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?

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.”

Why Do I Teach?

Teaching makes my learning endless!

Teacher and Student

“It so grieves me to lose good friends. Departure should not be reason enough for a relationship to end. When there is mutual respect, and those in a relationship thrive on helping and stimulating the other to grow to endless horizons, then why should we accept departure?

I have decided not to accept announcements of any of my treasury as being depleted. I will hoard the substance of what I was given or have gained by being in the presence of a valued nurturer. If a man allowed tenderness, stimulated my smile, or shared with me their discomfort over the human condition, then that man will forever remain as a mainstay of my life’s fortune.

Therefore, if my practice becomes yours, I shall live forever. I will never lose a friend. I will share what I was given, and nurture when it is allowed.

I will remain a teacher.”

da harv
November 6, 2002

“CLICHÉ TIME”

I have devoted most of my life in joyous pursuit of practical ways to convey verbal communication. Mine has been cultivation. I was not born with some form of God given directing skills. Seventy-five percent of my intellectual cultivation was stimulated in abundance, by an early environment, featuring the music, the food, the lore, the languages, the strengths, the weaknesses, and mostly the pride of accomplishment most eastern Europeans, brought with them as immigrants from the old world to the United States of America. Even the way they said it was an inspiration to this young and impressionable kid.

My grandmother on my father's side was multilingual. She helped to support her nine children by earning money as an interpreter and letter writer. On the days I would visit as a kid, skipping along at my dad's side, I was always curious about what language Grandma Ethel was speaking, or how she was able to read the funny looking writing. What stood out the most: She was in charge. She was the strongest woman I have ever met. Without ever raising her voice, each of her children, grandchildren, and later on, all of their wives became recipients of grandma’s communication skills. Whatever the language, the words were few; the meaning exact.

Note: Each of my father's brothers and sisters were multilingual, but in her home Grandma Ethel insisted they speak English. None of them had any hint of a dialect.

Teaching and being taught began early. Testing and being tested was a constant.

While I may not have been cognizant of it as a young child, I ultimately became aware, and have remained ever the inquisitor. Each and every day of my life has been, and will continue to be a vital part of my learning experience.

For me, learning is an entertainment! I’m not talking about studying for a test. I’m referring to the actual elation that comes over me when something new is added to my intellectual collection. At the top of my list is vocabulary. No matter how much I read, I’m always amazed over how much more there is to learn.

But it isn’t just the words.

I live with a constant flow of messages coming in from the looks, the smells, the sounds, the acknowledgements, and the supposed motivations behind them. All are part and parcel of my quest for continual learning (and entertainment).

If my words are sounding like they are driven spiritually, you’re on the right track. Not from my beginnings, but as a cultivation of my years spent in a total learning process. It appears my greatest discovery has been the growth that comes with an ability to feel. Feeling is part of the learning, providing an unequaled satisfaction. It’s hard to explain.

Knowing is magical. I never take it for granted. As if given a gift, I open the pages of a book and the spirituality begins to take hold.

When I was younger, I truly didn’t comprehend what was happening to me. As I grew older, I was not only cognizant of my transitions, but I sought them out on a continual and relentless quest. From others I discovered self. From my inner-self came my sensitivity as a director.

Certainly, listening is synonymous with learning. I didn’t invent the theory. In my work, I practice it with verve.

Through the years many of the actors have caught on to my methodology. On a regular basis a variety of trivia, stirred by the inquisitive minds of creative people, is presented to me. While my studio runs meticulously on time, we’ve been known to occasionally fall behind when, without warning, a new learning experience presents itself. Our conversations are rich and filled with intellect, temperament, and most of all, the magic of laughter.

Actors in general, contrary to the beliefs of the average man, are a special group of extremely bright people. Only when actors become mired in the dark areas of political venues, do they lose all of their charm. This journal, by design, intends to stay as far from politics as possible. I will not, however, stray from who I am, and who I have become because of what this great country has offered and afforded me.

Mine is not an uncommon story. From immigrant grandparents, and a mother and father who also entered this country following an arduous boat ride, I have been allowed what only the United States of America could provide.

Stop and think. I make a living in a creative world. I work almost entirely in the field of my choice. To say I feel blessed would not be putting into words the enormity of my appreciation for what life has allowed me to pursue.

But of all the blessings I have received, none can compare with the shear elation of knowing, what I have done, as part of my life’s work, has enabled and stimulated the growth of others.

What follows is "Emergence" by Harvey Kalmenson: