the name of hell does all or any of this have to do with voice over? The "what’s missing" is the fact that these professionals all were able to consistently visualize there past images of success. All this accomplished in an instant. And all attributed to one simple word: Reflection.

I’ll admit that what I’m about to share with you was said by a kid with a very high IQ. The fact that it was a five year old kid makes the simplicity and depth of what follows a touch on the over-powering side. Trust me for a moment more, I do have a reason for relating a poignant incident.

It happened on a warm and sunny day during a summer school break. The schoolyard on this Saturday afternoon was a bustle with a bunch of kids as busy as you could possibly be, doing what kids are supposed to do: Having fun. You all know how five-year-old little boys play. They go all out until they drop. Then and only then, they know that it might be time to stop. Mom might be calling them home to eat, or dad is there to put his own boy on his shoulders for the ride home.

One of the dads, as he helped to tie his son’s shoe, asked the little guy playfully what was keeping that big smile stamped on his face. “I’m thinking about what a great day I had today, and what a good time I’m going to have tomorrow,” was the reply to his father's question.

Well, you might be under the impression that my story is over. I don’t blame you. That was pretty powerful stuff coming from a five year old. I mean, the kid was able to reflect in order to feel happiness. But remember, I began by saying the kid had a very high IQ. Hold on... it gets better. Since they only lived a couple of blocks from the neighborhood school yard, our young group arrived home in no more than a few short minutes.

Our little boy's closest friend managed to make it home first. When our father and son approached their front door they found the friend sitting on the front porch with tears in his eyes. It didn’t take long to find out that the friend's little dog was nowhere to be found. It was one of those times when a kid knows that an end had come. The two boys sat there on the porch, asking about the dog. In a few minutes, Dad returned to the front porch and found the two boys once again in a good mood. That night after dinner, he asked his boy what had made his little friend happy again. “I don’t know, Dad. All I did was remind him of how great a time we had today, and how we were going to do the same thing tomorrow.” Wow. A promise of future happiness based on a five year old's reflection of the past.

While the afternoon was a fleeting moment in the day of a five year old, it never the less served as a lesson learned. Emotion shared freely brings a purity that can not be challenged. Here we have an incident when a five year old was able to bring comfort to his friend by reminding his friend of what happiness they had shared. Need I use the term "reflection" again? While it might not be necessary, I’m going to end this little sermon with a reminder: The most important commodity we might have been endowed with is a brain that gives us all the ability to recall a pleasant moment. Again, we’re back with my favorite tool for comprehension. The ability to recall honestly.

Emotion shared freely brings a purity that cannot be challenged.