"Discovering the Wheel"

(They think-- I think not)

Actually “They Discovered the Sled “

Quiz time:

• What do people do when they can’t find work for an extended period of time?
• What is, or would be considered an extended period of time for the average person
• What denotes the terminology, average person?

Not to worry, it isn’t my intention to return to the beginning of time, to provide the proper documentation in order to answer the questions posed at my lead in.

Lead in; now that’s sounds so familiar to me.

In the event you’re curious, here are some possible answers as provided by the earliest of Cavemen, and translated by me for your convenience.

And yes, I do speak Cavemanish!

In the prehistoric era women had not yet developed a voice of their own. Most women hung out around the cave doing chores until the man of the cave needed something. The woman’s main assignment was carrying things around from place to place. This was not easy work, especially when the carrying took place as the man of the cave was dragging one of his gals by the hair. Most cavemen of substance kept three or four women at his beck and call. Since the language of the day was mostly grunts, groans, screams, and a variety of body sounds; (nothing has really changed) communications with each of the women of the cave was troublesome at best; which would explain why many of the women died as they were being pulled by the hair, from one location to another.

It was during one of these pulling by the hair incidents a great discovery took place. A particularly long woman (people were referred to as either long or not long in those days; since they had no language as yet, stretching ones arms apart would signify how tall or short a female was; arms apart for long, arms together for short) was busily carrying a heavy load of rocks, when her caveman decided he needed her help. As usual she couldn’t figure out what he wanted so he grabbed her by the hair and began to pull her in his desired direction. She lost her balance and was flipped over on her back as he continued to pull. It was then he discovered it was much easier to pull a load from place to place with the carrier flat on her back. Ergo the sled, as we know it today was discovered. This procedure also explains why many of the women expired while being dragged along the ground.

The procedure of human sledding didn’t last very long. In no more than six or seven hundred years the cavemen and cave women learned to communicate by the actual use of some primitive words; Many of those same words are still being used by members of our society today. It was also during this era that the first songbook came along. It happened as one of the cave women was performing the nightly chore of readying her mans bed. She accomplished this by warming the bedrocks she found lying around the cave. While carrying her mans hot rocks from the fire to the bed slab, she inadvertently dropped a few of them to the floor of the cave. As the rocks fell, some began to roll away from her; she tried picking them up, only to have the process continue. The rocks fell and rolled; she picked them up as others hit the ground. It was then that the rest of the family began to sway to the beat of the rocks hitting the ground. And of course, you guessed it; this was the beginning of rock and roll music as we know it today; the words were not discernable, but the beat was overpowering, especially in the larger caves with the high ceilings and long hallways.

“In Those Days”

· People and animals had a great deal in common; they wandered the earth. It was described on the walls of the caves as “wandering, or roaming”.

· A day, a week, and a month, it was all the same to them. Their work was called eating. When they became hungry it always felt like an extended period of time.

· They were all average. Everybody dressed the same; the men all carried clubs, and never shaved. The women didn’t carry clubs; they to didn’t shave. Romance was nonexistent. There was no candlelight; it was dangerous to stay out in the moonlight.

“The first rock group.”

They didn’t tour. They played the same cave every evening.

Circa unknown.

And now after many centuries of man’s development, lo and behold (I love saying “lo and behold”) there exists many curiosity questions for one to ponder. Why have so many things changed, while so many things have stayed the same? Why have most people thrown their clubs away (except for when they play baseball) while others look for folks to hit over the head? Although clubs and hitting has been supposedly banned from public use, hitting still remains a form of communication within certain tribes.

Have you taken notice; today’s cavemen shave less, while the women shave more? (Or do I have that backwards?) Or is that just in San Francisco?

And it appears to me people and animals still have much in common, especially when it comes to being hungry. Just like in the old days; a hungry animal is liable to do anything, depending on how hungry he happens to be. Human beings often react the same way. Some people actually still steal food; mostly from places like 7-11.

There’s a lot of strange stuff going on. The other day this guy was telling about this place he went to where the women are required to remain completely covered from head to toe when out in public. Many of these societal dictates remarkably resemble those of the original cavemen, minus of course the rock and roll music that they have also disallowed. I asked the guy about how a woman goes about getting a passport picture taken. “That’s easy”, he responded. “They’re not allowed to leave the country.” Wow! That is exactly what the cavemen did with their gals. Many of these societal dictates remarkably resemble those of the original cavemen, minus of course the rock and roll music they have also disallowed.

I began with

Quiz time:

· What do people do when they can’t find work for an extended period of time?

· What is, or would be considered an extended period of time for the average person?

· What denotes the terminology, average person?

Do I have answers to any of these questions? Probably not. But for this average person what I can do is bring forward my personal testimony after having been there, and in my minds eye always being able to remember living with the anguish.

· Each day without work is a day of frustration and wonder. How does the man who is working do it? How did he get there? Will I ever work again?

· Without means to satisfy ones obligations, is an extended period of time.

· Being average is an excuse for being average.

A Critique

By some who have read this work,

Feeling duty bound to ridicule and smirk,

Those of intellect so sorely lacking,

This author never the less revels in their attacking.

Truth be told

Ciphering the walls of a cave

Isn’t necessarily that bold.

What was then returns to us now.

Disclosed between these lines

The separation of man and things might be found.

New things have been invented; but man’s sameness will astound.

Wake up da harv. We can’t return to the beginning of time. Rarely can we ever return to anything that once was; except perhaps evil.

Actually no language was required. All they were able to do was draw pictures. It was of course the introduction to what was later known as “French Postal Cards” (Porn).

True they didn’t speak, but they could hum, especially at night when they were putting the cave kids down to sleep.

Today’s women still keep carrying things around for the men. Sleds have been replaced in the better cave garages with things called BMW’s. These gals may be seen scooting around and dropping off the kids like fish, at places called schools.

Some men still keep more than one woman on call. There are even men who pay to have these ladies waiting in different locations around the country. Many athletes and politicians fall into this category. The story of how the sled was invented is at best debatable, since the original translations of the pictures on the cave walls was done by a Middle Eastern scholar who had the women being depicted on the walls completely covered from head to toe with cloth that had not yet been invented. Other anthropologists claim the sled was invented during a heavy snowstorm. The woman merely lost her balance and slid down the snow and icy hill.

The history of rock and roll is exact. Today many folks do the very same things with their rocks; only now they’re plugged in electrically.

“In These Days”

· People still wander the earth, traveling by bus, train, plane and car. Today’s people rarely walk.

· Then and now, eating is eating.

· Today the police, baseball, and hockey players are the ones with the clubs. Many of them also carry guns in order to protect themselves from the average people. Cave women had men to protect them. Today’s women carry pepper spray.

· In the old days the average people all wore sandals. The average people today still all wear sandals. Cavemen didn’t have socks. Today’s men and women have socks, but find little need for them. In the old days feet were ugly; they still are. It was commonplace for a caveman’s butt to be revealed when he bent over; the same applies to a great many men today.

· Romance was non-existent then, and it’s becoming that way today.

· Cavemen didn’t pray. They still don’t.

Social graciousness has never been less average than it is today. Or is it just my imagination?

What Gets To Me?

I guess most of us have one thing or another that gets to us no matter how many times we see or hear about it. I mean it’s difficult for me to keep from tearing up when the nightly news comes on and we see a group of returning soldiers being greeted by wives, girlfriends, mothers and children. An athlete openly thanking a parent for their help along the way is another of those moments. Emotional sincerity is the deciding factor.

In my mind there isn’t anything that can rival the sincerity of a genuine thank you. That’s not to say each time I receive a thank you note, or an in person thank you, or just a quick phone call of thanks, I begin to cry like a baby. Some offers of thank you have a greater impact on me than others. Usually these are the ones received unexpectedly.

It was close to thirty years ago. I had the position of being the in-house voice casting director for “Sullivan Bluth Animation”. At the time they were a major player. I considered myself to be a lucky man to have the job. Of course, anytime I’m able to work in this subjective creative world I’ve chosen to exist in, I consider myself lucky; make that read "very" lucky. It worked out to be three years of almost complete enjoyment for me. It was a creative, exciting, and extremely challenging organization to be involved with. Some of my many assignments were more challenging then others. For me, as a professional, the most difficult assignments are those where the completion and project budgets are always in doubt. It’s almost exactly like building a house. Nothing is more expensive than making changes while in progress, or shifting from one project to another. The possibility exists for never completing anything. Having a series of films being worked on, without a supposition in place regarding a final outcome, can and will most likely spell disaster. There was a short period of time at Sullivan Bluth, when I do believe I had my hand in three projects at the same time. One incident will remain etched in my memory bank.

The late actor “Buddy Hackett” had been cast to play a lead role. We recorded him. In my opinion Buddy had done a superlative job. He was paid handsomely for his efforts. A few days later, I thought they were kidding me when I was asked to bring Buddy back, at full pay to redo his entire role. All concerned parties, (far too many of them), seemed ecstatic with his work on the second go around. Inwardly, I felt his first recording session was equally as good. The way it turned out none of it mattered. ” Hackett's work never made the screen. For whatever the reason, we recast the role with Charles Nelson Riley as the replacement. Even though I was the casting director, no mention was made of why Don Bluth and his cohorts were dissatisfied. And the strangest part of the entire incident was the film in question was placed on hold after it was nearly complete, in favor of another film they felt would do better at the box office. In either case, management or lack there of, was horribly mistaken. Everything they tried during the era in question failed miserably at the box office. It certainly all boils down to the same old cliché, "the audience will let you know what you have.” Without exception my colleagues at “Bluth”, yours truly included, felt we had a far better product than the gate receipts provided.

Four best moments remain in my minds eye, which occurred during my tenure at Sullivan Bluth Animation.

1. Early on the New Years day morning following our working together, I received a phone call from Buddy Hackett; very short, sweet, and to the point; "Hello Harvey, this is Buddy. I just wanted you to know you’re one of the nice guy’s I worked with this last year. Thank you,” he said, and hung up abruptly.

2. Larry Dobkin, at age eighty-three, after telling me of a first hand experience with Cecil B. Demille while filming “The Ten Commandments”, then taking my hand and saying “Thank you for bringing me in to audition Harv. It means a great deal to me.”

3. Hans Conreid, during the month before he died making it a point to come by the office for no other reason than to say, "Thank you Harvey."

4. And finally from a little boy, who remains unknown, but not unthought-of .

It was at Sullivan Bluth, when against my better judgment; I complied with management’s wishes, and proceeded to conduct field auditions of little children. Along with my production assistant we dragged our recording equipment to nursery schools around the city. After three weeks of sheer drudgery, management relented to my wishes and we began bringing kids in to audition in house at our studios. These were five and six year old children being submitted by way of agent representation. Two weeks, and four hundred children later I was ready for the "looney bin". Finally the in-house auditions came to a merciful end, I thought. Somehow we had missed a few kids who still remained in our outer reception area. I dutifully went out to where they were waiting and told the parents we’d be bringing their children in to record in a few minutes. The first two kids were in and out unceremoniously. The third and final child to audition for me, created far more than I had anticipated. When he entered the recording area, I felt a smile come across my face. Here stood a six-year-old little boy, dressed in slacks and a smart looking shirt and tie. His very blond hair was perfectly cut in a crew. This kid was destined to become a football line backer. I could tell from his lantern jaw, broad shoulders and overall countenance, this was a young man who had future hero written all over him. His audition went well enough. I dismissed him and he was gone in a flash. Thank God it was over. I was totally exhausted. The amount of extra talking it takes in order to direct most children can take it’s toll; especially when you’ve had weeks of it without a break. I was leaning against a wall taking a breather when out of nowhere here comes the kid, running down the hall like a linebacker straight at me. He stopped directly in front of me. I leaned over in order to hear what he had returned for. Now I was at his eye level. Without warning this little guy puts his very strong little right arm around my neck and kisses me on the cheek, and says all in the same motion, “Thank you for the help mister.” He was gone in a flash. At the end of the hall he turned as he stood at his Mothers side and waved goodbye to me. It was an overpowering incident. It caught me off guard as well as in a state of complete exhaustion. I turned away from my production assistant, but not before catching sight of him showing how he to was touched by the genuineness of this little boy.

And so on and so forth, through the years I have discovered more than I probably deserve,the many ways a thank you can be rendered. A wink of the eye; a quick smile, a handshake, and in some instances a tear being shown by the head of state, for the entire world to see unashamedly.

A Favorite Thank You

It was the beginning of the war for Great Britain. They found themselves at the mercy of Adolph Hitler and his band of Nazi tyrants. While the USA had not yet entered the conflict Sir Winston Churchill and Franklin Delano Roosevelt had been in contact and both were aware of the dire circumstances, which existed for the world’s future.

In August of 1941, Prime Minister Winston Churchill and President Franklin D. Roosevelt met secretly for their great “Atlantic Conference”, off the coast of Newfoundland. “The Atlantic Charter” was conceived, seventy years ago. And to further implement the ever-growing bond between our two countries, FDR dispatched his personal envoy to Britain, Harry Hopkins, during a special dinner with Churchill, took the floor and quoted from the Book Of Ruth:

“ Whither thou goest I will go, and whither thou lodgest I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God,” he declared, dramatically adding “even to the end”.
Churchill wept openly.

As do I whenever I reread of the incident.

A Little More From The Old Guy


Another incident popped into my mind about a visit with the Old Guy. As usual he began with a statement, which would have come across to an untrained ear as totally out of reasonable context.

I had long since become a trained listener. I’m one of those people who get a variety of oddball clues from apparently nothing. Perhaps it was cultivated by the melting pot of humanity I was raised with. Immigrants had their own language cultivation systems in place almost from the instant they set foot on land here in the United States. As an example, the Jewish immigrants change their Yiddish language into a combo of English, as we know it, and Yiddish as they spoke it;”wellah” a thing called “Yinglish”. They brought a special music and lyric to conversation. The sounds always struck me as funny. The East side of Manhattan was like a continual stand up comedy routine. Initially the players had little idea of how funny they sounded, especially when they co-mingled an assortment of dialects. The most entertaining for me was the sound of a person with a heavy-duty Irish brogue, conversing in Yiddish. In other words, actually speaking “Yiddish” with an authentic Irish accent.

You folks, who think you’re good at dialects, try doing an Irishman with a Yiddish accent. As a point of fact, I heard “James Cagney” as a lark, at a private party, speaking perfect Yiddish with an Irish brogue. As if doing those two things simultaneously wasn’t enough of an accomplishment, Jimmy without missing a beat, added a perfect impression of “John Wayne” to the mix. And at that same party, a gentlemen named “Hermes Pan”; Fred Astair’s choreographer, pointed out to all of us, the fact, Jimmy could do all of this while dancing an Irish jig. If you think I’m making up this story about James Cagney, think again. And while you’re thinking find someone like the “Old Guy” to talk to.

He grew silent for a few moments. I’ve learned when it happens to stay patient, another image of the past was taking shape. The Old Guys next assessment:

“Those bound to forget have forgotten; those who remember; will never forget.”

And as I gazed at him, (the) from whence it came will remain without my understanding. The name of a restaurant popped into my head. It was during an evening of adventure, at the old “Frascoti’s” restaurant, on Wilshire near La Cienga Blvd. in Beverly Hills. I believe I was about twenty-three years old at the time. Following a show run through I had been working on; a rather attractive woman offered me her business card and suggested I come by her place to end the evening. It turns out she was the recently widowed, newly inherited owner of the “Frascoti’s restaurants. When I arrived at her Beverly Hills restaurant it was already one in the morning. The year was 1956.

It turns out the lady had spent the entire evening inviting people to her restaurant. At 2AM it was a large, well-oiled entourage, which left her restaurant, en route to an area, which is now known as “Trousdale Estates”. To this day I can’t imagine why in the world I was invited. Other than being in the same business, it would have been a more likely scenario if I were there as a parking lot attendant. Never the less, make no mistake, I was there, and the event helped to shape my future. I learned during the evening, the bigger and more successful they are, the nicer they are.

Fifty-Five years ago; It was 1956

The United States presidential election of 1956 saw a popular Dwight D. Eisenhower successfully run for re-election. I doubt if Eisenhower had ever been to “Frascoti’s”. That of course means, I was one up on the president of The United States. …And in the event you’re wondering, “Frascoti” was named after a township in Italy.

As a reference to who was in attendance on this evening in 1956, I’m duty bound to mention the previous year 1955.

“Marty”, (1955) Paddy Chayefsky cinematization of his television play was originally presented in 1953 as a 60-minute TV broadcast, with leads played by (1)Rod Steiger and Nancy Marchand (2). It was the only film based on a TV drama to ever win Best Picture award. (“Steiger” came across to this young guy (me) as a man who was in the process of impersonating himself. My first thought after meeting him was; he’s just like Rod Steiger.)

As a feature film, Marty was one of the biggest 'sleepers' in Hollywood history, from the independent production company of Harold Hecht and actor Burt Lancaster (Hecht-Lancaster). It’s $340,000 production budget yielded over $5 million in gross proceeds. Marty was nominated for eight Academy Awards, Including best actor (3) Ernest Borgnine, and Best Screenplay (4) Paddy Chayefsky. (These two people appearing in the same private social happening, in retrospect, would most likely be deemed as highly unlikely today.) I’ve never seen any other individual in my lifetime that smiled more than Ernest Borgnine. As an aside…I never spoke directly to either of them. It’s difficult to speak when your mouth has dropped open and remains in awe like freeze for an entire evening.

Oh, did I mention (5)Humphrey Bogart showed up with this attractive (6)tall girl, just staying long enough to give (7)Cagney a hug, and compliment him about having so much to do with starting the Screen Actors Guild, back in 1933.

“So, the piano played, and the guests stayed.”

Surprisingly, the talk did not center on Ernie Borgnine, or Paddy Chayefsky, and how they had scored the year before. That was far too shallow a conversation for this group. The crowd was zeroed in to the present; to what was happening then, and what was about to happen within the movie industry during 1956. My comment today, simply, they really knew what they were talking about.

1956 Top Grossing Films (U.S.)

Rank Title Leading Star Studio Gross

1. The Ten Commandments Charlton Heston, Yul Brynner and Anne Baxter Paramount $43,000,000
2. Around the World in Eighty Days David Niven, Cantinflas and Shirley MacLaine United Artists $23,120,000
3. Giant Rock Hudson, Elizabeth Taylor and James Dean Warner Bros. $14,000,000
4. War and Peace Audrey Hepburn and Henry Fonda Paramount $12,500,000
5. The King and I Deborah Kerr and Yul Brynner 20th Century Fox $9,000,000
6. The Searchers John Wayne Warner Bros. $8,500,000
7. Bus Stop Marilyn Monroe 20th Century Fox $7,269,000
8. High Society Bing Crosby, Grace Kelly and Frank Sinatra MGM $6,250,000
9. The Girl Can't Help It Jayne Mansfield and Tom Ewell 20th Century Fox $5,878,000
10. Written on the Wind Rock Hudson, Lauren Bacall, Robert Stack and Dorothy Malone Universal $5,712,000

“Those bound to forget have forgotten; those who remember; will never forget.”

So another of The Old Guy’s word gestures, as I refer to them, has come to pass. Nothing of utmost incredibility to challenge ones mind set. I guess anyone in my position in life who forgets an evening of his past, similar to the one I just described, has some faulty brain waves, or a lack there of.

Each and every time the Old Guy offered a word, it served me as a hand reaching out. There are those who preach the gospel of our industry; then there are those who have lived and shaped, and given me an indescribable wealth, which money could never purchase.

***

This Old Guy

When I least expect it a guy or gal comes in for an audition and without warning brings with them a slice of life I wasn’t at all planning on. Sure I conduct my auditions on schedule; the show must go on and all that sort of thing applies, but somewhere along the way a word or a gesture allows for something special to occur; humanness finds its way between the cracks of our commercial world of puff. There, in an instant or two, I am permitted the pleasure of another man, or woman’s sentiments as they regale over a truth; nothing by design; merely stemming from a mutual need I would guess. No hand signals are given; to the casual observer, what appears in our scene is a "busy as usual" director, trying to stay within his allotted time frame.

On this particular day the guy who stood there before me required, during the "then happening" event, a listener, in this case Harvey Kalmenson, to capture the meaning of every word he spoke. I never felt the pressure of a comprehension test to follow. It was the sheer importance of the man himself, which dictated the importance of my attention to what he was willing to share.

I rarely break for lunch, and almost never have a lunch companion. On this day, lunchtime had long since come and gone. In fact I was more or less on my own for the rest of the afternoon. Man or woman, an experience being honestly shared with an individual in their tenth decade of life is a titled happening to be treasured by the listener; in this case Harvey Kalmenson.

Oftentimes people of a rare vintage offer openings, seemingly without direction. They might name an event, like an occurrence, which took place many years ago in a foreign land:
”I remember how she trembled when finally it was over; Florence was the first lady to swim the English Channel.”

Summer in a very hot San Fernando Valley venue, and without warning a conversation begins on a fog-ridden day across the pond; swimming history occurred on August 8, 1950, when Flo swam the English Channel in 13 hours and 20 minutes, breaking the then-current world record held by American swimmer Gertrude Ederle. Before I could ask the guy what a sixty two year old happening had to do with today’s, he was away and running. This was going to take awhile...

The Old Guy

“If ever you’d like to hear about 1932, I think there could be some substance to what I have to say."

Now that caught my attention. As a matter of fact, it demanded it. I treasure books; films; magazines; presenting documentation of those who came before me. Having a man, who for many years has been a respected community leader, willing to personally take me to an era by way of his first hand living experiences, is, and was of unrivaled magnitude!

In 1932 our Old Guy (or Gal) was age nineteen.

The Old Guy

“I’d like for you to try to assimilate the era, Harv. By that I mean…think about all the things we didn’t have, you and yours take for granted today. Few had phones; many dreamed about having a radio for the family’s entertainment; my source for assimilation was verbal communication, newspapers, magazines, books, and the rarity of an occasional movie.”

I settled in and prepared to participate in the afternoon as a listener. While I’m a devout lover of the abstract, I couldn’t quite get a handle on what his reference to assimilate meant for me as an individual who was not yet an inhabitant of the days the Old Guy had lived in; especially as a thirteen year old.

Assimilation Through The Eyes of a Thirteen year old

The Old Guy

The 1932 Olympics took place in Los Angeles, California. The Coliseum held fourth as a magnificent mainstay of the games. History documents this as possibly the worst worldwide economy ever. Can you imagine the desperation? The USA was the only country in the world to bid for the 1932 Olympic games. Talk about a bleak outlook; six months before the Games were to begin, not a single country had responded to the official invitations. The world was mired in the Great Depression which made the expense of traveling to California seem nearly as insurmountable as the distance. Many of the spectator tickets had not been sold and it seemed that the Memorial Coliseum, which had been expanded to 105,000 seats for the occasion, would be relatively empty. Then, a few Hollywood stars (including Douglas Fairbanks, Charlie Chaplin, Marlene Dietrich, and Mary Pickford) offered to entertain the crowd and ticket sales picked up.

Only 1,300 athletes participated, representing 37 countries. And if you think times sounded bad…try this on for size: The United States presidential election of 1932 was taking place as the effects of the Wall Street Crash of 1929, and the Great Depression were being felt across the country.

In 1932 President Herbert Hoover's popularity was falling as demonstratively as our current president's. The voters felt he was worsening the depression through his excessive spending and protectionism. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

But just when you think things can’t get any worse, even the emotions of a thirteen year old boy can be shaken to their core. Poverty hit our household, along with the calamity of what being forced into adult realizations can do to a very young man.

The Olympic games seemed of little importance to me. It was a first time, first hand experience. I had never seen my Mom ill before. Who cared who the President of The United States was? My Dad struggled to bring home enough money to feed the family. No longer dressed in his banker's garb, he had become a common picker; leaving in the wee hours of the morning at the beginning of each new week, and returning when there was enough money to help support us. I sold newspapers, and delivered prescriptions for the local pharmacy. The friends I had in those days were all in the same boat. Survival was the name of the game. Financially, nothing seemed to get better. The next seven years allowed me to reach manhood. At age nineteen I was completing my second year of study at Los Angeles City College. We were all studying diligently. There was togetherness about LACC. None were on a free ride. Even our conversations were a conscious learning experience. It was a twenty-four hour a day, around the clock effort. Not what most would think? We were dedicated to not falling short. The talk was of events; of the world; of our campus colleagues; some who preached of the most unholy doctrines. One day we had a guy who spoke of a new group called “The Aryan Nation”. He claimed to be its founder. It was the first I’d heard of “Adolph Hitler”. It turned nasty that day. There he stood in the center of our new campus. Until that very moment I had never heard his form of venom. He singled out some of my friends, not aware we were part of the fledgling drama department. It was far too much to take. We took a stand and moved him bodily from the campus, to the cheers of the lunchtime student body. I can remember feeling good about the stand we took and how together we became proud of being young actors. Unfortunately it wasn’t the last we saw of the imbecile. He went on to become a well-known hater. The rest of us completed our two years at the school, and moving forward into what was then still a rather sleepy Los Angeles society.

September 4, 1929, Los Angeles Junior College opened its doors for the first time with over 1,300 students and 54 teachers. It later changed its name to Los Angeles City College.

Notable alumni, many cut from our cloth.

Entertainment Industry Performance:

Bob Arbogast, radio broadcaster and voice actor
Pete Arbogast, radio announcer
Alan Arkin, actor, Academy Award® recipient
Billy Barty, actor and founder, Little People of America
Brenda Benet, actor
Tommy "Butch" Bond, actor
Albert Brooks, actor, comedian and director
Diana Canova, actor
James Coburn, actor, Academy Award® recipient
Clint Eastwood, actor; producer, Academy Award® recipient; director, Acad
emy Award® recipient
Mike Evans, actor
Al Freeman, Jr., actor, Emmy® Award recipient; educator
Morgan Freeman, actor, Academy Award® recipient; producer
Debbie Shapiro Gravitte, actor, Tony Award® recipient
Deidre Hall, actor
Mark Hamill, actor
Michael Harris, actor
Allen “Farina” Hoskins, actor
Jackie Joseph, actor
Margaret Kerry, actor
Wallace Langham, actor
Ruta Lee, actor
Tony Maggio, actor
Whitman Mayo, actor
James Mitchell, actor and dancer
Dickie Moore, actor
Wayne Morris, actor, WWII ace
Shelley Morrison, actor
Stephen Nichols, actor
Jeannette Nolan, actor
Hugh O’Brian, actor, Golden Globe Award® recipient
Rosie Perez, actor and choreographer
Donna Reed, actor, Academy Award® recipient
Maggie Roswell, actor
Alexis Smith, actor, Tony Award® recipient
Louise Sorel, actor
Robert Vaughn, actor, Emmy® Award recipient
Stuart Whitman, actor
Cindy Williams, actor and producer
Esther Williams, actor, Golden Globe Award® recipient
Paul Winfield, actor, Emmy® Award recipient
Jo Anne Worley, actor
Aron Kader, comedian
Production_Nick Grippo, caterer and author
Gary Stockdale, composer for television shows
Ray Aghayan, costume designer, Emmy® Award recipient
Rudy Behlmer, director and author
Charles Burnett, director and writer
F. Gary Gray, director and producer
Michael Lembeck, director, Emmy® Award recipient; actor
Karen Moncrieff, director
Albert and Allen Hughes, directors
José Quintero, directo
Ray Harryhausen, producer, director and special effects artist; special Academy Award® recipient
Bruce Kimmel, director, producer, writer, actor and composer
Mimi Leder, director, Emmy® Award recipient
Gene Roddenberry, producer and screenwriter
True Boardman, screenwriter and actor
John Milius, screenwriter, producer and director

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.