Reflections

      For many years, my favorite philosopher has been Leo Buscaglia. Though Leo died a few years ago, his teachings remain a discerning factor in the way da harv attempts to live his life. There was a time period when Leo helped me through the most trying period of my life. I have recommended his books to people of all ages, and from all walks of life.

      Leo Buscaglia was known on campus at the University of Southern California as the “Love Professor”. His dynamism and love for people and life is an accepted force for many educators all over the world. What follows is one simple and to-the-point Leo quote that I feel like sharing with some people I, too, care about.

“Love is a mirror.

When you love another,

you become his mirror and he becomes yours…

And reflecting each other’s love, you see infinity.”

And Leo also liked to quote another favorite of his: Leo Rosten.

This Leo said:

“It is the weak who are cruel.

Gentleness can only be expected from the strong.”

      This Sunday’s material was stimulated not by me viewing the turmoil of our country’s vast display of uneasiness, but rather the repeat of the human condition we manage to ignore. I, for one, do not choose to forget our history; certainly, some remembrances are not pleasantly etched in my mind’s eye, but the good of who came before me stimulate the strength needed by my family, friends, and any and all who are unable to provide the strength these trying times cry out for.

      Long before my Father showed me his own personal display of courage and forbearance, he managed even in the worst of times to provide a hand to those around him in need. My Dad could have been a history teacher, he sure was mine--then came my high school baseball coach, my teammates, and the men who shared the imposing rigors of my life as a soldier in South Korea.

      It was 1953, perhaps the most trying times of all for the Korean people, especially the children; many of them left without brothers, or sisters, family, or friends; they wandered the small villages in dire need of food, and protection from the severest of nature’s elements.

      On July 27, 1953, at 9:00 PM, the fighting was suspended, we all breathed a protected sigh of relief. There were still sounds of explosions all over the place, and all of us were warned by our leaders, the Chinese communists can’t be trusted, don’t let your guard down, and we didn’t.

      Overnight, our company area turned into a makeshift American town; shiploads of mail, packages containing every kind of food you could think of began arriving from the states. Enter the Korean kids from all over the place. We never had a shortage of food; not in the American army, not amongst any of us. That’s not to say the kids came directly into our compound. It was merely us, a group of mostly nineteen and twenty-year-old guys finding ways of getting a lot of our stuff into the hands of these children. Overnight, our thoughts of the war had begun to dissipate. Yesterday had become history.

      While Leo Buscaglia’s explanation for the acts perpetrated by the despots of this world, it does allow this person his very own mirrored reflection. And in those fleeting moments, as self-worth is determined, perhaps then a single moment of infinity will be captured.

Be well, all!

HK

________________

When Harvey invited me to share my thoughts, I was initially hesitant due to never having visited the Motherland: a stranger to the turf. However, I can proudly say that I'm quite familiar with the culture and language, more than most fellow Korean-American peers. With that said, it has been fascinating to see and hear of Harvey's experiences in Korea. My mom, who was far too young at the time, shares the fascination when I relay what I learn. The once bare lands of Korea in the wake of the conflict are now thriving—making it difficult to fathom what used to be. All in all, I feel blessed to learn the history of my dual roots through firsthand accounts; Harvey illustrates the turbulent times with such clarity and detail.

Thank you for your service, Harvey.

I can't wait to hear more of your stories while we attempt to have more riveting conversations in Korean.

N. Chung

In Case You Missed It: March 29, 2020

TROUBLED TIMES We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival. –Sir Winston Churchill

WHEN           During troubling times, the weakest and the strongest of us search, together, for answers. Why the pain, we ask? Is suffering a necessary evil in order for us to move ahead and prosper? And, how in the name of hell will we manage to cope with what trying days face us tomorrow, and tomorrow, and perhaps tomorrow once again. Who do we blame? Where do we cast the responsibility for what’s taking place? In the past, we learned about fighting wars. We all knew who our enemy was. When a bomb was dropped on us, we searched out the enemy and marched together towards the ultimate victory our country has always been able to command. We defeated the enemy and humanely built their society back up to once again stand tall. We restored human dignity to those who chose to destroy us; it was war and peace with total transparency.

UPON REFLECTION           I’ve always been enamored by the knowledge old people manage to store away during their lifetime. There were nine brothers and sisters on my Father's side, and eight brothers and sisters on my Mom's. (Birth control wasn’t part of the immigrant’s vocabulary.) Of all the dozens of cousins in our family army, I was the young guy who constantly leaned in to hear what gems the elders might share. Their stories were colorful to say the least. Dad’s side, especially, had aunts and uncles worth listening to. All of them were bright and outgoing; most played a variety of musical instruments. It wasn’t unusual for a number of them to break into song to go along with Grandma, my Father's Mom, taking a turn telling a story or two about how she and Grandpa Max escaped from Russia on a boat loaded with immigrants. My Father was a conservative, yet he was capable of throwing caution to the wind. He, like all of his brothers, was a family protector. My Mother was a liberal, though ready to physically fight anyone in her way. Mom and Dad were the height of disparity, yet in essence, the pulse of our family’s survival during the worst of times. An outsider who looked in at us had no doubt that we were dysfunctional at best. What those who were on the outside missed seeing about us was a simple fact of life: When the chips were down, we stood together. Mom and Dad created, and we lived within an environment of 'one for all and all for one'. Neither of them knew what the word 'quiet' meant.  Can you imagine having three children to bring up during the Great Depression (August 1929 – March 1933)? Reports show that there were twenty-four million unemployed Americans at the time.            In our neighborhood, many of the immigrant ladies would hold their own individual storytelling, like it really was confabs. Little kids like me were allowed to listen in. I was a sponge. Each group of women had their own particular design for displaying grief. I was a little boy then, but I remain with the ability of giving my impression of them saying, along with hand gestures, “Just vait, it vill get voise!” This beautiful Italian lady turned to me and asked me in almost perfect Yiddish if I’d like to join them for some spaghetti. For some reason, when it happened to be a very young child, they felt the child wouldn’t be able to speak English; or as they put it, speak American.  The bottom line: Is it any wonder why so many kids love spaghetti, chicken soup, corned beef and cabbage, chopped liver, and a list far too long to give you this day. Or like one of those ladies said, “Just vait, it vill get woise!” You know what…she was wrong. It did get better; it always does! In this country of ours, it always has, and it always will get better. HK

To Be A Rock

"To Be A Rock"

Often times the games children play or even imagine will remain with them for a lifetime. There was always the countless search for playful conquest during the wars, requiring challenging efforts, ruthlessly on display in schoolyards—not only countrywide but by kids all over the world—one of which was "Rock, Paper, Scissors". What brought this to mind is my most recent re-read of "The Art of Acting", a re-edited version having to do with one of the most gifted and astounding, female acting teachers, who had gifted the stage by and with her presence. Stella Adler is considered by many to be one of the top ten acting teachers of all time, in the world.

It's certainly far too long ago for me to recall or recapture the very first instance when I felt the totality of complete aloneness. No one there, except me, I thought. As the story goes, as I choose to tell it, I wasn't alone at all. Many years have gone by while competing to see how fast time, mine, is capable of flying by.

I looked around I was the only rock in sight In my mind's eye, an art form It will remain there This rock Borrowed from nature's hillside It was to be sculptured Like the many rocks before me Seeing within an eye for the future Allowing nature's tribulations to pass Never accepting dominance I knew the world wouldn't recognize my thoughts Then I will applaud myself Waving the flag, I choose to wave While saying for the world to hear If love is what you crave... Crave on, always!

HK

March 22, 2020

…above all, never accept what can, and will be, defeated; when as human beings, we band together in our global fight —actors as well!  Today’s play is, and will remain, cast with players from all walks of life.  Produced by God alone,  None will be exempt from His worldwide casting call. The young and the old. Our mission statement: Not to look back, Futures remain to be savored. I was a young boy of seventeen with my own private list of sports idols; nothing in this world could possibly surpass my favorite Dodger, “Pee Wee Reese”, or so I thought. However, I didn't realize at the time, there existed a driving force—my creativity; music, and words would come to be the mainstay of my life. Three high school teachers shaped my future: baseball, music, and literature. But the stand out of my young era was Winston Churchill. …And if I may appropriately submit on this Sunday: a few of his words delivered to his countrymen, when the entire world repulsed with worldwide distaste over an evil pandemic. “We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.” Winston S. Churchill, Speech (1940) HK

Take care of yourself, stay home,  and wash your hands. We will get through this, together.

Our Liberty continues...

What brighter light could burn, than that which has been nurtured by those who have understood and appreciated the gifts that endow any and all, who may venture within the boundaries of this country's great heart.

HK

Favorite Words on Life's Display

I can’t help the way I grew up nor the fact I continue to practice many of those habits. This was and still is, the personal and nature-made environment, or milieu in which I choose to live.  And though what might occur in one’s life or lifetime may not be his or her choice, in my case, it was a driving force behind the determination for what my working and living craft would be.         We may, or may not, regard ourselves as being in control. In my case, it is doubtful if there ever was anything remotely experienced which could have been described as control. My Mother was a true gambler at heart. Her belief was that all in life was a crapshoot, at best. Her argument with my Father was always the same: “I’d rather be lucky than skillful, anytime”, she’d tell him with a raised voice. Privately, when Mom wasn’t around, Dad would make sure to let me know of his feelings. “Your Mother, and all of her family, are a bunch of gamblers. None of them know what they’re talking about!" The difference between my Mother and Father's delivery was that he spoke in a much quieter manner than she did. Dad’s reason was a simple one: he didn’t want her to hear what he was telling me.          If I had to draw a conclusion regarding which one of my parents had the right idea about life, I’d have to say they were both correct. My Mother believed if you play cards, one day you’d be dealt a winning hand. My Dad on the other hand believed if you studied and trained hard, one day you’d be better equipped to handle a bad hand you were dealt. In my life, to date, I’ve experienced both my parents’ philosophies during my travels. NOTE: Meaningful fact of life! March 2020 began as another successfully, enjoyed adventure for the Kalmensons’. Our educational department was experiencing banner enrollments: twenty classes at three locations, being taught by the most outstanding sixteen teachers, in the field of Voice Over Training for actors, in the country.                  It appeared my Father was correct. Catherine and Harv had worked hard during the previous twenty-five years; our hard work, skill, and often maddening integrity were paying dividends far greater than we might have imagined. And as the accolades came in, we both thanked God for our good health and monetary rewards! NOTE: One more fact of life! By March 14, 2020, COVID-19 had taken control of our card game. Our three locations with twenty classes, sixteen teachers, and capacity enrollments, were all canceled in one merciless fell swoop and a sickening quiet took hold.         It appeared my Mother was correct. Catherine and Harv had worked hard during the previous twenty-five years; our hard work, skill, and often maddening integrity were paying dividends far greater than we might have imagined. The accolades continue! We both thanked God for our good health, and the monetary rewards we know will return because we are definitely staying in the game. PLEASE DO THE SAME!

Shuffle them cards And deal 'em Someplace out there Waiting and watching What will be, will be We’re still prepared We may be six feet apart But our hearts are not!

God is running the house—gambling house, that is. Where is it written that you’re in charge? You may be able to say whatever you like, thinking there’ no consequence to bear but the facts of life support a very strong, single premise: there’s always a consequence. It may not reveal itself immediately, but there will come a moment in time when the guy who sets the house rules will send you a personal reminder of how he really expects the game to be played. From out of nowhere he decides to send a message to everyone on his planet. It may merely be a single moment in time, or it might be one of the, apparently useless, world war encounters or a thing the pundits didn’t have the nerve to categorize as a war. They referred to it as the “Korean Conflict”; it began seventy years ago. Thirty-nine thousand Americans were killed. I served and was one of the lucky kids who God’s dice game favored. Today, our pundits refer to this consequence as a virus. Get some rest. In twenty-four hours, another hand will be dealt. I pray you’ll be ready!

Say hello to anyone who knows me (please)! HK

A VETERAN'S EXCERPT: So, There we stood, waiting in a cold mist for the next earth moving command to be given. Without warning the booming voice of our sergeant major brought our meaningless mass together. We became a solid block. Twenty five hundred men became an imposing figure. We were at attention. The battalion commander appeared and marched to the center of the parade grounds. The commander was himself an imposing figure. He was taller than any of us, and carried himself the way his West Point Credentials required. He was a full bird colonel. The emblems glittered on his shoulders as he viewed us as if inspecting the most powerful group of warriors ever seen on this planet. To a man we were taken by our leaders presence. Our sergeant turned a sharp about face and reported to the colonel, "all present and accounted for as ordered sir," he bellowed and saluted simultaneously. The colonel returned his salute, and the sergeant moved to a side position, taking his place and becoming one of us. Again the colonel did his review. His eyes inspected all of us with an amazing display of pride. At a precise moment the sergeant was again in front of our body. He shouted "parade rest" and as one unit we snapped into position. The sergeant again moved aside and our colonel took charge. The man¹s presence was nothing short of inspiring. All was still as the colonel prepared to speak. Then it came: "Men, you are about to experience what only a very select group have ever had the privilege of experiencing." At that moment the battalion color guard appeared. To the beat of a single drum they marched into position on the parade grounds. If you can visualize the configuration of a football field; place the color guard at one end of the field. The colonel would be directly behind the guard. Next to enter was the Fort Lewis Army marching band. They took their position directly behind the color guard and in front of the colonel, and our (twenty-five hundred-man) battalion.  "Today you will be representing your country, the United States of America. Are you ready?"

As one we responded with "yes sir!" "Then give them hell men!" He shouted. The chills came in waves. What might seem cornball was anything but. The band struck up with John Philip SousesWashington Post March, and at the precise moment the colonel bellowed again, "Give them hell men." He turned and signaled as if he was conducting a cavalry charge. We marched as one. And then the final emotional wave, which has remained with me all of my life. I caught sight of our American flag leading our way. To date my chest has never expanded as much as it did on that very chilly day. We weren't the same group of young boys messing around as we did before the parade. The next day we all returned to kidding around and still playing our schoolboy tricks on one another. But as this day wore down there were conversations about some unexpected feelings. For me personally, I never totally shared up until now what a life changing experience it was. For those of you who have visited with me on Sparks Ave. in Burbank, you will recall our flag flying proudly in front of our studio doors. It¹s there every day that I¹m there. This coming Friday, November 10, we pay tribute to our veterans. I pray you share my pride. Today, I repeat the words, I remain proud to say I am a veteran. I MAY BE A LOT OLDER, BUT MAKE NO MISTAKES, I'M STILL MARCHING. ASK CATHY!