storage room underneath the house. Also, I remember guests at our home commenting during one party that they saw an old woman sitting in a rocking chair in our yard outside. According to my parents, they didn’t know this lady, nor had they ever seen her on the premises. The house for sure had a vibe, but I always thought it was my over-the-top imagination that brought out the creepy stuff in our home. Maybe it was, but still, one can never know what happened on the land at Crater Lane.
Although I never witnessed it, there were stories of a spirit or two haunting our local eatery, Four Oaks, up the street from Crater Lane on Beverly Glen Boulevard. A headless ghost with a yellow cape had reportedly been seen around the restaurant; according to legend, he had been murdered by a jealous husband after being caught in bed with the man’s wife. Another ghost was also visible in Four Oaks, who, unlike the headless gentleman, seemed cruel and threatening. It’s been suggested that perhaps he’s the husband who committed the murder of the headless man with the yellow cape. Many people, mostly women, have pointed out that the headless ghost was a comforting spirit. Some women in the Glen have commented that the spirit’s presence could be felt in their beds. The other ghost who was stuck in the Four Oaks structure was mean-spirited and destructive; once, a small fire started in the restaurant kitchen, and no one could figure out how else the blaze could have gotten started, except by the ghost.
WALLACE BERMAN / Anna & Tosh Berman, 1955
There was another story about a friend of my parents bringing along an additional guest (everyone brought an additional guest to our house) whom he had just met for the first time at a nearby bus stop. This particular guest had an abnormal speech pattern; he mostly spoke in Middle English. It was like he was dropped on this planet in the wrong year, expecting the 15th century instead of 1950s Beverly Glen. (Maybe he got the 5s mixed up?) As the evening wore on, the company began to suspect that he was an alien visiting us.
Nevertheless, my parents found him perfectly charming, as he was amazed at the function of a corkscrew and other earthly objects. In the early hours of the morning, my parents’ friend dropped him off at a street corner in Westwood but felt guilty right away about leaving him at dawn at a deserted bus stop. He immediately went back to the bus stop, but the mysterious visitor had disappeared. There was no sign of a bus or anyone walking on an early Sunday morning. He looked all over the neighborhood. But the guest had apparently transported himself back to his spaceship to give a detailed report on the advanced technology of the corkscrew and the living habits of the bohemian set. After fifty-some years, there’s liable to be a monument to the corkscrew on some hilltop on Mars. Hopefully, in my lifetime, I’ll be in a position to visit this memorial.
Beverly Glen / chapter 5
Midcentury America is very much my childhood era, but the style of that era had little to do with either my life or my parents’. Early in their marriage, before I was born, Wallace worked in a furniture restoration factory, where he went out of his way to damage perfectly beautiful tables by whipping them, to give them that old, slightly damaged appearance. Wallace made our household furniture, which was quite simple, practical, and I think beautiful. As far as I know he never took another job anywhere. During my lifetime I know he was offered a job at UCLA, but he turned it down because the job was to teach a master’s class in photography and he was afraid someone would ask him how to put the film in a camera. My mother used to load his camera for him. Wallace also hinted to me in a very hush-hush tone that he had a second job as a bartender in Topanga Canyon, but I never believed him. I can’t imagine him taking orders for beer or wine. It wasn’t in his character. On top of that, I rarely saw him leave the house for more than a couple of hours. My understanding is that he didn’t have a “feel” for work. He wasn’t against it, nor was he for it. It just didn’t exist in his world.
Shirley had to cope with bringing in the weekly paycheck by working at various jobs: as a model for illustrated ads for Bullocks Department Store, the sessions for which took place in the beautiful art deco building on Wilshire in the Miracle Mile district, and as a shop girl at various boutiques in Beverly Hills. My mom pretty much had to bring the bacon home, as well as take care of the dishes and cooking. I remember being excited when she came back from work. Even as a baby, I missed her feminine touch in the household. Also, at a very young age, I was aware of the quality of the food when she was around.
WALLACE BERMAN / Diane di Prima, Shirley Berman (R) & Tosh Berman (L), 1962
Whenever we had guests, which was all the time in those years in Beverly Glen, she would have to serve the drinks and snacks, and make everyone feel comfortable. In the earliest years of my life, I have no memory of my parents being apart, except during my mom’s nine-to-five work schedule. Even with her salary, which wasn’t enough for a family of three, my dad had to kick in some dough. I knew he would play cards for food money. He had an innate ability to raise funds out of nowhere when the curtain was about to drop. But throughout my life, except during our time in San Francisco, my parents always owned the homes that they lived in, though strangely enough they never purchased one. Yet my parents owned both of our houses in the Los Angeles area outright, or rather, my mom did. While Wallace craved anonymity, I think for him owning a home was the only way to move forward or have some financial control over his life and the family.
WALLACE BERMAN / Tosh Berman with Alice from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, 1963, Beverly Glen
Almost immediately after my parents moved in, the Beverly Glen house became Ground Zero for the L.A. boho lifestyle. To me, at my age, it wasn’t exceptional, but I now realize how extraordinary were those who came to visit my parents at this address. The entranceway was a dirt path with poison oak on the side of the hill. I have an active memory of falling into the poison oak and suffering greatly for a night or two. I can still feel the sticky paste of the medicinal cream all over my chest, arms, and legs. The worst part of it was being told by my mom not to touch or scratch my body. Apparently, I learned a form of Zen early on. If one could avoid the oak, which took some skill because it reached far into the pathway, then one would reach the front entrance of the house, which went directly into the kitchen. That room was small but long. Next to the kitchen table was a life-size cardboard cutout of Alice from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865), as illustrated by John Tenniel.
WALLACE BERMAN / 1548 Crater Lane, Beverly Glen, 1956
The front room was a combination of my dad’s studio, our living room, and my parents’ bedroom. There were no chairs in this room, just a floor-level table made by Wallace where we ate our meals. We had to sit on the floor or the bed, which became a couch during the daytime. The left side of the room was the studio, and my dad had a sturdy workbench that was attached to the wall. We also had a turntable with one large speaker. Records and their sleeves were stacked by the speaker or by the wall underneath the table. My dad had a stool, and that was it.
I had a private room for myself, your basic bedroom, but the bathroom was attached, so anyone who wished to use the single toilet had to go through my room. Also, across from the bathtub, there was a window facing the front entrance that led into the kitchen. If I took a bath at certain times, I might come across a visitor; the window had no curtains. To this day, I keep a very private inner life because I was accustomed to having my living space invaded by others. Living in small quarters with adults, one needs to make up a world that is suitable and invisible.
The house was on stilts facing Beverly Glen Boulevard. I had the feeling of floating above the
