You Had To Be There! I Was!!

They're never going to believe you, but you tell it anyway. After all, you were there, and besides it gives you so much absolute fun to recall the complete absurdity, or total charm, of a past moment, of a past era, of another day. You may have been much younger then, or it might be recollections of a day not yet mature enough to be called yesteryear. Never the less, though you’re not Moses, it is yours to once again “behold these truths.” A pratfall, a handshake, a misgiving, disbelief, uncontrolled laughter, a thrill, a spill, a chill, an honor bestowed, or a simple misunderstanding of intentions; all yours to relate, all yours to keep enjoying as part of who you were, who’ve you become. And even perhaps, a guide to the wonderment of what is in store.

There you are telling, someone a story from your past, and by the expression on their face you know they’re having a great deal of trouble believing you. All of us have had incidents, when recounting becomes hard to believe. You know the old cliché, “Truth is stranger than fiction.” These kinds of stories often begin with, “you’re not going to believe this; wait until you hear this one; I saw it with my own eyes; trust me, Hollywood couldn’t write a better ending.”

It was my first day of basic training. We were in Fort Lewis, Washington. Almost the entire company of men was from Southern California. It was early in January, and this area, very near Seattle was known for experiencing inclement weather. During the four months of basic training there were only a total of four twenty-four hour periods when it didn’t rain. To make a long story short, cold and damp was the order of the day. With the exception of ten of us, the entire company of two hundred guys was drafted into the service. We were almost an entirely civilian army.

I was one of the ten men who had volunteered for the draft. An injury had ended my thoughts of baseball for the time being, and I wanted to get through my pending obligation to serve, at as young an age as possible. I was nineteen years old. At around 4am on that first morning of service to our country, the consistency of the Seattle weather held true to its reputation. The rain fell as we prepared to scamper outdoors to the parade grounds for what is commonly known in the service as "First Call"/"Reveille". I don’t recall the guy’s name; for the sake of this narrative, let’s call him “Benny”. I do remember Benny was proud to let us all know he went to Beverly Hills High School. Please don’t take this as a downer to the school. I’m merely reporting what I remember about Benny, and his Mama's boy naïveté. Like all of us, Benny forced himself from his bunk (army cot), stood up, staggering as he did so, and made his way to the end of the barracks, in order to look out the window. After doing so, Benny turned away from the window with a smile on his face, and began his trek back to bed, as he put it. Benny shouted to us,” It’s raining guys, we’re not going to have to go out there today.” Benny was now back in bed with the covers pulled over snuggly. As our platoon sergeant came into the picture, we knew something special was in the offing. Without hesitation our sergeant motioned for us to be quiet. He then pointed to four of us, and continued with his soundless direction; One guy at each corner of Benny’s bed cot. His gesturing was precise and priceless to see. Our sergeant waved both of his arms in an up and over motion. In a flash Benny was upside down on the floor with his cot on top of him. Benny got to his feet and allowed,” But it’s raining”! To which our sergeant replied, “So in Beverly Hills you don’t go out in the rain”?

Poor Benny, he had become a marked man. From that day forward at the most inauspicious occasions Benny would be subjected to the chant: “Take the day off Benny, cause it’s raining out there.” The guys could be merciless.

There have been times in my life when I’ve said to myself,” Take the day off Benny, (Harvey) cause it’s raining out there.” Imagine those words as the title of a down home country lyric, and you’re en-route to the good old fashioned feel sorry for yourself sort of conundrum life has a way of unsystematically throwing at all of us, usually when we are most unprepared for it. You had to be there, and I was, too often perhaps. Benny had no one to talk to about his plight. When you think about it, it really wasn’t Benny’s fault to begin with. Unlike da harv (me), he was drafted into the army.

Interesting comparisons can be made.

Benny, and da harv, same age;
da harv volunteered to serve;
Benny was taken into the service after trying every way possible to avoid the draft.
At home in Los Angeles, Benny was considered unfortunate, while I (da harv) was considered to be immature, foolish, and a flag waiver.
(I mean there was a war going on, why would anyone volunteer to be killed?)
Benny grew up in a family where work meant nine to five. Dawn and the Kalmenson family awakening occurred at the same hour each day. As a child I never remember sleeping in, not that I wanted to.

What a difference a half century can make. The Benny’s of the world no longer have to worry about the draft. They are free to sleep in without penalty. Da harv remains stuck in his almost worn out time lock. If I had it to do all over again, there I’d be, waving the same flag, and considering myself lucky for my personal moment to do so. Today, the fellows and gals, who find themselves duty bound to serve us, and the country God blessed them with, are now exemplified as heroes and heroines.

In my era the general public was barely cognizant of our departure from their society, or our ultimate return. There were no parades, no banners, and rarely a celebration-taking place. Vets received no thank you; none was expected. We were thirteen years away from our first Super Bowl extravaganza. Half time at a game was a great time to go to the bathroom. Come to think of it…there was no instant replay. But on the plus side we didn’t have to worry about entertainers from other countries making obscene gestures while our children were glued to the tube.

I guess if I had to choose between recalling Benny’s incident, or a degenerate flipping me the finger at half time, I’d have to go with Benny. But then I guess you would have to have been there.! I was!!!

Sobering Up

A guy once told me how he never wanted to sober up. I wondered what the hell he was talking about; was he nuts? His demeanor didn’t resemble someone under the influence of drugs or alcohol. As a matter of fact, in today’s parlance, I’d categorize him as pretty much together. Of course it's what I would say today, being the kindly older gentlemen, that I have become.

Offering me the unsolicited advice was our high school custodian, Mr. Gross. In those days every school had one. I never knew his first name, or where he lived, or whether or not he was married or had children of his own. What we all recognized early on was that Mr. Gross was the key and essential figure for our schools ability to run on time and efficiently each and every day of the year. Succinctly stated, the man was in charge of almost everything. He was the man who could make or break the principal's performance rating. Above all…he loved baseball. Most of the school year Mr. Gross was seen, but not heard. But when we entered our spring semester, it was baseball season, and Mr. Gross never missed a practice or any of our home games. As a matter of fact when we played an away game, he would get continual updates by telephone from other custodians around the league.

I personally became directly aware of Mr. Gross’s involvement after one particular away game. The school bus carried us back to the campus, and as we pulled in, I caught sight of Mr.Gross standing directly in front of our locker room building, waiting for us with a huge smile on his face. He wasn’t alone. I found out much later on, he had given out an account of the game to many of the students that afternoon. It was like a pep rally when I exited the bus. I had no inkling of what my day would turn into when I left for school that morning; it was to become the highlight of my young life. It was the very first game I pitched as a member of the schools varsity baseball team. Since I wasn’t scheduled to pitch that day, my Dad was not in attendance for the monumental event destined to transpire.

The Monumental Event:

It was the bottom of the third inning, our starting pitcher had loaded the bases, and there were no outs. I had been warming up in the bullpen for a brief few minutes when I got the call from our coach. “You're in Kalmenson”, was all he said as he left the mound.

Here’s the Hollywood ending. It was amazingly all over in no more than ten minutes. The first batter I faced attempted to bunt the runner in from third base. When his attempt failed, I thought to myself about how little confidence his coach had in him. With bases loaded and nobody out, and at such an early time in the game, bunting wasn’t a very smart thing to do. My confidence level shot up. In nothing flat I had him out on strikes. It was then that our shortstop and second baseman came to the pitchers mound for a confab. Our second baseman broke the tension by saying, “Think of the headlines, Harv. Short to second to first and you’re out of the inning.” I threw the next pitch very high and tight so as not to let the batter get comfortable at the plate. Two pitches later, a ground ball was hit to our shortstop, George “Sparky” Anderson. It went as prescribed by our second baseman, short, to second, to first for a double play. My team and coach were all over me as I returned to our dug out, as high on life as could ever be perceived.

***

I was a kid of sixteen, participating at a high level of high school sports, and in general parading around school in my letterman sweater, under the impression I was indeed a "big man on campus." It was difficult to fight back the swollen head syndrome. Think about it, even some adults develop over active egos, when expansive degrees of acclaim come their way; deserved, or not, earned or merely by being in the right place at the right time.

My head was filled to capacity with the dreams of a young man yet to accomplish anything of real substance. Like many teen-age boys, our values are unduly misled by the extent of our God given athletic prowess. By that I mean just because a guy can throw a baseball shouldn’t qualify him as the towns advice giver. But it happens. The local newspaper does a story on you, and the next thing you know your popularity around the school campus soars. Added into my mix was another pleasurable ingredient. My Father never missed seeing a ballgame when I was scheduled to pitch. And since he was my biggest fan, and as I recall one of the most ardent baseball enthusiasts I’d ever met, it served me well as a confidence builder.

Dad wasn’t there on my monumental first day, because I wasn’t scheduled to pitch. He got the complete story that evening when he came home from work.

When our second baseman had encouraged me to think of the headlines in order to get me to relax under those game conditions, I doubt if he ever perceived the extent of the press I would receive the very next day. The banner lead in headline read: “Kalmenson Comes Through”. Unbeknown to me was my Dad's early on adulation over my baseball accomplishments that day. The newspaper accounts of the game was clipped and duplicated in order for Dad to send it out to all of his brothers on the east coast. In addition, for many years, he carried a copy of the article in his wallet, as a memento. The original of the article remains in my possession, and is framed and hangs on a wall in my office; more as a remembrance of my Father than as an ego feeding depiction of a teenage exploit.

Prowess displayed during a moment of a person’s life may help in the building of ones confidence, but it may also act as an ego stimulant. Certainly, confidence and ego are not the same, although many people have assumed the two must go together. Both can be bruised, and deflated. Both may become over done, as in an enlarged ego, or the person who is over confident. Don’t get the idea I knew what was happening during the monumental event I’ve described. I’m reporting what I truthfully recall to be the case during my teen-age years.

While I find myself smiling as I recollect the glory of a past event, there are other truths to behold. Recollection can make a man or woman shudder. I’m sure many of you out there can identify with being embarrassed over the recall of an adolescent occurrence. It may be a thing you did, or said without thinking.

There is also what I refer to as “Pride Recollections”. These are things you’ve done or said which somehow give you a warm feeling about yourself. They are yours to make wholesome use of, whenever you like. It can be a wow moment, like saying to yourself, I never thought I could pull it off, but I did. I studied for that damn test, and I aced it. One of my favorites, as told to me by a rather prominent actress. When inquiring about a certain role, this actress was told, “This play isn’t for you”. And then she went on to star in it, a movie was made, she starred in that also, and now long ago retired, she recalls the expression on the face of the individual who told her she wasn’t good enough in the first place.

For me personally, it’s an occurrence that transpired just before I was to graduate from the same high school where Mr. Gross remained on as school custodian. It had been a full two years since Mr. Gross made the remark to me about never wanting to sober up.

It was the year of my eighteenth birthday. My thoughts were generally and in particular almost entirely self-centered. I guess that’s what a teen-age boy is all about. First and foremost, upon turning eighteen, a guy had to worry about being drafted into the military. That probability of course doesn’t exist today. Along with wondering about an athletic scholarship to college, or being fortunate enough to sign a baseball contract, complicated the package weighing heavily on my daily mindset.

It was mid morning of a regular school day. I was sitting alone in the schools senior circle, an area reserved for only those students in their final year. Rarely was I ever alone at school. The welcomed solitude was not only appreciated, it was necessary for contemplation over what my future would hold. I was sitting there staring at nothing in particular when I felt the presence of a person standing along side.

“You look as if you’ve sobered up”, Mr.Gross said.
“Are you okay?”, he asked. I explained how I was caught up with thoughts of what the future would hold for me.
“Life can be a sobering experience at times, regardless of what you’re attempting to do,” he advised.
“Well two years ago you told me how you never wanted to sober up,” I replied.
“I said I never wanted to sober up. I didn’t say I could stay happy all the time. What I meant was life throws things at you. I found out a long time ago, I loved this school, and I especially loved baseball. Each time something crappy happened in my life, I dug in even deeper to my work at school and the joy brought to me by baseball”.
And with that Mr. Gross walked away, after shaking my hand and saying good luck, and God be with you.

A stranger taking the time to show interest in a kid’s welfare is everlasting isn’t it. Like Mr.Gross before me, I never want to sober up. A quickly dealt injury instantly removed any thoughts of an athletic scholarship, or a baseball contract. The contemplation process became simple.

Hello, Private Harvey Kalmenson. It was sobering, but not for long.

Of Great Magnitude

Questions propel

Often in abstract form
From child hood on and on, endless

Wonder is what I do almost every day.
Wonder in every way

“A remarkable person exists as a wonder to those he or she may perceive with great wonderment.”
Hk

One day not too long ago, in another century, I found myself atop a hill in a far away land for then, but not for now; across a massive expanse of water, requiring most to cross by boat. Because of things yet to be discovered, my communication with those covered by the word "love" was accomplished through the mail. While I had yet to feel any real sense of mortality, those at home wondered about my safety. I had not yet discovered boredom, neither as a device stimulating anguish, nor as an excuse for taking chances with my own life. Of course everything relevant at age nineteen, most of what I was up to wasn’t part of what I considered to be overly dangerous. The accompanying photo is that of a very young da harv, sitting on top of a box containing a variety of explosives to be used for clearing the very same hill he’s sitting on. Our location is thirty-five miles north of the thirty-eighth parallel, in North Korea. (I wonder if any of the trees made it back to life?)

Can you be in a state of "art", when the "art" has not yet been invented? I wondered about it, and then in what flew by in less time than I might have imagined, this new form was there for me to concern myself with.

By foot, by horse, by boat, by train, by plane or by rocket ship propelled to the moon; all in a single lifetime, only taking a second or two to marvel at this magnitude of mans doing. With all these in my lifetime, in order to complement a mans quality of life, these same men manage to wage war in order to destroy what they think they have created under the guise of their endless search for peace.

A single explosive blast and all life on the hillside I’ve depicted would be gone for another lifetime, or perhaps forever.

1943

A ten-year-old boy or girl born in the early thirties, without the benefit of a hill high above their asphalt-covered turf, can only wonder about the shortages, that surround them. They have not yet contemplated relationships, such as their own value to our world, or their net worth as human beings. What has happened to them, without warning is the outrageous introduction of fear.

Begun in 1939, World War II is now ablaze, and their lives as little kids have been summarily renounced. Sure, they still run and play the kids games synonymous with the children of Brooklyn, New York in the early forties. What have dramatically changed are the people around them. The children are privy to the expressions of pain so vividly being registered on the adult faces around them. It is a time period when each of them becomes a working entity within their community. The schools organize paper, and scrap iron and metal drives. The kids are told they are helping the war effort. The word "war" has become common to them as breathing. Though common, it remains beyond comprehension for these ten-year-olds to fathom.

On a bright, warm spring day the children were ushered into their school's assembly hall to meet and listen to a veteran soldier. Excitement ran high for all of them. They wondered what this man hero would be like. Boys and girls alike were charged with the heroic depictions being offered to the general public on a regular nightly radio diet. Truth be told, what the public was hearing was totally controlled government approved information. The documented facts of the time period tell a story of us and our allies getting our brains beat out, on almost every corner of the globe. FDR had decided it would be in the best interest of the country’s morale if the citizenry were kept from hearing the real downtrodden truth.

The children wondered about why many of their parents were on hand for the event. Little did they know, children and parents alike were about to have an experience, which would stay with them for a lifetime? The schools history teacher, himself a returning, wounded World War II veteran, took the stage and briefly introduced the star of the show. His preface was a simple statement of fact:

“Like the soldier you are about to meet, I to have experienced the cruelty of war. And as a veteran, I share a bond with all other veterans who have served our country in time of war or peace. We are a large and proud group of men and women. I will count today as one of the finest moments of my lifetime.”

And then he said: (In a much softer voice than before)

” Albert Henry Woolson is here with us today as a returning Civil War veteran, He was born in 1850, and had entered our Union Army, some say at age fifteen. We hope you all will enjoy what he has to say about this great country of ours.”

At that moment the parents and children were instantly united in wonderment as this Civil War veteran, age ninety-three, made his way across the stage to the speaker's rostrum with only the use of a single cane assisting him. The history teacher adjusted the microphone, which was attached to the speaker's stand, and then signaled for us to rise, as he turned, placed his hand over his heart and stood facing our flag. Albert Henry Woolson raised his right arm as straight as he could make it go and began the Pledge Of Allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. It was the best salute any of the parents or children had ever witnessed. His voice was quiet, but strong. His delivery was deeply prideful. All in attendance marveled at this patriot, the antithesis of inspiration during this time of our countries greatest conflict.

“It was seventy eight years ago, in 1865 when our terrible Civil War came to its end. I was a young man then; the reports say I was fifteen years of age. When you get as old as I am, it becomes hard to remember anything other than how scared I was at the time. But some things remain with me…like being high up on top of a hill one day. By myself; you know, wondering about a lot of things. One of which was wondering if there could ever be another war as bad as this one. Well a few years later I got my answer; it was called World War 1;and they said it was the war to end all wars. It began in 1914, just forty-nine years after our Civil War ended. By then I was sixty-nine years old. I moved into my own home high up on top of a nice grassy hill. There was a lot of time then for me to wonder about things. I figured I’d seen the last of big wars. But you know what, I was wrong. In just twenty short years, it all began again. This was what we live with today. We call it WWII. Here I am again, wondering if this will finally be the one to end all wars and preserve the peace we thought we were going to have as a result of ending our civil unrest. We lost our great leader then, president Abraham Lincoln. I sure hope none of you ever have to go through the sorrow of losing your president, for whatever the reason may be."

He completed his little presentation and marched off the stage to a loud and lengthy ovation. Two years later the president of the United States, FDR died. Albert Henry Woolson lived on for another thirteen years.

Note: Albert Henry Woolson (February 11, 1850 – August 2, 1956) was the last surviving member of the Union Army, which fought in the American Civil War. He was just turning age fifteen when he entered the service of our country.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt, was the 32nd President of the United States. January 30, 1882 – April 12, 1945; he was sixty-three years old at the time of his death.

***

And so, as I began with my own wonderment revelations; continuing today, unable to refrain from the same wonder of wonders; the passage of time.

The changes and the sameness continue on. Today, I once again find myself high a top of a hill. There are no explosives to be found. I live here in the present, but remain in contemplation and wonderment.

One day not too long ago (a lifetime), in another century (1952), I found myself a top a hill in a far away land. There remains miles of separation, across a massive expanse of water; commanding those before me, but relinquishing their command to jet planes. My communication with those covered by the word love remains covered, much as in the past; now faster, but not better. While I had yet to feel any real sense of mortality then, today the more human aspects have taken over. Those at home who wondered about my safety are no longer.

Note: My safety is no longer in the balance. The safety of my country, and of my comrades at arms remains alarmingly the same.

If one day I am the old man to walk across a stage, in a theater filled with children and their parents, will I be unassisted and able to raise my arm in a salute, and be able to lead them in a pledge of allegiance to our country? I wonder!

North Korea

Talk, talk, and talk. The newspapers and the TV talking heads are all at it again. The despot jerk that was the leader of one of the most depressed countries the world has ever known has dropped dead, they say from an apparent heart attack. I doubt if anyone could ever treat his fellow citizens more despicably.

North Korea rots, while South Korea during the course of the last fifty-nine years has become one of the world’s global leaders. The north shrivels, while the south educates. What this communist regime, like all others, has always stood for is exemplified by bareness and depravity.

I witnessed first hand, as a young soldier a truth I had previously found too harsh to be believed. But the truth was just that. The barbaric presence of the communist leaders weighs so heavily on the shoulders of the North Korean people; their plight remains so miring, escape and freedom has become a virtual impossibility. The North Korean leaders have systematically removed all modern devices from the day-to-day lives of their people. While the south bathes in lights provided by electricity and its children have become privy to every computerized method of study known to man, the north, figuratively and materially has remained in the dark. But on the other hand, many argue, you don’t miss what you’ve never had. While almost everyone in South Korea duplicates the cell phone use of most modern societies, the families, as well as the business people, except those of the government are rarely if ever privy to a land line telephone. The beat is relentless; what is television, what is a washing machine, what does the word vaccine mean?

And by the way, how in the world can a people exist without actors? They have no Screen Actors Guild, no A.F.T.R.A, no agents, or personal managers. “Let’s go out and have a frozen yogurt ”; forget about it.

North Koreans wouldn’t dream of doing a Wall Street type of sit in. Americans, unlike our president, aren’t brought up to bow to despots. North Koreans, on the other hand make it a point to bow to everyone. Oh, I forgot, they do have one good thing; they don’t worry about having an Internal Revenue audit. Since the government owns everything, higher taxes aren’t a problem. They can’t promote a new congressional bill adding more taxation to the rich, because they emptied their pail years ago; kind of what we see happening in most of Europe today. Except for the military, and their president, who becomes president similarly to any family inheritance, their playing field is level; all are poor.

On July 27, 1953 at 9PM, at a semi horrid location to exist, the Korean Conflict, (that’s what it was called) came to a less than an auspicious ending. As a soldier none of us trusted what our leaders had to say. It wasn’t distrust because we felt our commanders were liars; our distrust was caused by a disbelief that this miserable war had really come to an end. We all thought it was too good to come true.

My purpose for writing this paper is straightforward, offered as a clarification for some of the deceit being fed to the American public. I pray the impact of my words does more than merely sneak up on you. By that I mean I pray those who can stay with me for a moment or two, might come away with a feeling our country is more than average. Please let it sink in. I’m not God, but please trust my verbal integrity as if it were the gospel.

If it were not for the United States Of America, the country of South Korea would not exist as we know it today: a country, much like ours, which shines, and promotes the growth of its citizens. South Korea is a capitalist society. North Korea is a communist dictatorship. And again, if it were not for the United States of America, the country and the people of South Korea would be held under the same tyrannical leadership as their brethren to the north. The students of Korea are now ranked third in the world in science and mathematics. While the north builds their army and bombs with an enormous capability to destroy, the capital city of Seoul, just twenty-five miles to the south enjoys the fruit of their existence as a capitalistic society.

IMPORTANT NOTE TO MY READERS:

• When WWII ended, the Japanese were forced to relinquish their dictatorial possession of the Korean Peninsula.
• In 1945 the United Sates and the Soviet Union divided Korea, separating north and south at the thirty-eighth parallel. Ultimately the Russians gave way to the Chinese communists.
• Spurred on by the Chinese, the North Korean army attacked and invaded the south. The United States came to the aid of the south, ultimately destroying the destructive capabilities of the northern army. It was then that the Chinese entered the conflict.
• Fifty thousand Americans were lost as a result of the Korean Conflict.
• South Korea is a free and thriving country as a result of the Korean Conflict.
  

In order of occupancy; first it was a kingdom (the Japanese), then the Russian communists (also known as Socialists), and today the North Korean Communists, (also known as Socialists).

A quick recap reveals, and perhaps an even more rapid-fire history lesson clearly shows the plain facts. The people of South Korea in less than sixty years surpassed the tyrannical despotic leaders who mercilessly deprived their own citizens from any semblance of human dignity.

I suppose I am being naïve. Certainly everyone in our (still) free society is entitled to his or her own verbal stance. What it boils down to is my lack of patience and understanding for those who see the United States as a world detractor. Sir Winston Churchill expounded on his fervent belief that without the courage and determination of the Unites States of America, not only would Great Britain have fallen, but also Adolph Hitler, originally organized under the guise of socialism, would have seized all of Europe as well. Churchill along with many other great historians pointed out, the socialist, communist, dictatorships of the world all practiced the same credo, “divide and conquer, isolate the normal divisions between people, and foster blame on those being isolated as the cause factor for the current denigration that they, the socialists had brought upon their own people.” Race, creed, and color were all the ammunition necessary in order to divide the countries of Europe. Take God out of the mix and you have lock, stock, and barrel the grist for the formation and solid foundation of every nation in the history of world civilization that failed, void of magnanimity.

Keep in mind, what Churchill said, was the supposition of the necessity of a right wing and a left in order to gain and sustain flight. Weakness will never be able to maintain prolonged or aggressive flight. He (Churchill) pointed to the United States as a centrist country. Many confuse being a centrist with being a coward. Nothing could be further from the truth; between the wings, find the body of the bird, no matter how large or small.

In closing, I do have a single simple request to make. If any of you out there know of an incident in the history of this world we live in today where any civilization can remotely match the success the United States of America has experienced in the same short number of years we have existed, please pass it along.

Celebrating the Holidays

We had our office staff, teachers and engineers Christmas, Hannukah, and all purpose seasonal holiday party this Sunday last, December 11, at Firenze Osteria; Lisa Long’s establishment on Lankershim Blvd. In what Lisa calls Toluca Lake.

One very large table in our own separate banquet room, was set up for us with all the frills one might need for the most warm and friendliest crowd to be found anywhere in Los Angeles on this special afternoon / evening event. Counting Cathy and da harv we had twenty-four there to eat and be merry. Only three of our Kalmenson & Kalmenson team was unable to attend.

Our team attendance included:

Cathy Kalmenson, Harvey Kalmenson, Donna Dubain, Michele Jastremski, Debbie Caruso, Lisa McCullough Roark, Leah Swetsky, Scott Holst, Steve Staley, Denise Krueger,

Lynnanne Zager, Kathy Grable, Samantha Robson, Melique Berger, Stephen Tobolowsky, Jill Remez, Doug Gochman, Jacob Cipes, Andrew Racho, Sara Cravens, Ashley Nguyen, Mitch Urban, Ben Lepley, Marie Bagnell.

Our evening's menu:

Each year we have a theme for our celebration. This year it was “A Toast To Our Future Together”, in twenty-five words or less. Surprisingly each and every one in attendance were able to write an appropriate toast staying within the twenty-five-word guideline. All guests showed up on time, prepared, and ready to go. We asked that the clinking of glasses, and the sipping of wine not be done until the end of the final toast. This ended up being a suggestion not adhered to by each of our colleagues. Some managed to actually consume twenty-four sips.

As usual we began with Cathy Kalmenson as our opening presenter (act). She was introduced by Mitch Urban who took on the presence of the “Sergeant At Arms” at a joint session of congress, as he called everyone to attention and saying, “Mr. Chairman, it is my great pleasure, and distinct honor, to introduce the beautiful president of Kalmenson & Kalmenson Cathy Kalmenson.” Cathy with great pleasure accepted the applause graciously, and began her presentment by humorously recapping the past year; highlighting in a most descriptive fashion the joys of our business, and the pleasurable accomplishments of our Kalmenson & Kalmenson teammates.

And once again as is our usual custom I brought up the rear. My comments almost always are spurred on by how taken I am with our team. Our people have a great deal in common with the men and women who are members of our armed services; every one of them is a volunteer. Every one of them takes pride in their professional choice of occupation. Every one of them must be accepted by a leader and then accepted by the people they themselves are paid to lead professionally.

Maybe I should modify my statement about being a volunteer. A person who desires to enter our military; they are the ones who truthfully should be called volunteers. They fill out an application for employment with the service branch of their choice, fill out the forms, take a series of physical, psychological, and aptitude tests, and if they come up to an acceptable standard, they are then officially inducted into that particular branch of the service.

Our requirements at Kalmenson & Kalmenson are a little different than the military, although some would say the Kalmenson’s are tougher to become a part of. Usually we are the ones who offer a prospective teacher or engineer the opportunity to become part of our team, only after we have known them for a considerable length of time. Most of the people, who join us, do so, after one or two things having taken place, either they have been in on numerous occasions as an actor for an audition directed by me, or they are current or past students, studying with us. In any case nothing is done quickly. Each of them has been personally participating in a testing program, long before they are made aware of it. When the right time becomes apparent, they will be asked if they would like to enter into a Kalmenson & Kalmenson training program. It should be pointed out, without variance there is never any salary or payments involved during the training period. These are all hand picked folks with far more natural desire to succeed than the average person out there. All are working actors, who bring with them the desired credentials for success. By accepting our conditions for entering into our demanding training regimen, they are in essence volunteering for a service unlike any other out there.

Many who read this will judge my next statement. Those who interpret, without the benefit of having their own personal years of experiences to forage through, will never have the capabilities, of understanding the true meaning of excellence.

I had before me a homogeneous group of individual intellects, banded by desire; culturally speaking a language driven by integrity and pride of accomplishment. These are the people who agreed to volunteer when they were asked to do so. In that room on our special Christmas and holiday night, Cathy and I were able to beam without the benefit of any artificial light. Our team provided us with the best toast imaginable. They represent our name as if it were their own.

“If they don’t learn, you aren’t teaching.”

John Wooden

Kalmenson & Alone

A Throng of one

Without balance or justification
A stand-alone throng of one
Reviewed daily by way of mirror
As often as one might appear
Look what joy I see in me
No questions allowed
More speed when space need not be shared
Lacking despair, for none was ever there
What was has always been
A one sided building leaning
Towards Kalmenson
At one with being alone.


The Decision Making Process


For sure all family’s are different with regard to the decision making process. What is or isn’t important may have enormous variances from home to home around the country, your own neighborhood, or even the world. The case of vanilla or chocolate sounds so simple, but is it?

Three guys bring home some ice cream to surprise their families at the end of a workday. The scenario will vary.

In house number one the kids are eagerly awaiting Dads entrance; they’re all over him from the moment he comes into the picture. They over-react with yelling and screaming about what Dad has brought home with him. Their display shows how they couldn’t care less about the package he has with him. Believe it or not; the kids are hyped up about seeing their Dad; what a concept!
House number two; Dad shouts out, “I’m home”. No answer; the kids are busy watching Sponge Bob.



Lillian

I would be destined to remember this one morning in November; not that it was morning, or even the month or the year, which gave it an extra specialness, not as an earth-shattering event. Logic provides remembrance of ones own birth as just about an impossibility to forget. And lest I forget, the woman who carried me through to a full time pregnancy, found it her natural duty in life, to remind me whenever it was at all possible, that mine was indeed the most difficult pregnancy ever recorded as such. In her very own words, “You were a painful little infant to carry around for so many months, and an even more painful child to deliver.” She also had an unbelievable story about the number of hours she was in labor. I know my first two words on earth must have been, “I’m sorry.” And of course her response,” You should be!!!” Auspicious, wouldn’t you say?

A day or single moment added to many, through my early years which laid wide open what was mine, always and forever; they say seventy five percent of who we are, and most likely what we will turn out to be, coincides rampantly with what became ours by way of environment. In other more simple terms: It’s mostly about bloodline, baby. When do we allow for the acknowledgment of what is ours alone, and what was given to us unknowingly by a parent, or perhaps both mother and father?

Like so many boys who became men before me, I grew up with a heavy dose of hero worship for my dad. The thought of being anything at all like my mother was beyond my comprehension. In my mind mothers were there to take care of the house, prepare the food, and in general be a family caterer. She couldn’t possibly help me with the important things like playing baseball, or attending baseball games, or listening to baseball games on the radio.

(Yes, I did say radio. When I was a young boy, television had not yet made an appearance. My father and I spent many hours together sitting in front of the family radio listening to a sporting event, or to one or more of the popular radio shows.)


What could I possibly say about Lillian, to capture her nature, as one of the most benevolent people I’d ever meet during my lifetime? Many that met Lillian did not share my feelings and felt the opposite to be true. She was a wildly swinging patriot of the United States. She took this country personally, as if God had given it to her. Her character traits were by no means cultivated. Love, laughter or anger, she shot from the hip. So it came as no surprise that Lilly treated a person’s uncertainty as a gesture of deceit. Extremely quiet people occurred to her as having something up their sleeve. These were the folks she might never trust. The woman didn’t enter a room, she penetrated; without a word she became a focal point. Her words could be sweet or sour, matching a temperament capable of instant change, often times in mid sentence. And At Lillian’s Court, without reverence or resemblances of sweet talk,
The walk she walked was hers.

Lillie’s Convictions

Solar Power

• It never rose and it never flew; there for it was bullshit they blew.
• Politicians
• To every answer you can find a new question. For every question those who understood neither would elect another question, and then you proudly take office without a prayer to succeed, or promises can you fulfill?

Neighbors

• If each one sweeps before his, or her, own private door, the whole street is clean. But what may remain within each mans home, may never be seen.

Marriage

• Don’t change for me, but do allow yourself the ultimate pain and gratification of some degree of alteration. And if not alteration, perhaps making a marriage license cost prohibitive as the solution for half of the pending divorces. If most people couldn’t afford to get married, we would have far fewer divorces.

Divorce

• If the married couple doesn’t have children the divorce would be free of charge. A simple goodbye would do the trick. People who have brought children on to this earth would not be eligible for divorce until the youngest of the children reached age eighteen. Disrespectful children would not be allowed to reach the age of eighteen.

Understanding Love

As in things from childhood, never understood
When a parent gives voice to them
Some children never will or would
They must take what is given
And know all told must be true
When a child listens early on to a parent
Without living experiences
Never understanding
Never understood.

Positive Thinking

There are times when I wonder why I write a blog. Many years ago when I first picked up a pen for profit I was told in no uncertain terms to prepare for criticism. At least then I was being paid, and somehow indecision regarding the validity of my work didn’t seem to get to me quite as much as it does today. There were times when I was working for a newspaper that I wondered if anyone was actually reading what I had to say. It was like I was writing an obituary column for those readers who had already died. No wonder they didn’t make comments.

I can remember early on, about thirty years ago, when I was a guest on a radio talk show, and found myself wondering whether there was anyone listening in to what I was saying. The host smiled and said with a sly wink, “Wait until we open up the phone lines for questions and comments”. It was then I found out the real importance of them having a producer who also functioned as a screener: Some of the callers were really screw loose with what they had to say. One of the kids at the radio station called it pounce time. I found out quickly what he was getting at. There are people out there who devote their energies towards indiscriminate attacks on whomever they can find who isn’t in a position to retaliate. These are the unpaid critics, the "wannabes" that don’t begin to have the talent or the fortitude to make it on their own. (There was a time delay, so luckily most of these nut jobs couldn’t get through.)

Today there exists a new and equally parasitic clutter the creative world must deal with. They are still categorized as critics, and their psychological thrusts are the same as most those other bygone eras produced. But today’s rock-throwers have far greater capabilities than ever before in the history of communications. All a person needs is a computer, a phone, a screen, and an acidic condition in order to render their dissertation to a world in waiting. About one year ago I was cajoled to venture fourth into the wide world of “blogdom”. In doing so I promised myself I would not take to heart any really mean spirited critiques any of my readers might offer. Admittedly, my promise to myself at times is hard to live with.

***

One Hundred Blogs Later

Writings, scribbling(s), statements of what have become lived in facts...receiving things from people, often the reality of tainted distortions of the real truth, or the truth as they perceive it. I try not to let another human beings misgivings about life, as they have lived it, get in the way of my attempts at remaining positive.

The majority of people offering their personal sentiments regarding my opinions, as I continue to scribe, have been positive in nature. Many have thanked me for reminding them of what they themselves know to be true. Most are reflections of little tidbits from my own past, which helped me during my own down times.

I doubt if we can uncover very many folks in the entertainment business that have reached a noteworthy degree of success without experiencing first hand a pitfall or two, or three, or four, or more. My own are numerous.

If I were to ask a person what gave them the right to vote for someone other than who I voted for, I believe I would instantly earn the title of one of the world's most boorish men. But what about an obviously bitter old person, who was never at any point of creative acceptance in their life, questioning why I have the nerve to write a blog, and further going on in asking if I’m seeking out a new career. To this person, I felt duty bound to offer my thank you. I will forever feel indebted to you for offering your boorish direction. You have given me the fortitude to go on with an even greater display of positiveness than ever before. Bless you for taking the time to let some of the vindictiveness seep from the core of uselessness that has centupled as you continue your creative condemnation during the remainder of your senior years.