"Amongst Some Special Men"

        Our faces were young and mostly free from hair. We were a team of man-kids who happened to have the skills which grown men would probably not ever reach as adults. We were a high school varsity baseball team who was about to establish a national record of forty-three consecutive wins; right here in our great city of Los Angeles. I was lucky enough to become a successful, physically and mentally endowed, relief pitcher who happened to have a perfect record while participating for our team, Dorsey High School, during the greater parts of 1951 and 1952.

        Just as an immodest point of fact, during those two years of pitching for our varsity baseball team, I never lost a game. What my teammates and I had in common was indeed very special; we had a continuous flow of proud moms and dads finding ways of coming to games each Tuesday and Thursday of the week to yell, scream, and pump their high-fives at one another. Oftentimes, many of the student body, who might never have shown up to root for a baseball team, began to accompany their parents in order to take a noticeable place in what had grown into quite a sizeable cheering brigade of take-no-prisoner type fans.

        It should not come as a shock to hear that many of us began to become a little too enamored with our so-called stardom — especially when some of our fellow students began to show up to watch us practicing or competing with some college guys who were recruited by our coach in order to push us to a higher level than high school athletes might provide. The fans I enjoyed seeing the most at our practices were the coed seniors. Let the dugout kidding begin: “Hello, Harvey” or “Oh look, there’s Harvey”. My buddies were doing what kids do, making fun of one another while staying loose and focused. And make no mistake, we all stayed focused seven days a week, including holidays. What we all had in common were parents and friends who understood how important family, friends, and respectful social habits were to our success and continual motivation.

Note: Our American Legion team, following our high school antics, won the national championship in 1952. At the time I had graduated and was playing for Santa Monica City College, and was in the process of signing a professional contract with the Chicago White Sox. My childhood dreams appeared to be coming true.

“God Puts On The Brakes”

        It was during the year 1952, playing in a semi-pro winter league game while coaching at third base, I was hit in the face by a batted ball. This accomplished two separate things during the one incident of the injury. It ended my childhood dream of becoming a professional baseball player and moved me into joining my new team, the United States Army. I was soon to be off to South Korea.

By Harvey Kalmenson
December 2022

Life Is A Puzzlement...

"Life Is A Puzzlement... Perhaps"

Art by Ellen Kalmenson

Liking
Luring
Lingering
Loving
Lasting
Leaving

And when you grew
To what bearing was amused by you
Was there applause along your way
Was wonderment allowed
Were more breaths in than out
Was your heart freely becoming stout
Whose tears did you cause
Were daily laughs free to rain
Did you grasp love
Without fearing pain
Would you ever try for it again
And if it all happened just one more time
Would your will be there to partake
While having learned from another day's mistake
Of course, by those of others

Do you wish to partake again
If one more hand was dealt
Would you play
Or would you throw your cards away?


By Harvey Kalmenson
December 2022
Christmas has not yet arrived

"What's On A Desk"

Who in this world would have the self-serving dimension of taking a picture of their own desktop? Well… I did, and what did I find?

        There before me was “Slocum the Yocum” — a fine array of da harv’s truths. November 28th, my birthday, has come and gone, and unfortunately, with it a more than a suitable accumulation of deceitful vacuous time periods. “Slocum the Yocum” was a nonexistent accountless nobody, invented by my dad whenever life presented a need for someone to blame. Dad felt it was important to have a deterrent he could use against anything that even remotely got in the way of his hard work. “Harvey”, Dad would say, “It’s only a delay. A temporary stop along your way. Don’t be a Yocum. Use your God-given bloodline! We’re not going to fail! Damn it!”

        There was a day and time when I had no desk to lean upon. There were no things to look at with or within the contemplation of revelry of what the future might bring into my fold. Only the presence of current circumstances languished upon my dreams of better times. Days filled with thoughts of all illnesses being vanquished from this desk of mine. Believing in what I call: “The wild and determined call of the surreptitiously placed items of what may or may not be or become identified or mindfully misplaced in one's lifetime.” This happens to be my desk, and so perhaps if it could speak, it most likely is a compilation of a man's dreams; some left in their original package.

Harvey Kalmenson

Gobble Gobble (2022)

Turkey Time

        Experiencing the service we received in the United States Army during holiday time was a logistical wonderment to behold. It was Thursday, November 26th, 1953. We were part of the 180th Regiment of the Forty-Fifth infantry division and deployed at a place in the Yongyu Valley near the 38th Parallel in North Korea. The temperature was about twenty-five to thirty-five below zero, give or take. The fighting had ceased on the 27th of July in 1953, Monday, at precisely 9:00 PM.

        It was about a week or so before Thanksgiving day; from out of nowhere, in comes a team of engineers with three trucks loaded with building supplies to the point of explosion. Within one day, those guys erected a full and complete mess hall, capable of serving everyone in our company.

The prefabricated structure is known as a Quonset Hut, a building

made of corrugated metal and having a semicircular cross-section.

        On the Monday preceding Thanksgiving, a large quantity of food along with a detail of cooks and bakers began arriving in the wee hours of the morning. The extra cook's helpers had been flown in from Japan. Turkey, ham, shrimp, two or three salads, and all kinds of potatoes, along with lemon meringue, apple, and pecan pies. I honestly can’t recall what they served for hors d’oeuvres, but, I can tell you that none of us were disappointed. And I can’t recall the boxes of chocolate we received, but I do remember all of us had far more than we were able to consume. The only item left out was any form of hard liquor. (We were still considered a high-level combat zone.)

        That next day, we came to find out this was a common practice afforded to all of us serving our country anywhere and everywhere in the world. To this day, I think about it when the traditional holidays are upon us. If it’s at all possible, our American military is made for us to feel as much at home as a combat zone would permit.

        Replacing the freezing cold with the warmth of family and friends at Thanksgiving time serves as a reminder to me of how lucky a man I am today, some sixty-nine years hence. Please join me and mine on the celebration of this wonderful day for giving thanks. And if I may, here’s another heartfelt remembrance that manages to touch my soul, thinking back to what was a very personal day in the life and times of yours truly: Thursday, November 26, 1953.

My short remembrance:

More gently than imagined

Dinner had slowed to a savoring state

Many smiles adorned, pleased faces

Our company chaplain led a prayer

Giving thanks for this joyous meal

A final few words

The chaplain stepped away

Hey Rod, where’s that record player of yours

One of the guys called out

We knew he had it close by

Not a shock to me, it was under his seat

Rod set the “phono” in place

I stood alongside, smiling

Awaiting my favorite song to begin

Hand cranking completed, the needle in place

Never foreign to Rod and me

When he played Roy Hamilton

All around, listened

1953 Thanksgiving was special

At the moment, Rod and da harv were standing

The music began, and I remember

My eyes were closed during this festival

The first bar of music, a gentle call to arms sounding

Without any musical signal

All buddies around me began to stand

Rod and I were deeply enthralled

We began to sway to the sound

Our comrades joined in that Thanksgiving Day

It was November 26, 1953

We all listened as Roy Hamilton musically reminded us:

“We would never walk alone”

One hundred men, not walking alone!

Swaying in place as one

When you walk through the storm

Hold your head up high

And don't be afraid of the dark

At the end of a storm

There's a golden sky

And the sweet silver song of a lark.

Walk on, through the wind

Walk on, through the rain

Though your dreams be tossed and blown

Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart

And you'll never walk alone

You'll never walk alone.

Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart

And you'll never walk alone

You'll never walk alone.

-

Oscar Hammerstein II / Richard Rodgers

It was November 26, 1953

It was a very special day.

HK

As Our World Turns

"Abstractions"

The question is, what do you see?

What do you see? What do you feel? Are there any actions or decisions you’re in the process of making? Or do you find yourself flat-out stymied by life’s abstractions?

        Perhaps a gentle spin of your plate either up, down a little, a lot, or in another part of town. Change by itself represents movement. Whether we like it or not, most of the time, backing straight away from any one of life’s abstractions doesn’t clear it or lessen your feeling of the genuine pain actually being experienced.

“If you're going through hell keep going.”

Winston Churchill

Note: If you have the desire to become inspired by something an individual accomplished in their lifetime, even if it wasn’t publicly recognized until after said individuals were long gone, you might enjoy reading about the lives of Margaret Thatcher, Winston Churchill, or an actor named Ronald Reagan.

        A close friend of mine, who happened to also be a very accomplished athlete in his own right, had a charming way of describing women he greatly respected by often using verbal abstractions. As an example, I was having a conversation with him one day, and I enquired about his ninety-year-old mom's health. “Oh, you know, Harv,” he said, “she’s a horse!”

        …And not to my surprise, the reference to strong women as one of my frequently used guidelines for success was picked up by my very own Cathy Kalmenson. Da harv was well on his way to recovering from Covid and Cathy was being asked how I was doing. “Harvey's a horse,” she replied.

        Maybe it has become time for us to turn towards more good use of abstractions in our everyday life. Give the plate a gentle turn. “Wow, that dog's got muscle.”

Harvey Kalmenson

What Kids Can Say

What kids can say

Oftentimes may blow you away

Their words, if or when you let them seep in

Origins

Perhaps amazingly

Soothe

Obstinate problems

Living truth creeps from a beating heart

Always from within

Sorrows from yesterday

Turn into blissful imagination of tomorrow

1943, ten years old

“My big brother ain't coming home anymore”

A hand is placed around his shoulder

They walk the playground schoolyard together

A little boy helping a little boy who weeps

Perhaps ending with a gentle kiss on a cheek

Maybe apologizing for the hurt he caused

They walk home together

There’s a gold star in the window

“My mom put it there”, he says,

“It was there for me to see when I got home

She was in bed crying when I got home”

Little boys offer sympathy

When they become men who speak

Quietly to one another

Paying attention

Maybe taking a knee

Maybe God will help now

If only a modicum

For each other’s welfare

To draw only from their blissful past

Joys remembered

Of what they felt and have learned

From life gone by too fast

Spreading around to all others

Watching a child waving their flag

And then continuing at home

All the neighborhood family’s parading around

Block party’s for all to spread love

WW2 has come to an end

1945

It was coming home time

Back in the United States of America

All arms around one another

Never again to be alone

        Every school kid attending PS 233 was aware of which of their friends had brothers or sisters serving in our country’s military. Often a brother on leave from the service was allowed to stick their head in and visit with a classmate. All the kids stood as one, and clapped and cheered in unison. Some kids were justifiably seen drying a tear or two.

Two of the top songs of the day were:

Les Brown's band playing "Sentimental Journey" with Doris Day as a vocalist

"It's Been A Long, Long Time", Louis Armstrong

        In the years of WW2, every child in every home learned from their mothers and or fathers about patriotism. Each day at school began with a pledge of allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. Every member of the families on our block shared the pride in men and women teaming up for our country in those terrible years of unbelievable grief.

        Harvey Kalmenson became twelve and, accordingly, he was merely one year away from being accepted and recognized for becoming a man by the elders of his tribe. Truth be told, at the time I was more into baseball than studying for my Bar Mitzvah, a little less than one year away.

Harvey Kalmenson

Bubbling Up To Our Brim

        A short while back in time, da harv was getting gas at a neighborhood station—the same one I purchase my lottery (escape) tickets at… There I was, pumping gasoline into my 2002 Ford Expedition. I had completed my purchase of twenty dollars’ worth of what would most likely be the winning numbers that would wondrously change my life forever.

        Known in my biblical trade as "my cup runneth over", please! I was praying simultaneously while placing the ten tickets in my special hiding place behind my special “Get Smart” hidden dashboard compartment. I’m the only one having any idea of how to break into my secret hiding place. If any of you out there in "TV-land" have a picture of Don Adams hiding his special directive order from “The Chief”, please pass it along to me. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember the entry code for the dashboard. The bottom line for those who care about the betterment of da harv—not to worry, it will come back to me. It always does…

        …In any event, I was standing there trying to figure out how to avoid this guy who had been sleeping alongside the entry door to the bodega portion of the station—it’s the place where I always buy my lottery tickets. If this guy doesn’t change his sleeping habits, I’ll have to find a different place to shop for my lottery tickets. I suppose I can manage the inconvenience. After all, living on the street can’t really be that sweet.

A leaflet of this or that to share with who or whom…

Moonglow without a shine

There we were

A guy with a Rolls Royce

Comes driving up

With top down and glowing finish

He just had to find someone

To tell his good tidings to

It had to be me I guess

There I stood awaiting his word

He told of how he dreamed hard, as a younger man, of this white convertible

With top down, he began

I just had to, he said

He brimmed with joy

He spoke of the past

How he made a vow

Thirty years since the military had gone by

His joy was real

When his "kid" dreams came true

Then driving away

Get yours now if you can

He saluted me

What fellow veterans sometimes do

On a hillside
In Korea, 1953

We gathered around

Making believe about the things

We were going to do

When we got back to our hometown

Some did, some didn’t make it

It was Christmastime

Every expression imaginable

Did abound

A buddy turned to me

It wasn’t my time to act the clown

He asked

What was the best

Your parents…

Gave to you

When you were a little guy

In your hometown

All became quiet, very quiet

While waiting for me to speak

I wanted to talk to Santa

Complaining to my Mother

She knew I couldn’t write

But I could speak

Father with his big smile allowed

What would you ask for

I want a very big car

That I can drive myself!

        My older sister was the one who got the assignment to take me to the department store's toy department and sit on Santa’s lap. And I relayed the story to the guys, it got a great laugh when I told my buddies how pissed off I got when discovering I wasn’t going to have Santa all to myself. (I think they gave me a toy machine gun that made this horrible rat-tat-tat sound that I awakened the household with every morning until, somehow, it disappeared from the apartment we lived in.

My first car:

1955 Ford convertible…

I’m proud to say I could drive it myself

Around town

That’s exactly the same color as the car

My mom and dad gave me

$500 bucks to put down

        A new day and a new time, yet, there remain many like me who find moments to think back to—another time when they craved a certain toy to play with. When I traveled to a department store's toy department with my sister, my favorite toy was a set of Lionel Trains. I would look at them and she, almost ceremoniously, pronounced: “We can’t afford it”.

        Well, last week, believe it or not, this kid—now eighty-nine years of age—didn’t have his ninety-five-year-old sister along for the ride. I saw it, I grabbed it. Without the approval of anyone telling me what I could or could not afford, there I stood in line at Costco, paying sixty-four bucks for my own set of Lionel Trains. The picture of me which follows resembles me holding tightly to my “Choo Choo” train set.

Obviously filled up to the brim!!!

Too early for Christmas…
Not for this "kid" to abide by
Get your Rolls Royce now
Don’t wait for the pleasure you deserve
Mine happened to be a choo-choo train
What’s yours?

Harvey Kalmenson