Friends Bearing Gifts

When a pleasant surprise is just what it purports to be, it is then that we have both pleasantness and the unexpected of the two joining forces: AKA “Spirituality”

TODAY (in particular)

Very early in my morning;

The economy and the heat of the day, neither of which came as a pleasant surprise, bore nothing less than the most solid of doldrums, to surround us. This proved to be a descriptive as opposed to a forecast of the morning hours, and the day that followed.

Television and newspapers did little to brighten or lighten tired spirits. I have long since given up on attempting to find cheer on the pages of almost all those representing themselves as objective clarions of the gospel.

In other words…if I were to allow it to be, the remaining remnants of the morning would undoubtedly segue into an afternoon of equal listless upheaval. Pleasantly behold!

10:00 AM and Cheryl Rhoads was at our doorstep. Well not exactly a doorstep. We live behind two massive gates, which manage to separate us from reality; our choice of course.
Cheryl and Catherine Kalmenson (my wife, and family’s dominant,) became friends some twenty-six years ago.

I always felt like I was an observer, on the outside looking in at their relationship, not out of envy. Since I cannot consciously tell a lie, I’ll cop to the real truth about being an outsider.

I couldn’t stand listening to the two of them practicing in an effort to enter the “Guinness World Book Of Records” for non stop conversation pertaining to world and local minutia. They could, and would systematically take turns reviewing their lives on this planet; each and every time going back to their beginnings in Chicago’s so called inner city. Actually it was Catherine who began in the inner city; Cheryl on the other hand coming from a much tidier starting point. Both were products of a strong Catholic belief, and fervor for an ungodly like telling of the truth; another of the things I admittedly had some trouble with. Not that I considered myself to be a liar, but rather I felt more comfortable often times not relaying the full story. But all that was the past. Things have changed a great deal, I thought.

I had eaten my breakfast early that morning in order to allow the two friends time alone to catch up. It had been three and a half years since the two of them were in person. Let the talks begin. Then, without warning a strange and unforeseen occurrence I found myself participating in their conversation. You know…this wasn’t half bad. I wondered, "Had they grown since the last time I was privy?" Certainly it couldn’t have been a case of my faculties diminishing.

Without thinking, there I was at the table with a coffee cup in my hand. I was actually listening to what Cheryl was saying. Don’t get me wrong; she was still the Cheryl from the old days; non-stop; a continual exposé of the entire world. Yet, I wondered, "What was different?" I wasn’t alone with my query. Out of the corner of an eye I noticed Cathy looking at the two of us, and enjoying it. I do believe Cathy was also noticing a change. Breaking bread and honest conversation does provide an unforeseen spirituality. Neither the economy, nor the heat of the day prevailed. The predicted doldrums never came to pass.

As Cheryl hugged us and said goodbye, without warning it became clear. I know Cathy and Cheryl recognized the change before I did. They have known each other for twenty-six years, but I have been part of their friendship almost from the start. Whether I knew it or not, I was always a part of it, albeit a distant part for most of the years.

It had been a pleasant morning, and a day later it remains as a pleasant thought. Cheryl was now duly acknowledged, whether I like it or not as “a friend who came bearing a gift” - Herself!

Looking Back

The other day, for whatever the reason, I found myself wondering about years past, as I looked in the mirror during my early morning "get ready" for work routine. It was a good thing. The way it used to be, way back in the fifth or sixth grade.

I’m sure most of you over the age of thirty, from time to time wonder where an old childhood friend might be today. How did he or she turn out? What variety of life’s pitfalls did they overcome? He might have been the best athlete in the school; someone you admired, or competed with. She was the little girl with the big smile who sat directly in front of you; the one who was the smartest kid in the class. I saw faces; remembered attitudes; who was tall; who was sloppy, and who was neat. There were aggressive kids and those so shy the teachers had trouble getting them to participate on anything requiring a verbal presentation up in front of the class. The voices are gone. For whatever the reason, I can recall many of the faces, but what my schoolmates sounded like escapes me.

It was a time in my life when all of us had everything in common. We were boys and girls who lived in the same neighborhood, went to the same school, and shared the label of middle class Americans, not poor, not rich, decidedly middle.

The word love rarely came into a meaningful play; nor was the term hate used in a serious vein. “I love chocolate. I hate chocolate.” That was about the extent of our love/hate expression.

Most of us have delved into self-reflection. It’s ours to experience, usually at our own propelled bidding. Naturally there are the conditioned response memories, times when without warning an event resurfaces, allowing pleasures as a rekindling; Some to our liking, bringing smiles, with endearments, capturing the moments in time which are ours alone to savor. Surely there were the not so pleasant events, none of us wish to relive. But those are the ones we learn and experience growth from by thinking back.

At eleven years of age, it was my first really deep thought experience. Up until that moment, what had existed for this sixth grader were happiness, laughter, and the occasional disappointment over the realization the Dodgers were not going to win the pennant for yet another year.

Robert wasn’t a really close friend of mine. He was one of those quiet introverted types. He wasn’t a klutz, but by the same token he wasn’t a kid who was one of the first to be picked when we were choosing up sides for a sandlot ballgame. Robert did however have the unpleasant distinction of being the first kid in our class to lose a parent. I suppose it was a day or two following his father's funeral that Robert returned to school. He looked different to me. There was something in Robert’s eyes that told the story. Of course his life would never be the same; none of us knew that. What we didn’t know was Robert’s loss was also ours. For the first time in my life I was to say, “I’m sorry about your Dad, Robert.” Robert could barely speak. I don’t recall a sound being made. Robert mustered a token thank you nod. The next day I picked him first to play on my team. To this day I wish I might have picked him before his Dad was gone.

Loss or gain is always an action, which causes change. For an eleven-year-old boy in the sixth grade, a new thought was to be perceived without warning. While I had not yet used the word empathy, I would never the less have it with me for the rest of my life.

***

From time to time I will be writing about some of my friends from the past who have become well known to the world. There names will be changed to protect their privacy.

Where Do You Want This Tank Put?

“Who cares? What difference does it make? What are you worried about?”

1937, upstate New York, summertime; endless performances by an ensemble of players; there for the money; there for a chance; there in order to survive the enduring heat, and best of all to feed an inner drive to be discovered by a "somebody" in the audience who came up to escape the heat, and be with their families on the weekend.

They were sixteen men and women, taking part in the pure romance of an era: to this day known as summer stock.

The Borscht Belt

I doubt if any successful stand up comedians of the time could have made it without learning or practicing their craft at one of the upstate New York retreats. Arguably the most famous, as well as the most popular place to vacation, was “Grossingers’.

As a young man entering this business I enjoyed listening in to many of the old timers relating stories of their days spent during summers of vacationing, or actually being entertainers at any number of places in Concord, New York. But of all the stories I was privy to, none held my attention more than tales of what went on at the variety of playhouses scattered around this famous mountain community.

When you became a member of a summer stock company your duties would include anything and possibly everything having to do with the current productions, often two different plays each week, while also working on anything and everything having to do with next week’s bill of fare. Since air conditioning hadn’t clicked in as a Broadway staple as yet, the names of the most famous and most outstanding actors and actresses of the time were often seen appearing at theaters in some unlikely places. But the average player, those who were not yet famous, knew in advance, taking tickets, doing local promotion appearances around town, and seeing to it the theater was clean, including the bathrooms, was part of the package they signed on for. For most, the pay was a meager stipend, and often those participating in theater production, also functioned as part time waiters, waitresses, and bus boys. Dependent on the hotel, a wide variety of rules and regulations existed regarding what was and wasn’t allowed to take place between hotel employees and guests. Teens will be teens, so you might imagine what went on when supervision relaxed; for some, an underground society operated after hours, when Mom and Dad had retired for the evening. Most of the time what occurred between the help and the hotel patrons was harmless, but on occasion there were incidents when a bus boy or waiter was caught with his pants down. And these incidents weren’t limited exclusively to the teen population. Some women were known to vacation in the Catskills on their own, or without husbands until the weekend. Many of the younger waiters and bus boys were taken care of handsomely for services provided far beyond the call of required duty. Much has been written and portrayed through the years about the well-known transgressions, which took place during the summer escapes to the mountains of the Concord establishments.

Many of the actors who began in the “Borscht Belt” were able to do so out of necessity created by the great number of shows being produced. At Grossingers they introduced the nightly change in performers. When a family came to Grossingers they were guaranteed to see a different act every day of the week. As an example; Eddie Fisher got a chance to sing while Eddie Cantor was in the audience that evening. Cantor immediately announced Fisher was going to be a star. Cantor signed him to a contract and Eddie went out on a national tour. The next time Fisher was seen at Grossingers he was there to be married to Elizabeth Taylor; or so the story goes.

Cliff Norton, a very well known journeyman actor told me how he cut his teeth as an actor while paying his dues appearing on the Borscht Belt circuit. Being an ex stage manager is probably the reason Cliff’s stories of summer stock, in the Catskills, have remained my favorites. While we were working together during a play here in Los Angeles, at the “Merle Oberon Theatre”, in West Hollywood. I was the production stage manager and Cliff was the star of the show. If I remember correctly the “Oberon could seat about nine hundred. I can’t recall the name of the play, and I don’t have dear Cliffy around any more to ask. But what led into his telling of the story was just following an incident at the theatre, which called for my advanced talents as a stage manager. We had an electric failure just prior to curtain rise, and because of my dumb luck I was able to re-connect the power to our main board in time for the show to go on as scheduled. In Cliffs eyes I became his go to guy. Shortly following the electrical incident, Cliff was holding court on stage and telling a group of us how I would have come in handy during his summer stock days. We all leaned in closely making sure not to miss a word. His stories about the old days in the mountains (as he called it) were not to be missed. This one in particular sticks in my mind, mainly because of the way Cliff described the incident.

Earlier I explained how the sixteen people taking part in a production companies presentment were kept very busy by the number of different projects they were required to stage. What I didn’t talk about was the last minute changes, which by the nature of the beast occurred with far too much frequency. Cliff began by saying he couldn’t remember a time in the Catskill’s when all went well. A stage manager, or an actor would get sick at the last minute and would have to be replaced. There was never a time when a performance was cancelled. That would have meant money being returned. Audience revenue lost during a short season could never be recaptured.

The normal procedure for staging a play, at first glance, appeared to be a simple one. Actors were handed sides; no one ever was given a full script to read. You only studied the pages where you had lines to deliver. The sides (pages) you were given had nothing to do with blocking or any other physical directions. So you can see how important the daily daytime rehearsals were to the ultimate success of the performances. Cliff described how a last minute replacement actor would make an entrance on stage and often times be physically moved from one point to another by one of the actors who was already on stage. During a slow moving drama, as Cliff went on it didn’t present too much of a problem. But this time they were performing a domestic comedy where there were three men and two women on stage at the same time. On the afternoon of the performance to take place that evening, two of the actors were taken to a hospital with what was most likely food poisoning. Neither man would be able to go on that evening. Two of the stagehands were pressed into service. They were handed sides to study, and were told by the director, that Cliff would be the actor on stage who would guide them around the stage during the performance. In other words, these two replacement actors would have no idea of where to stand or move until the curtain rose and they found themselves facing a live audience.

“Where do you want this tank put?”

The owner of this particular playhouse happened to be a World War one artifacts collector. He thought it would be a great crowd attraction if different implements of war were on display at his theater site. Early on the afternoon in question a rather large flat bed truck came rumbling up the mountain road and stopped in front of the theater. The driver yelled out to one of the young stagehands, “Where do you want the tank”. Without looking up the stagehand responded with, “Take it through the back doors.”

Cliff relates that as a young guy he worked as many hours during the day as he could get in prior to coming to the theater for the evenings performance. “Boy was I in for a surprise,” he began.
We all looked at each other as we started to get the picture. “There, right smack in the middle of the stage was this real army (blankety blank)world war one tank.” We all moved in closer as Cliff continued. Cliff was enjoying himself as much as we all were. I mean there they all were getting ready to go on. Two of them were completely unrehearsed, other than reading over the sides they had been given that very same afternoon. What was the play about cliff was asked. “Well it wasn’t supposed to be a comedy,” he replied. It was a dark drama about a man being eulogized. It takes place at the funeral home where the man was to lie in state, and at his request the members of the funeral party were to say a few last words to him as they viewed his remains in the open casket.

We were all hysterical with laughter as Cliff continued telling us the rest of the story with the straightest face I’ve ever seen. At rise Cliff stepped center stage and expressed to the audience who he spoke to as if they were part of the funeral proceedings; explained how the deceased had expressed his wishes to be buried in his personal tank. After a beautifully delivered opening speech, where the audience was obviously touched with emotion, the mood instantly changed to raucous laughter. The two new replacement actors, sides in hand each took turns climbing the side of the tank and delivering their lines through the opening at the top turret to the dead man. When the second guy up fell through the turret while saying his farewell to the dead guy, the play was now a confirmed comedy.

From what I understand, and what others who labored in that era of show business have told me, the colorful stories related by the Cliff Nortons of this world are only slightly exaggerated. In retrospect, I often crack a smile when I’m reminded of a past experience of my own as a stage manager.

So if ever you’re the one being asked:
Hey kid, “Where do you want this tank put?”
You’re the one whose been appointed as the in charge decision maker.
“ What difference does it make anyway?

***

Much of the tradition of Borscht Belt entertainment started in the early 20th century with the indoor and outdoor theaters constructed on a 40 acre tract in Hunter, New York, by Yiddish theater star Boris Thomashefsky.

Comedians who got their start or regularly performed in resorts include: Joey Adams, Woody Allen, Morey Amsterdam, Benny Bell, Milton Berle, Shelley Berman, Al Bernie, Joey Bishop, Mel Brooks, Lenny Bruce, George Burns and Gracie Allen, Pesach Burstein, Red Buttons, Sid Caesar, Eddie Cantor, Jean Carroll, Jack Carter, Myron Cohen, Bill Dana, Rodney Dangerfield, Phyllis Diller, Carl Reiner, Don Rickles, Joan Rivers, Freddie Roman, Rowan & Martin, Mort Sahl, Allan Sherman, Phil Silvers, Jackie Vernon, Jackie Wakefield, Jonathan Winters, and Henny Youngman.

And God only knows how many others.

"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.