"I Wrote A Blog"

“I Wrote A Blog”

Entitled:

“From the Heart”; Taking a stand for what you believe and what it means to the actors of Los Angeles and all over the country; perhaps the world.

***

Straight from the shoulder was a way of communication taught to me at such an early age, I doubt if I could even recall when my Father began it all. What I do remember, most of all were his words to the wise; and that would be me. In no uncertain terms my Dad said:

“If you have the courage to take a stand, on your own, on behalf of the next guy, when at first glance it appears to be of little benefit to you personally, then be prepared for the outcome, which in most cases will provide personal loneliness, and disappointment.”

Charlie, aka my Dad, was attesting to his belief, that to take a stand for the next guy, will not bring more than a fleeting fame, or fortune, or acclaim. Rather, he said a thank you would be your welcomed gratuity; not that you were seeking any. But it isn’t my intent to describe personal disappointment as derived from monetary loss. I’m talking about the deep disappointment, which I derive from people in general. Charlie warned me about expecting too much from people. He told me not to let them get to me, yet over and over in my lifetime I’ve kept from heeding his words.

“Do it for the good feeling it gives you, never because of any monetary rewards. “

Charlie was the definitive Good Samaritan. I personally experienced his courage come into play on more than one occasion. Once as a little boy, Charlie and I, as would be the case for many Fathers and sons, were at Ebbetts Field for a ball game. It was about the fourth inning, when these three guys, who had had too much beer to drink, began to make real pests of themselves. A young family that included a Father and his two kids was sitting close by. The drinkers became too rowdy for Charlie’s liking, and as their language disintegrated along with their faculties, so did Charlie’s patience. If I remember correctly, little da harv was about ten years old at the time. I wasn’t the least bit afraid because I was there with my proven champion.

There was an apparent bad call by an umpire, and it had the effect of really setting these three guys off. Now they felt justification to become a mob. The three of them were on their feet and chanting one expletive after another for all to hear. Charlie cupped his hands together, and let go with a marvelously cultivated Brooklyn shriek of his; yelling at the three of them, “Hey guys how about giving it a rest!” Charlie, all five foot five inches of him stood there looking straight at these jerks. He motioned for them to sit down, and that’s exactly what the three noisemakers did. The very next inning they were once again on there feet making every one uncomfortable. This time without hesitation Dad signaled to a near by usher and in very short order the three guys were ejected from the ballpark. I remember it as if it were yesterday. Dad had gently pushed me behind him when he first made eye contact with the three guys. On the way home I received a verbal lesson, which still holds true today.

“Never become violent with anyone in a situation like the one that happened to us today. Take your stand as a man, but don’t be the one to raise your hands combatively unless it’s the only way to protect yourself against the bullies of this world.”

Dad referred to the mob mental cases as bullies. He had four sisters, and five brothers who all shared his mantra. They had never met a bully who didn’t take on a true posture of cowardice when separated from the mob they ran with. While they have long ago passed on, to this day and forever I will take great pride as I think back to the stalwartness of my Kalmenson uncles. Family, friends, home, our country, it’s people; in that order, became their order of importance. They were never part of a gang of hooligans. I guess with that many brothers and sisters in the family they really had a gang of their own. All of them became successful working middle class citizens. Some served in the Second World War. A few of the family members had established a small degree of name recognition. None of them went to college, and probably only half attended high school. Beginning with the third and fourth grade, all of the brothers and sisters worked to bring in what ever they could in order to help support the family. In that era, employees were paid with cash. At the end of each week pay envelopes would be issued. The year was 1941. Social Security had been in place for six years, and was of little consequence at the time. Family medical insurance and welfare was non-existent. My Dad’s two-year-old Chevrolet cost him a whopping nine hundred bucks. The theme each of the immigrant families revered was simple and straight to the point;

Stand up for your near and dear. Take a stand and make sure you’re counted. If help is needed, be the one to be there.

Who knows what the cause may have been. Some said the new arrivals to the United States learned to say please and thank you as their first and most important words in the English language; words they felt would help them to assimilate. They strove for ways to become one with The United States Of America. They easily down played the boorish displays of the three guys at the ball game, in favor of standing, and joining in with great pride in the singing of our national anthem before the start of each game; and being an every guy contributor in the bottom of the seventh inning when it was time for “Take Me Out To The Ball Game”.

And as an aside…in the movie theaters they stood and sang, often before the feature came up on the screen. When the American flag appeared on screen, the audience broke into spontaneous applause. Honestly, I will never have the best words available, for me in order to describe ours, the genuineness of so many moments, so many years ago. Nor can I offer anything more than mere opinion over why a man or woman will stand by a brethren, willing to sacrifice in order to take a stand for no other reason other than it was the right thing to do.

(And back to “From The Heart”)

On June 13, of this year 2011, I shared with you via blog, some of my inner most feelings. I threw caution to the proverbial wind as I chose to ignore some of my Fathers most sacrosanct leanings. To date, I have received two formal references to “From The Heart”, the blog, (mine) in question. And as my Father pointed out with his patented approach, displaying complete certainty, what followed my posting of “From The Heart”, was the revelation; my Father was correct once again. The loneliness he referred to with his assumptions truthfully does not play a part in my life. The aspect of the disappointment however does. I’ve never learned how to resign myself to it. My salve has been an acquired one. Learn to live with it Harvey; that’s the way it is; accept this credo: Disappointment goes with life’s territory. I learned about disappointment long before I entered the world of show business. A person does not have to become bellicose, nor depressed, as the end result of each and every one of life’s disappointments. When I asked people to take a stand, I did so from the deepest place in my heart. The air we breathe and the words we hear today make me fearful of a repeat of one of histories most vile eras.

There Will Be Times To Reflect, "As Time Goes By"

In two large corrugated cartons stored in the corner of my office, there are many stories, which will forever remain, not found, and most likely never again to be read by anyone but me. Scripts that began with a dream, and ended in two nondescript boxes in the corner of an office. It took all of five years to fill the two boxes, probably around forty pounds of paper, eighteen hundred and twenty five days of an immeasurable journey. The worth of the trip is only a selfish value. I’ve talked to other writers who cop the plea allowing how they were only writing for themselves anyway. If they happened to get paid for their labors, it would represent icing on the cake. To them I would offer, “What good is icing when you don’t have a cake to put it on?”

The younger writer brings enthusiasm. The older writer finds his or her enthusiasm turning to cynicism, without willful attempt. The younger writer tells a story with his or her passion for the truth being enthusiasm for the life and times being depicted. The older writer may bring forth a truth cloaked in cynicism regardless of the time period they’ve chosen to write about; happening without a willfulness to be downtrodden.

Many of us have given in to following a heart whose choice for joy is far less indiscriminate than should be allowed; our choices are not without limits. Personally, I admit, not necessarily to poor judgment, but too often to no judgment at all. I doubt if many young people enter into a pursuit of a dream, by first really taking heed of their dreams' limitations. If you’re dreaming about your dream not coming true, the result will be just that. The question becomes, why in the name of good common sense did I fill the two boxes in the corner of my office? My writing was a day and night never-ending pursuit. The words hit the paper with reckless abandon. Days, weeks, months, and finally five years of damage had to be accounted for.

While I was never guilty of deliberately conjuring defeatist’s thoughts, my dreams of success at the heights of the literary world had come to a sour end. Sound the trumpets; reality had set in. What does remain in my minds' eye, and perhaps will stay with me forever, is the stack of rejection letters I received during the course of my travails as a struggling scribe. At first I found the letters shocking, mainly because much of what the reviewers had to say about my work didn’t jive. It often came across as if they had sent the rejection notice to the wrong writer. I actually found myself wondering what in the world they were talking about. But the turn-downs that remained with me were the ones that were just outright cruel. One review was particularly nasty. It came in at the end of my professional writing career.

Note: I had already made my mind up about the futility of my continuing pursuit of a career as a writer.

The reviewer attacked me with a vengeance. Line by line, she pointed out my obvious ineptitude. That became it for me. The time had arrived. The cartons were sealed. However, not all was lost. Her review provided me with two pluses. It improved my vocabulary. Nothing in the review was the least bit conversational. It wasn’t a tutorial. It would be a much better descriptive if I referred to her assessment of my work as a verifiable documentation of my inability to communicate at even an average level of intellectuality. And secondly, after rereading her assertions of my literary clumsiness, I laughed uncontrollably for the balance of the afternoon, most likely a form of temporary insanity.

The amazing part about all of this is how many years ago it all took place. Everyday we hear someone remark about how fast time is flying by. “I can’t believe it’s Christmas, or New Years again. What happened to the summer? Your daughter is how old?” Probably one of the most agreed upon terms in all of humanity: Race, creed, color, religious preference, men, women, friends and enemies. The universal cry for all is agreed on: Time flies by, “As Time Goes By”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7vThuwa5RZU


So, if we all agree about how short life really is, why do so many of us waste it? Why do we usually do just the opposite of what should be done in order to slow things down?

The other day I gave an actor the note, “Romance it a little.” His look wasn’t one of complete understanding, because the script wasn’t calling for any degree of intimacy. I added,
” Read in the present as if you’re relishing the moment, and recognizing the satisfaction you personally are experiencing.” And the key to all this is not merely asking the actor to slow his reading pace, but rather slow because of a pertinent reason to do so. What better reason could there be than creating the romance of what once was commonplace? It may have been a fleeting moment you’re reflecting on, but in the instant it takes to recreate it, your thought process will bring into play the missing romance aspect required.

The boxes in the corner of my office are not painful keepsakes. They have within them some tears, some laughter, and a great many dreams of what could have been. What they don’t have are buttons, switches, portable screens, and games to be played. Nothing in those cartons was ever “Googled”. The five years cannot be recaptured. The content of those boxes however are mine to recall and savor at my will. The five years may have been nothing more than short flashes of light, but the pages will never again be misunderstood. Those are mine forever to recall, “As Time Goes By.”

• Is the vast number of words in our world ever read?
• If every discarded script in our fair city was solicited for a paper drive, would there be enough space in our city o hold them?
• Is there anyone in Los Angeles (Hollywood) who doesn’t have a script in his or her possession that will be the next blockbuster sensation?

From The Heart (mine)

What follows has nothing to do with voice over.
Perhaps what follows has everything to do with voice over.
A past memory, what once was, for my family and me, stimulated a familiar and painful need to share my mind. Who better than actors, creative men and women, with the heart capable of understanding a fellow human beings complex emotion?



I favor laughter, the ability to smile, and a firm or soft hand within mine,
the child who brings me unabashed glee as responsiveness to my presence;
The simplicity of a hand written note saying thank you for the help, could never be replaced by an intrinsic value.
I question, is this a time for hope, when hope seems to be the standard for fleeting dreams?
Each day comes with stories being told of what was.
But many of these new stories come to us with tales of what never was, but what the despotic tellers dream and pray for; the total elimination of my people; my brethren; what they, the tellers alone, want it to be.
These tellers seek a recurrence of what was, while denying histories unbiased reports of what took place.
I am here today, writing what follows, courtesy and with a full single line screen credit:

“Existence By The Grace Of God”.
By hk

“I swear to tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth! So help me God”.

I was a little boy of five. Dad was attentive to me and our family's needs. Mom was a twenty-four hour a day leader of the home front. We lived in the small up-state community of Newburg, New York. I spent my entire day playing with my friend Cookie. We looked and acted alike. Cookie's family had emigrated from Ireland, and were practicing Catholics. When I was at Cookie's house, I practiced right along with him. I attended my first wake at Cookie's aunt's home, before reaching the ripe old age of six. Both Cookie's Mom and mine spent many hours reading to us. His Mother's heavy duty Irish brogue was a definite influence on my life. It still is to this day. My Mother's approach to everything was a constant contradiction of thought and practical application. While the Mothers had a great deal in common, they never socialized. The relationship between the two families was entirely the domain of Cookie and me.

By the age of seven or eight, our family had, out of necessity, moved to Brooklyn, New York. It seems a thing they were calling the depression had something to do with it. It was while living in Brooklyn; I found out there was a difference in the beliefs of Catholics and Jews. I really thought a person could be Catholic and Jewish at the same time. I ended up marrying a Catholic girl; so I guess my beliefs remain the same.

In any event what Cookie and I really had in common was, what either religious sect wasn’t espousing. Cookie's Mother and mine could always be heard saying, “Live and let live.” And that’s just what they meant and that’s exactly what they taught their children. Of course, dependent on their mood, an expletive might be heard as a precursor to the statement. Both ladies shared a bent toward the extreme of a blue-collar demeanor. I never heard an anti-Semitic word, or experienced similarly any nasty gesture towards the Jewish people until I was eight years of age.

Exacts are hard to recall. World War II was raging. Every household in the neighborhood was deeply involved, some more than others. It became a far too common occurrence to see a blue star in a friends window replaced by a gold, when word of a husband or son being killed in action was received. All of us dreaded the sight of a Western Union man on a bicycle coming on to our street, making the formal announcement from our government, that the worst fears had been realized.

On one particular day, my Father's words became etched in my mind. “Protect yourself Harvey,” he said to me. “It’s always been this way, and it’s never going to change. There are people out there, all over the world who despise us for being who God made us.” When I asked my Father the reason there are those who hate the Jewish people, he was unable to give me one. At the time I remember thinking about my friend Cookie and his Mothers teachings. The words kill or destroy never entered into any conversations we had. But on this day, for this little boy, the world’s axis had brought an unbelievably heinous reality into my personal life. I was introduced first hand to the name Hitler. It was by way of the smuggled out letters from relatives in Europe, that we learned; the Holocaust was in full functional mode. Adolph Hitler had made a promise to cleanse Germany of all people Jewish, or remnants of Jews, their work, and anything, which could possibly dispel their value to the world, past or present.

Hitler’s official doctrine was to eliminate all Jews, Gypsy’s, and homosexuals from Germany, and any and all territory to fall under his maniacal rule. He was well on his way to fulfilling his promises. His total prisoner extermination came to over eleven million human beings annihilated; six million happened to be Jews. They were murdered because of what God made them to be, Jews, Gypsy’s, and homosexuals.

If Hitler’s plan sounds familiar, it comes without surprise. The Iranian president makes the exact same promises as Adolph did. Iran is close to having nuclear weapons. Can you imagine the outcome if Hitler would have had the same destructive powers? The churches and synagogues that have stood as a symbol of our American democracy would be non-existent. It wasn’t my imagination. I didn’t dream it up. My eyes didn’t betray me. I experienced the transference of the pain in my friends and relatives eyes. I had reached the age when my questions required answers. My Mother cried, and I asked, " Why are you crying Mommy? Why are you crying aunt Rosie?" The stories, the letters, the pictures of as great a degree of human suffering the world has ever seen, were there for us.

My indignation is righteous. It always will be. What did any peoples of the world do to deserve what was inflicted upon them as a result of one man's criminally murderous pursuit? Could Cookie and I have made a difference if we were men at the time this anti human, totalitarian, and tyrant came to life? The dates of Adolph Hitler’s beginnings trouble me. 1933 was the height of the depression in our country. It was also an all time low ebb for the German people. Their German economy low point far exceeded ours because of the monumental inflation they were experiencing. The German economy hit bottom long before ours. In 1924 Adolph Hitler had published his book “Mein Kampf)”. Prices for goods and services were actually increasing on a daily basis. It became impossible for most Germans to support themselves or their families. It was an easy doctrine for Hitler to sell to the German people; the Jews were the reason for the German economic collapse. His words are being echoed today in Iran and all across the Middle East.

The history of my thirty years on the voice over scene can only be described as unique. The uniqueness continues, ever growing in substance. Each day something new is presented to Cathy and da harv as a challenge to the way we have done business in the past. Certainly the longer we stay in business, the more we learn, and the more we increase our abilities to deal with the uniqueness of the changes which come with the territory. Every single day, in our business life, the word truth, and making the viability of it’s meaning, the most integral part and placement in our quest for success as our driving force. In short…we learn, and we benefit by understanding one single premise; the most important building block for a successful business, and life with a partner is our predication, without truth all will fail.

Being happy with our love and with our daily work is a genuine satisfaction. Our bottom line is a beautiful one! We’re being paid for our labors attempting to get work for people, and for providing a professional curriculum for our actor students to follow. If that was all there was to our lives this blog would end right here; a happy guy who expressed his thanks for what he has, and for being allowed to continue his dreams without reservations.

For those of you expecting the remainder of this journal to contain information beneficial to you’re on going voice over career, please be forewarned. I am about to open my heart and mind by sharing with you the fear I feel for the welfare of my Jewish cousins and allies in the democracy known as Israel. As a professional, this will be a first time event for me. Never before have I brought anything really personal into my work place. I pray my truth of expression will not offend any who read what follows.

A Time To Take A Stand

My commentary; Harvey Kalmenson

• I am in complete and total agreement regarding the survival of the people of Israel; including all Israeli inhabitants, regardless of their religious beliefs or practices.
• Jews do not occupy Jerusalem.
• Christians, Jews, and Muslims inhabit Jerusalem.
• Israel is the only true democracy in the Middle East.
• Israel is the only true ally the United States has in the Middle East.
• The foul mad man, who is currently the president of Iran, is as treacherous as Adolph Hitler.
• He claims the Holocaust never happened.
• He calls for the complete annihilation of Israel and the Jewish people.
• Most of the Arab block sides with his doctrine.

What I grew up hearing, as a little boy is no longer an echo. The same words from the past are once again upon us. Now the promises, and that’s just what they are: promises are far more devastating than ever before. Now it’s not just the Israeli flag being stomped upon, and burned, but it’s companion, the United States of America. Now it no longer is the disallowing of the Jewish rights as human beings, but Christianity has become a target in the same Middle East. All over the Middle East churches are being destroyed with equal vigor as synagogues. Now it isn’t a question of who a supposed occupier might be, now the all out attack is on anything remotely Judeo-Christian.

All of the problems, which now exist in the Middle East, are being blamed on the Jews who occupy Israel. Get the Jews out of Israel, they say and the problems will all go away. But watch the nightly news; take note, Arabs are killing Arabs. You have presidents of country’s ordering soldiers to gun down their own protesting citizenry. None of our children, in this unbelievably wondrous country of ours are being taught, in our churches or synagogues, to burn down each others place s of worship. That’s not who we are or what we do. No Christian that I’ve ever come in contact with has threatened to destroy my family or friends, because they found out Harvey Kalmenson is a Jew. No Christian that I’ve ever come in contact with has ever promised to drive the Israelis from their homeland. The terrorist leaders of the Middle East preach hatred for my people. Many years ago I recognized a simple fact, my people consisted of Christians as well as Jews.

Taking A Stand
What Does It Mean?
Who Benefits?

If taking a stand translates to making a commitment as far as your concerned, then I do believe you and I are on the very same page; along with just about every fair minded successful human being in the history of this planet. Take away the luck aspect, now we’re down to the real truth. Believing in what you do is what commitment is all about. I ruled out luck, it’s nice to have, but not anything one can depend on. And along with luck I’m ruling out evil. Those two ingredients aren’t success factors over the long hall. I’d like to talk about who we are; the people of influence within this great industry of ours; those of us who’ve been able to make it mostly on the merits of our talent, our integrity, and our commitment to excellence.

My longevity within my life’s calling enables me to offer more by way of personal experience than the average career professional. Having spent a great amount of time on numerous firing lines has provided direct knowledge of what being under fire feels like. Telling you, or attempting to explain what it feels like to experience game conditions will serve no purpose unless you personally have had like experiences or encounters. Understanding and empathy for me comes easier when you have experienced a similar happening. Think about the first time you walked the boards, or felt the hearts and energy of a live audience, or maybe the sickening sensation of that moment when your next line has somehow left you. I’ve had many actors express their feelings about all of those incidents, and I, of course, have experienced them myself. As a stage manager I have lived through the disaster of a performer vomiting in the wings; then with a mutual wink join in that same performers joy as the audience erupts in tumultuous applause.

I speak to all of you who have lived life following the individuality of the personal experiences I’ve described. You have made a commitment to the dictates of your hearts alignment. I applaud you as I have applauded you all, for my entire life as a professional. As Cathy and I have said on numerous occasions:” Without actors, we have no business.”

Without Actor’s We Have No Business. “Without actors”? What a concept!

For Kalmenson & Kalmenson it’s a "no-brainer." I mean who would come in to audition for us. Cathy and I could go out and get the work, but our company of players would be nil without actors. Yah think!

But now I present the other side of the story. As promised at rise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, without unnecessary embellishment. Succinctly stated, Cathy and Harvey Kalmenson, a married couple are partners in our business of voice casting and education. Both of us are totally and completely apolitical, and share equally in our assertions regarding political correctness. During the course of the last nineteen years of business under the Kalmenson & Kalmenson banner we have never been selective with regard to the religious indulgence of the actors either being chosen to come in for an audition, or for any person wishing to sign up for our workshops. In other words…if we think you’re the right actor for the role you’ll be on our call sheet without hesitation. And of course if you can afford the cost, you can qualify to study with us.

During our best year in casting we brought in twenty thousand actors to read for just about everything you can think of requiring a human voice. I can’t begin to tell you how many that translates into during the last nineteen plus years. We have some twenty two people in our education department, and six permanent in house staff members, none of which was hired on to our team based on their religious preference or whether or not they liked boys or girls. Anyone who has ever had dealings with the Kalmenson & Kalmenson team knows that color of ones skin is also of no consequence.

Millions, upon millions of dollars have been earned by actors, because of our efforts, as a casting company. We treasure the opportunity God has allowed us to have. Like any other business, there have been some rough times thrown in along the way. But at no time did we need to fear for our lives, the way my people of Israel fear for theirs today. As a reminder, a great many people in the Middle East are continuing to call for the ultimate demise of the Jewish people. The same plea, seeking out each and every Jew in order to rid the earth of them; once delivered by Adolph Hitler, and responsible for six million deaths, is again being heralded and supported by thousands of sympathizers.

As an American veteran, I cringe when I see our beautiful flag being stepped on and burned along side the Israeli flag. They say and repeat every day; we are the ones responsible for their economic problems. These are exactly the same oratories given by Hitler, not that very long ago. Think about what would have been the case for German actors who happened to be Jewish. Or what about voice casting folks like Harvey and Cathy. The millions upon millions of dollars earned would not have happened.

Now those same evil people are at it again. This time the churches are being targeted along with the synagogues. The same culprits are making promises of annihilation. Are you listening? If you are, stand up and take a position. Tell anyone and everyone you can how you don’t like what’s going on. It’s not about being Jewish. It’s about being human; the best way. Please let me know you’re taking a stand.

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.

A Writer Writes About

On a day in May...

A writer writes
Where he’s been
Where he is

Where he’s going

All while void of coherence
Forgetting his past
Unsure of his present
Fearful of his future

Then as the success bell tolls

He’s congratulated

He relates stories of his past

Enjoys his present

And sells many books predicting everyone’s future

Still, perhaps not his own

Then on a day, as yet not fully lived

Sanguineness somehow prevails

And only to himself he reveals:

“Never have I been more touched by life than today.

For special reasons which will forever be unclaimed,

Yet so deeply felt.

Understanding, perhaps not a possibility.

Reasons for what transpires don’t find themselves getting in the way of the most unimaginable emotions beyond previously experienced recall.”

A message saying one's breath is far more important than its description. This is the moment for the writing to stop. This becomes a new time to capture new meanings, for quiet to resound within.

A writer listens intently though without prescription,

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 thereafter

Serving as the canvas for your own

Personal masterpiece.

Each day is your audition for the next!"

hk

(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.”

It Comes with the Territory

“Lead, follow, or get out of the way."
- Thomas Paine, 1776

“It comes with the territory.” We’ve all heard the phrase many times from people - some good, some bad. In any event, when a person delivers the line, “It comes with the territory,” they usually do so with the intent of showing acceptance of the situation they must deal with. They’re the leaders of the tribe, the bosses, the head coaches, the generals and the teachers, amongst others who manage to take charge, either by their own life’s design, or perhaps an act of God which placed them in the position.

By nature… these are not the whiners of the world. Rarely will a whiner ever find himself or herself at the top of the heap, unless said heap is destined to be only a temporary assignment. Please don’t become confused over the fact the whiners appear to be getting what they’re whining about, what they end up getting is usually the worst of everything.

What follows might make my point:



From the time I was a very young man, I found myself enamored with those effectually labeled “junkyard dogs.”

Again, it was my dad who bore the responsibility of introducing me to the term. It was his belief that if you owned something of value, you’d better have a “Junkyard Dog” to watch over it. To Dad, it meant fighting for it. He pointed this out to me at a Dodgers baseball game, referring to their then manager, Leo "The Lip" Durocher. “That guy will fight like a junkyard dog in order to win."

NOTE: Never consider a “junkyard dog” as a member of a whiner's club. He or she could be a most purposeful and trusted hired hand.

"Junkyard dogs” bite. They never whine. They accept what goes with the territory. While they are not leaders, they are dedicated followers of such.

When a “junkyard dog” accepts his or her position at the top of the heap, he or she is most likely finding one of two scenarios in place. The yard has been constantly victimized by thieves who manage to break in and steal, or all is serene and calm do to the previous guard dog who had an exemplary work ethic.

In our first scenario, the new “junkyard dog” throws himself or herself into the work, not taking the time to blame or whine about the previous dog. During day one, the community, state, city, town, office, or stage, quickly takes heed of the facts. This dog will bite your ass off if you enter his or her home without first gaining permission from whoever the leader happens to be. Never whine around this dog - he or she will ultimately find out the origin of the whine.

In our second scenario, the “junkyard dog” takes over at the top of the heap and finds all is well. The job called for him or her to keep things status quo, and that’s what he or she does. The leader explains to the junkyard dog that in the event he or she begins to lie down on the job, a dog that can follow the leaders dictates will immediately replace him.

The community is welcome to come in and do business, providing they remain cognoscente of the leader's rules.

The leader got what they were paying for, in both scenarios. No whining, no blaming, and no fixing what wasn’t broken to begin with. The community had a clear understanding of how the game was being played, and they continued to go along with the rules as prescribed.

At Kalmenson & Kalmenson, we will always endeavor to keep our junkyard running on an even keel. We will accept the credo: “It comes with the territory.” Although we’re not going to become guilty of prejudging a book by its cover, we will however also not be guilty of disregarding the lessons taught to us by experience.

Don’t you just love these dogs? Which one are you? (Which one would you hire?)

The dogs who bite their owners
Soon will not to be found,
Neither resting, nor waiting to be fed
It’s not their fault,
They whiningly expound
Reluctantly giving way
To other dogs
Waiting in a reception room
For their talents to be found.

Here, succinctly stated, is a Harvey Kalmenson feeling: I truthfully do not enjoy having actors who are whiners come in to audition for us. Extremely low on my favorites list: Actors, non-actors, and want-to-be actors who fall into a whiner category. They are of equally little consequence to the ultimate success of human beings, in general.

A non sequitur for me would be man's inhumanity to man. Being human should have little to do with the infliction of pain administered by one to another. But I guess if we didn’t have some pain to rely on, what would the great Russian playwrights have to write about?

Accordingly, the human characteristic which remains atop our "social dislikes" list: The disdainful posture of reckless indifference. In other words: “Man's inhumanity to man” -- expounded on by the most revered men and women throughout recorded history. Nothing in nature’s realm matches the injustices dealt by man to man. Regardless of our life’s walk (or run), the magnitude of infliction manages to stay with us with never ending divisiveness.

And with each new age reached comes more necessity to count our blessings of good health and all things which, without our control, continue the enhancement of any prosperous living cycle.

While I personally remain duty bound,
To my daily ritual, shamelessly counting my endless blessings, their remains a painful cognizance of all, which is still, left undone.

What were the plays and novels of times gone by are again being reenacted for a new and younger audience's confusion. The many stories of life’s distortions continues at the whims of the same unknown causes, reviving a testament to the egregious substances which continue
Man’s ability to avoid the moral weakness of inhumanity itself.

Today, the powers that be operate with the advisement: “We’re looking for a younger and new breed of writer.” The younger and new breed enters the arena, putting on a display they deem to be new and fresh. Yet the subject matter remains the same. A man, a woman, a child, a pet, a friend, a neighbor, a stranger in town, a family drinking too much, and one that doesn’t care at all. We have doctors and nurses, guards and prisoners, cops and robbers, and soldiers we call "troops" -- some are leaving, while others are returning home. There’s nothing really new as far as I can see. Seems to me I once read about guys who were just like the soldiers the new and young writers are writing about. My dad told me about them. He said they went to Europe during the First World War. Then the writers talked about guys who looked exactly the same. All that was different, I think, was about twenty years between the two of them.

The news reported a story of a Christian church, bombed by a suicide bomber in Egypt.

There’s really nothing new and fresh about people killing one another. I doubt if the age of the writer could bring back any of the twenty-six parishioners who were attending service.

The real chroniclers of our world’s injustices have been around for centuries. Their work remains new and fresh.

Early on, after reaching the age of fifty, I was taken with (Benedict) Spinoza’s simple appraisal of life:
“God is love, we're all parts of God, that love is the most important thing we have in the world, the most successful thing.
For whoever loves their fellow man will never know the pain of death."

I doubt if I ever thought about my own death until I reached age fifty. Maybe it was because my attained age was coupled with a variety of what I thought God had no business sending my way. Like the theatre, acting, producing, writing, listening, telling tales, accepting the applause with the unmeasured humility of a needy man. After all, how could a person who is busily accepting what life has lured him into be anything other than caught up in how he was being screwed and tattooed at the same time?

“Did you hear them clap? What an audience!"

“The man is going to read my script tomorrow!”

“People die for screen credits like yours!”

Then, at the end of another long and emotional trip, a relationship ends, and a new one begins.

(Mortality falls into a separate category of all the things totally out of our control.)

Things out of our control should not be contended with. What gives me the right to say that to you? No right and every right are mine to say it. Your's is the right to listen while not paying attention, not to listen at all, or to say, "Maybe during his extra few years on this planet, he is less encumbered with burdens brought on by a naivety not shared by any other industry than those of the arts."

“Our Arts Intend To Mend”

Our creativity brings with it a joyous recklessness, bearing no ill will, and stimulating our brainless desire for what stays staged, mostly for the other guy.

Again and again, if you feel the discomfort of the variety of slings and arrows on the narrowness of the road we chose, you might find some comfort by saying out loud: “It was my choice to go for it." And though it may still remain a distinctive "I don't know what the hell I want" in many of our artist’s lives, it is enduringly ours.

I wasn’t forced into it. What happened can be simply explained. I awoke one day, or I thought I was awake, and if not, perhaps it was a dreamlike experience. I found myself in this strange, rather large junkyard. Somehow, I was the one who escaped danger by making a long and arduous climb to the top of a heap in the center of it all. There were hordes of people trying to get into the yard. Each time they surged forward, I was somehow able to get them to stay back by threatening to turn my dog loose on them. In truth, I had no dog.

It was coming to the end of a very long day, or was it a year or two? A respite of a few years, perhaps a decade or more disappeared. I awakened and found myself in the same junkyard. Much of the equipment around me performed the same chores, but each machine was different. It seemed like nothing was happening. I heard no sounds of whirring or churning. All I saw were symbols and numbers and waves of light forming lines moving across a huge screen. There remained those same hordes of people trying to enter my yard. An attractive lady, all made up, and carrying a microphone, magically made her way to me. Some light went on as a man signaled her with thumbs up as he moved in with a TV camera. The interview began.

SHE: How long have you been at this?
ME: I’ve been climbing for thirty-five years.

And on the interview went. The praise and idolization was overpowering. She would ask a question and I was in disbelief over why she was even there speaking to me.

And then it mercifully came to its end. I was back asleep and dreaming of tomorrow when some fifty close friends were visiting and entertaining me with antics that could only be found in my kind of junkyard. I was the entertainment committee. One of them was to win a grand prize. The very best interpretation of a talking toilet seat would be the recipient and owner of a great deal of money. The shame of it all was that there could be only one winner. The rest would leave my yard in the hope I might invite them back to try for a prize on another day.

And as they shuffled out, still all smiles as they left the yard, a single spokesman for them was heard to say:

“It comes with the territory.”

(And it also goes with the territory.)

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.”

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.

Goals and Aspirations

I’ve been privileged to work and be taught by some of our industries most recognized dynamos. I consider myself a gleaner. If a guy or gal had even a modicum of success, the Kalmenson sponge (that’s me) was there to look and listen.

Many of da harv’s tricks are nothing more than observances of some noteworthy professionals that I managed to be privy to.

That being the case, let’s try this one on for size. Relax, this may hurt just a little.

You get your chance to get off the bench and get into the game; but because you didn’t believe in yourself, or you were told you’d never get in the game, or you were just too damn lazy to get off that -- uh, butt of yours, and experience the pain of getting and staying ready. You marched up there not ready to sweat.

Not to worry, though. You’re part of a great big club of humans just like yourself. You are average. And because you’re average, you’ll never have to concern yourself with being recognized as a winner. That’s not to say that coaches in management won’t be aware of your average-ness. They know that you may be counted on to be a comfortable person. You’re satisfied with your lot in life. You’re on a level plane. Why try harder? If you try harder you might perspire and that could cause an uncomfortable situation for what may or may not come next in your life.

Well, what comes next in your life is the only situation that places the average person on the same level as the above average person, or "competitor." The reason is simple. None of us ever know what’s coming next.

The cards are constantly being shuffled and dealt out to us. Some of us manage to stay in the game. Others simply fold, throwing in their hand and searching for a more favorable game.

The average person feels that they have been dealt a series of lousy hands. The cards are always running against them. They never stop to think that maybe they happen to be lousy players. Luck just seems to be always going against them.

The fact is and always has been the same. Average people never win anything when the outcome is based on skill. Skills are always developed if they are nurtured. Nurture means practice, and a player who practices finds him or herself ready when he or she is called to get off the bench and get in the game.

In voice over, your game is known as "the audition." When you’re called upon to audition, you’d better be ready. You can’t be average and expect to have even the slightest chance of becoming a winner in our world of voice over. You must be able to read. I mean read without dropping words.

Can you imagine an actor who comes into audition for me and spends most of his time explaining the problems that this script represents? Sound familiar?

This actor wants me to deal him a new hand. The poor bastard can’t read! He’s a lousy player! But he thinks, once again, he’s been dealt a hand to play that’s bad. Guess what? I’m going to make his life a lot more comfortable. I’m never going to call him off the bench again. Not only that, I’m not going to provide that player with a bench to sit on.

When that player’s agents offers us his name for another of our casting calls, it will be explained to them in no uncertain terms that their player should not be recommended to us again. The reason is simple: Your actor better learn how to read if you expect him to play in our game.

Well, at this point if you think I’m a cruel guy, you too should find a different game to play in. Read no further, it’s going to become more uncomfortable for you, but while a higher degree of discomfort sets in, take pleasure in the fact that now you’re joining a more select club. You’re part of my favorite group of people: Those who fall into the select crowd that wear the "above average" label.

These are the actors that we rely on to make us look good as casting directors. We call them in to audition knowing that we will always get an above average performance, regardless of what the script portends to be. These are the Los Angeles, New York, and Chicago professionals; the big leaguers.

They come to play every day. They practice their craft each and everyday. They’re constantly seeking a new and magical approach that will give them that necessary winning edge. I’ve even heard some of them use the term “winning edge” in conversation.

In truth, what has happened for them is that remarkable acting phenomenon called the breakthrough; that moment when true actors find themselves able to convey honest emotions.

They no longer worry about words. They no longer concentrate on what they might happen to sound like. In our world they no longer concern themselves with selling the product. They seek out a variety of stimuli that might enable them to convey as the vendor of truth a reason for their listener to become influenced by their message.

The question remains the same—How did they manage to move on up?

It is pedestrian to say, without practice, forget about making it. I want to strenuously emphasize a couple of simple points that might help you with your goals and aspirations.

To begin with, don’t change — modify. You’re already perfect, so why try to change. Besides, you shouldn’t screw with Mother Nature. Consider yourselves as "the chosen." Let’s try on a sample session experience.

Lets say you auditioned and you won. They picked you because you have the perfect attitude, temperament, approach, and perhaps even hat size. To make things even better when you show up at the session you discover that the producer even dresses the same way you do. It appears that this will be the perfect gig. But after you do the first take exactly the way you did it at the audition, the producer says, “I’d like you to be a touch more forceful on the next take.”

This is the end of the sample session. Stop now. Go no further.

You have no choice, as a must for every audition, session, and even when you’re alone at work practicing your craft. The producer did not ask you to change who you really are. He asked you to modify your approach. We’re talking about behavior modification. Not changing who you are as a person.

You know and understand your “signature.” You’ve got it down cold. That’s not to say that as time goes by an actor’s signature won’t vary. Life has a way of doing that to all of us. What we’re saying is that an actor should make his performance corrections by a modification process within the structure of his individual truth.

When you work out at home, make it a point to modify the direction you’re attempting. In other words don’t read the same script the same way thirty times in a row; exactly, exactly, exactly. Modify the script as a whole and modify your transitions. An attitude change on a single word or phrase can often make the difference that the producer is looking for.

Make your goals with regards to working out a procedure that requires you to modify scripts as you rehearse them. Try on for size the "getting ready" process. Know that you will be the one they will call to come out and save the day. Never be satisfied with what you have accomplished as an actor. It’s always yesterday’s news.

If you treat your acting goals as a passion and not as your work, the modification that is necessary for your success will be within reach.

Books Are My Friends

Books are my friends, my true friends. They give, and give, and continue to give.

When I only want to concern myself with my needs, and wants, and joys, and perhaps even fantasies or dreams, books are there just for me; selfish da harv. My books are old and new. They are my stewards. These are the friends offering help and guidance when I so often seem to need it. I have long since given up newspapers, except on Sundays when they provide more of a local atlas than anything else. Newspapers just can’t provide me with the same trustworthiness I get from my books. Newspapers pile up and make a mess. Books never look messy. Good books are left out for people to enjoy. I would never think of lining a birdcage with one of my books.

Books cater selfishly to what I need to have them cater to. Wow! It’s all about me. That isn’t to say there is a predetermined mindset. Certainly I know what I like to read, but that doesn’t mean at a very young age I knew or even understood the psychology behind what I was up to. I would describe myself as a freewheeler. I mean, much of what I read as a kid, was determined by what I could afford or get my hands on. My older sister, six years my senior, was a veracious reader. Don’t get the idea I ever wanted to be like my older sister. The truth is I wanted to be better at anything and everything she was attempting to be or do. Everything, that is, with the exception of school. My sister broke her butt studying. I, on the other hand, rarely showed any interest in schoolbooks, especially in the early grades. I think it stemmed from me hanging out with my Dad so much. Early on, I resented teachers telling me what to do by way of controlled reading assignments.

Between the ages of nine and thirteen; still unaware of the impact books would ultimately have.

In actuality, a pretty strong troika had been put in place for me. Books, radio, and the movies fostered who I was, and definitely influenced what direction I might take in life. Altogether, the three formed as the strongest culprit responsible for feeding the flames of my already vivid imagination.

While I had a vast array of early heroes, none could ever match the exploits of my own special guy, the one and only “Frank Merriwell.”

Frank Merriwell is a fictional character appearing in a series of novels and short stories by Gilbert Patten. Merriwell excelled at football, baseball, basketball, crew and track at Yale while solving mysteries and righting wrongs. He played with great strength and received traumatic blows without injury.

Merriwell originally appeared in a series of magazine stories starting April 18, 1896 ("Frank Merriwell: or, First Days at Fardale") in Tip Top Weekly, continuing through 1912, and later in dime novels and comic books.

The Frank Merriwell comic strip began in 1928, continuing until 1936. Daily strips from 1934 provided illustrations for

the 1937 Big Little Book.

Radio

The Adventures of Frank Merriwell first ran on NBC radio from March 26 to June 22, 1934 as a 15-minute serial airing three times a week at 5:30pm.

After a 12-year gap, the series returned October 5, 1946 as a 30-minute Saturday morning show on NBC, continuing until June 4, 1949.

Film

A film serial entitled The Adventures of Frank Merriwell was created by Universal Studios in 1936.

Note: Radio was an everyday event, seven days a week. The heroes were endless. I listened to their stories on the radio, watched their film exploits in the movies, and read about them in short stories and comic books. And today I find myself recalling the era of my heroes and writing about them.

I don’t remember ever having a library card in my preteen years. My interests moved in indiscernible waves. Suddenly, I was a teenager at the helm. My reading became extremely sports oriented. It was then that I first began to question the veracity of the author’s pen.

I was there for the Jackie Robinson introduction to the Dodgers. I witnessed the variety of reactions, and then wondered if what I saw and heard was as real as I thought it was. It was my wake up call. I abruptly discovered not all writers see things the same. This wasn’t a “Frank Merriwell” short story. This was supposed to be the truth. How could what I experienced first hand myself be so inexplicably different when being described by someone with his or her own agenda. Ah, the naiveté of youth. It was there for me to see and read about. From that moment on, intellectually, my life has never been the same.

From age twenty-one, and for at least the next ten years, this young man's only books were in a non-fiction genre. Specifically, I found myself in a full ten-year cycle of reading nothing but biographies, auto, authorized and unauthorized. It was long before the days of computer research at one's fingertips. A person had to actually read and take notes with regard to their next selection.

Today, while online doing research, it’s an easy task to click on a person's name and see an array of encyclopedic information.

Here’s an example of what I had to do during my formative years. Let's say I was reading the life and times of Stanislavski. In this particular book, the author was dealing with the depiction of a specific time period. I would make note of certain persons mentioned in the book, and then look for biographies of their life and times. What developed for me was a historical conversation between people of the past who ultimately became part of my own life and lifestyle. I can’t recall how I fell into a biographical scheme, but I do remember one of the first was the life of Albert Einstein. What amazed me was how lucky we were as Americans to have the man become a member in good standing in our American way of life. My God, I thought this man was like so many others who were fortunate enough to immigrate to our shores. George Gershwin and Albert Einstein could have been ships passing in the night, or they could have been taken from us by one of this world’s most despotic narcissists, Adolph Hitler.

The books continued. It was commonplace for my wife to return from our Encino library with two shopping bags filled with my reading requests. I was traveling to all corners of the world and learning about my favorite topic: People. I marveled at and was totally conscious of what I was learning. These were the opinions being shared by the very same people who one way or another would be an influence on my life. The people I read about, especially the leaders, had sweeping similarities. Of most pertinence to me at the time (becoming privy to their personal revelations) was what they shared as human beings. Most of these leaders believed in some form of divine power. While many of them had unbelievable confidence in themselves, they nevertheless shared in the belief of a higher power. They never felt above all others in the world. The stories of George Washington refusing the title of king exemplify his nature as one of the greatest leaders of all time. Reading the biographies of his cohorts spells out who George Washington was as a human being. Saying Washington was being tested as few before him had would be as much of an understatement as I could possibly conjure up. Hamilton, Franklin, Adams, Jefferson, John Hancock and Patrick Henry, to name a few; all in testament to another man's greatness as a leader. All of this and so much more in the books I have read as my own form of attesting to man's sanctification.

And then there are the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Long before anyone dreamed of doing a TV show with them as the subject matter, people were writing about these folks at great length. I found myself reading about the silent movie era, and then the really big stars of the silver screen, and then back again to the biographies of Hollywood’s founders; the immigrants who became the movie moguls. Admittedly, these were the stories which titillated and stimulated my vivid imagination. Again, I found myself identifying with the names of big wigs that immigrated to this country just as my family did.

Without exception, someone of immigrant stock founded every major movie studio. What amused me the most was their courage or what some would call unequalled “chutzpah.”

chutzpah |_ho_tsp_; _ kh o_tsp_; -spä| (also chutzpa or hutzpah or hutzpa)

Shameless audacity; impudence.

ORIGIN late 19th cent.: Yiddish, from Aramaic

"Truth is stranger than fiction" goes right along with another fact of life in the early days of Hollywood: Truth is also a great deal funnier as well. The biographies of these immigrant movie moguls bore a marvelous resemblance to one another. Besides the Goldwyns, and the Cohens, and Louie B. Mayer’s they’re also existed a parade of unknown soldiers responsible for the unbelievable transformation of California and, in many respects, the character of the United States. The exploits of these stalwart new Americans became legends to be shared with the world by way of millions upon millions of words printed in every language known to man.

◊◊◊

It was of great interest to me that one of the first portrayals of a character in a movie serial was that of my earliest favorite, the one and only “Frank Merriwell.” The story was picked up by a B-movie producer from a comic book being read by one of his kids. These serial depictions were usually shown as Saturday morning fare for the hordes of children who treated the outing as a religious ritualistic social event (this was, of course, before we had the ability to text). If you’re interested, the cost of a double feature and a short, as they were called, was ten cents. One dime got a kid almost a full day of entertainment.

One episode I loved the most involved Frank Merriwell rescuing a damsel in distress. While out running in a local forest, Frank catches sight of this rather voluptuous, scantily clad young woman fifty yards from shore in a canoe without a paddle. Of course the canoe is racing its way towards a waterfall. The kids can be heard all over the theater questioning each other in extremely emotional terms, “What’s Frank going to do?” I mean, we were all seriously concerned for the girl’s welfare. Not to worry. Frank quickly looks around and finds this long piece of rope along side the path he’s on. Frank ascertains he will need about fifty yards of rope: “That’s half the distance of a football field,” he says loud enough for all to hear. Frank ties one end of the rope to his trusty football; he never goes anywhere without it. And then, with the preciseness of the best punter in the history of the game, kicks the ball fifty yards in the air, landing perfectly in the canoe. The girl takes hold of the ball and Frank heroically pulls her to shore. She thanks him profusely as he jogs off without so much as asking for her phone number. Many of us guys in the audience discussed his antics when we were alone in the schoolyard. Us guys agreed we would have treated the end of the adventure a little differently than Frank Merriwell did (if you get my drift).

Frank Merriwell’s name, according to the writer, meant honest, happy, and healthy.

"If you'd like to thank a veteran, vote!" - hk