was a total mystery to me as a kid, and now he’s even more so. Others have commented that his colorful stories about his life may not have been true, but to this day I believe what he said. Very much an iconic fixture in Hollywood, Samson had a house that was full of either treasures or junk, depending on one’s point of view. Always flamboyant, Samson, in my memory, was surrounded by women who appeared to have no trouble worshipping him. He was one of those figures that could stand perfectly still, not do anything, and yet attract attention from the right people. My parents were very fond of him, and he also caught the attention of Hollywood stars curious about the other side of life. Everyone from James Dean to Marlon Brando was believed to have spent some time at his pad on Barton Avenue. Anger shot Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome there. One presumes that the beautiful decor in that film came courtesy of Samson’s impressive collection of costumes and his distinct interior taste.
WALLACE BERMAN / Samson de Brier
My parents had no interest in magick or anything to do with religion or religious practices. On the other hand, they knew Cameron quite well. The artwork that got my dad busted for obscenity was a drawing she did for Semina. I’m not sure why she didn’t get involved in his defense, but I can’t imagine Cameron taking the initiative to go to court or even deal with the obscure hold of the law over art. At that time, too, she was still pretty distressed over her husband’s death. Cameron was very much a free-spirited person, and I regret that I didn’t hang out with her as an adult because she must have been a lot of fun. She never pushed her beliefs on anyone who was not interested, and she had a wide network of friends throughout the world. I’ve heard that Cameron was very close to Juliette Gréco, the celebrated French singer. What I am conscious of is that there wasn’t a sinister bone in her body, even though as a kid I knew she was a “witch” of some sort. I have to admit she did kind of look like a witch, but she was a cool-looking witch.
Semina / chapter 8
Due to Wallace’s friendship with Cameron, some commentators have tried to establish a “magick” connection between them. But while my Dad respected Cameron’s interest in the occult world, he had no interest in it. On the other hand, Wallace admired literature that has strains of the metaphysical. The big book in his life at that time was Hermann Hesse’s 1927 novel Steppenwolf. Hesse was considered a major writer during the ’20s, but he lost favor in the succeeding decades. In the 1960s, he would be rediscovered by, and become very popular with, students and the bohemian reading crowd. But in the ’50s, he was nearly unknown.
Wallace discovered Steppenwolf as
WALLACE BERMAN / Semina 4, 1959
Before my family left for San Francisco, Wallace started up Semina. This small publication might be called a “zine” these days. It was a collection of loose pages printed on different papers that consisted of poetry, photographs, and drawings. Editions would have a print run of between 150 and 350 copies, all of them done on a hand printing press in his home or studio. I feel that Semina was the perfect medium for my father to interact with the world. Most of the copies were mailed or handed out for free. When our family moved to San Francisco, he went to City Lights Bookstore to have Semina sold there on consignment. Each one cost a dollar. Nowadays they’re priceless, and it’s tough to find an original Semina, especially one that’s entirely intact. Each issue had its individual look and design, though the size of the publication was almost, if not exactly, consistent. Most issues are loose pages but some were fold-outs as well. For sure Semina had certain trademark visuals from my father uniting the entire run, but to me each issue is a complete world of its own.
There has historically been a tradition of poets or artists making their publications, not only of their work but also of works that they admired by other artists and writers. A good example is the surrealists, who started up their various publications to publish not only their own work but also that of fellow travelers and artists they admired from the past. The poets in Semina include Michael McClure, David Meltzer, and Philip Lamantia, along with older writers like Hermann Hesse, Jean Cocteau, and Antonin Artaud. Through Semina, Wallace could communicate with and bring the artistic world closer to his home base, not physically but spiritually. Each person who saw, read, or owned a copy of Semina was a fellow member of the club. That’s what a publication should do, and Semina was very successful in those terms.
The beauty of Semina is that it was a periodical made not to be sold on the marketplace. Wallace’s intention was to personally hand each issue to a friend or someone he admired. Or, in most cases, he sent it to people through the mail. No one could officially subscribe to the publication, and except for that one issue sold at City Lights, Semina never was sold in a retail or specialty shop. So to receive a copy was truly a unique gesture between artist and reader. It was likewise a publication or object that didn’t have money value, at least when my dad was alive. In Latin, “semina” means “seed,” or the thick whitish fluid we call “semen.” It’s a perfect name for a magazine given away for free, which would hopefully inspire other publications. Which it has. Semina has significantly influenced many printers, artists, and photographers, so its name is satisfactory terminology for spreading new life.
San Francisco / chapter 9
I have to assume that my crippling sense of vertigo started in San Francisco. As a three-year-old, I had a traumatic incident on the staircase leading to our apartment. I was on the steps petting my cat. According to my mom, a homeless woman came up the steps and tried to grab my cat out of my hands. I held on as she dragged me down the steps. My mom found me, after I screamed, at the bottom of the steps still holding onto my cat, but with my tooth penetrating my lip, which left a pool of blood. I have no memory of this, but what I do know is that I have a deep fear of staircases and heights. I couldn’t stand to be held upside down or lifted by another human being, aside from my parents when I was a child. For many years George Herms liked to grab me from behind to lift me, and I would scream bloody murder. He kept this up even when I was a teenager! I would get a feeling of vertigo or dizziness, like I was about to faint.
To me, San Francisco was a nightmarish city, not because of its citizens, but because of its architecture and the many hills that make up the dramatic visuals in Alfred Hitchcock’s movie Vertigo (1958), which was filmed in the city around the time we lived there. To me, the great city of the Bay was a warped landscape played at 45 rpm. I feel that I’m the only person on the planet who had no choice but to come to terms with its landscape that way. The earth spins 1,040 miles per hour, and I could feel its movement under my feet. What others felt was delightful about San Francisco was a total horror show for me. I remember being frozen in my tracks just looking down Filbert Street, which is reportedly the steepest hill in the city.
