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.

In The Pitch Black; Or Maybe Not

“I will tell you what I have learned myself. For me, a long five or six mile walk helps. And one must go alone and every day.”
- Brenda Ueland

Being alone on a very dark night doesn’t mean you’re in the dark. If you’re on the walk that Brenda recommends, it doesn’t necessarily mean it has to occur at a prescribed time of day. As a matter of fact, daytime walks might be more to your liking. But time of day has little to do with your degree of enlightenment.

There have been many before we came along who professed to have their eyes wide open, yet had difficulty with any form of clarity. Of course, those were the folks before us, living life during a far less enlightened period of time. Those poor folks only had newspapers to keep them abreast of what was taking place in the world. Sure, there was the printing press churning out books, millions of them all over the world. But books were for epics, stories of adventure, and learning. While newspapers were the communication mainstay, most people found things out by word of mouth. The country was still kind of new and there were less than thirty-five million mouths to tell it like it is (or was).

The Original Voice Over Artist

The town crier was the original voice over artist. Usually every hour on the hour after dark, from gas lamp post to post around the town square to every place of importance, the loud voice could be heard giving out with the hour of the evening, and proclaiming how all's well. And during the daytime, a proclamation might be posted and read aloud, at the town square, or the town jailhouse. The qualifications for the town crier job, or the man who did the proclamation, was much like today’s voice over artist: You had to be a good reader - actually you had to be able to read - and have a reasonably clear voice. There were no residuals to concern you with because yesterday’s news was never repeated.

In some townships, the decision making process for determining who would become the local town crier became a traditional community competition. The ultimate winner was the guy with the loudest voice.

Seeking Clarity & How Will I know When I Find It?

Explaining The English Language: Forget About It. Making my point:

"One fowl is a goose but two are called geese.
Yet the plural of mouse should never be meese.
If I speak of a foot and you show me your feet,
And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and the whole set are teeth,
Why should not the plural of booth be called beeth?"
- Author unknown

The above comic verse helps us to understand the plight of immigrants from all over the world who ventured forth to this marvelous country of ours, and discovered their own wonderful ways of figuring out the English language.

Herbert Passin, the noted anthropological scholar maintains in his Language and Cultural Patterns; no language is completely translatable. The more deeply you go into a language, the more unique it becomes.

And for every young director out there taking pleasure in an over-assumption of his or her individual communicative skills, Herbert Passin’s doctrine maintaining the inability of translating the truest of word meanings at the most sophisticated of intellectual levels, should be etched in their creative brains, never to be forgotten.

A hand extended in order to help needs no verbiage. A hand extended has no language barrier. A tear shed is universal. I remember one day in far off Korea, the war had come to an end, and, as usual, the American soldiers shouldered the most difficult of assignments. I may have still been a teenager, in a man’s body, but my mind was being permanently etched by life’s daily imbalances.

We came from all over the United States as young soldiers to this place of wounds and scars. Regardless of our backgrounds, to a man, none of us had ever experienced any overdose of merciless upheaval such as the experiences being suffered by these Korean people.

I experienced first hand, family was the most important part of Korean life. The father is the head of the family. Respect for a human beings attained position in life, was and is part and parcel of the Korean child’s up bringing. Take away the indignity and the pain and suffering brought on by the carnage of war, and we found the Korean kids to be much like children in many other parts of the world.

The mind is a miraculous work. An effortless thought is stimulated by an effortless thought. Thinking of the Korean children, I recalled a tinge of the first light being allowed to enter their lives, first as the most sparing glimmer, and then, as quickly as we could make it happen for them, the most radiant beam of hope began to brighten their souls.

I guess most of us were close to the chronological age of the children we were seeking to help. Maybe it was our youth which helped the children to quickly trust us. They all seemed to love the way American soldiers would invent all kinds of kids games to break the tensions of the day. Overnight the children learned to communicate in our language. They picked up our dialects and our unique ways of communication. And we found their pronunciation of English, especially American colloquialisms, more than just amusing. Oftentimes, it became the cause of borderline raucous laughter. Hearing a little Korean kid with a southern drawl, or another with Jersey City or Brooklyn bluster was always a tension reliever. And of course, like young kids all over the world, their minds were like sponges. They learned our language and our ways far more readily than we did theirs.

“To all out there who have experienced a seemingly impossible turn in life’s tell tale adventure of never ending hurdles to overcome; be apprised, nothing rivals the travails of the homeless child, as witnessed through the gaze of this mans eyes. No language barrier, or statement of grief can ever require more explanation than a story told by the pain in a child’s eyes forever etched.”

And so when I hear our troops referred to today as occupiers, I cringe. The term occupier doesn’t remotely fit the comportment of who, what, and how we really bring forth to others what American soldiers are all about. Those Korean children never looked at us as being occupiers. They attempted to emulate our every move. They picked up on our mannerisms, they learned our songs, our dances, and most of all, they loved to play baseball. We shared what we had, and taught them everything we knew.

Today I have many Korean Americans in my life, many of whom have recent ties to the very people who depended on us, not as occupiers of their homeland, but much more suitably considered as saviors. I’m sure there are moms and dads who managed to grow up and become nurturing parents because of the communication which managed to surpass any possible language barriers. I expect one day to have a Korean actor step forward and relay a story of how his mother or father went to school because of the help given them by an American soldier or Marine.

We had a field first sergeant that had a way with words. During the darkest of moments he’d come up with something, which came across as a rallying cry or call to arms. This guy was a huge man; standing about six foot five inches, and weighing in at about two hundred and fifty pounds. He was a classic case of looks being deceiving. When the man spoke, his words bellowed out with perfect diction. He may have been big and bulky, but it did nothing to detract from the humanness of his intellect. He was voice over personified. Pure gold. I find myself thinking about people like him whenever any of our country's important holidays roll around. The sergeant made all of us proud to be on the same team; especially on this one freezing cold day as we made our way into a small North Korean village. The sight of the children stopped us in our tracks. Imagine the worst and you have conjured the picture of what we found. “Bring that mess truck up,” the sergeant shouted. “Assemble,” he yelled. In seconds, certainly less than a minute, we were ready and waiting for our orders. And as the sun shone threw the bleak and overcast sky the sergeant gave forth with the command, "Let’s bring some light to these kids.”

Occupiers? I think not!!

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

1859 As A Philosophical Abstraction, Or Maybe Not.

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

Excerpt:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

320,000,000 later

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

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

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

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

Theater Shows Film

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Questions only you can answer:

1. When did you begin?

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

3. Are there things in the way?

4. How badly do you want it?

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

6. What must you do to avoid being average?

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

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

da harv’s answers up:

1.When did you begin? Around age eight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.)