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Wallace had had a very prominent girlfriend before my mom, and that was Loree Foxx, a born criminal who stole not only from people she didn’t know but also from anyone in her social circle and their families. She snatched objects like people breathe air. It came totally natural to her. Loree saw the world as a playground of thieving fun. She had the ability not to care if she was robbing from the rich or the poor, or even from pals. I have heard from my uncle, who became her boyfriend after Wallace, that Loree would start off her day by looking through fashion magazine ads, marking off each outfit and accessory she wanted. By that evening, her apartment would be filled with the clothing that she desired. Loree also had a knack for finding additional talented people who would allow themselves to become part of her gang of thieves. In her world, she was very much Fagin. Her mother had a thing for circus elephant objects: elephants in or on crystal snowballs, drawings, etchings, that type of stuff. Loree and her gang stole a circus elephant ride for kids that was parked in front of the entrance of a supermarket, and she gave it to her mom as a gift, which was highly unusual, since she never bestowed gifts. A reporter noticed the oversize kiddie ride in her mom’s yard and did a story on it. I’m sure Loree left the neighborhood for a moment or two till everything cleared up regarding the elephant ride scandal.

WALLACE BERMAN / Semina 2, 1957

Like my father with his cat, Loree had her version of Nerval’s lobster, keeping a pet alligator by her side. The reptile probably made her look like the prototype of a James Bond villain. At night, she would take her alligator out with a leash attached to its mouth and torso. My father agreed to keep an eye on the alligator from time to time when Loree’s living space was compromised. He placed the alligator in his mom’s bathtub. Anna, my grandmother, would scream whenever she had to use the bathroom. Every time she went in, the alligator made snapping sounds with its jaws, though she was perfectly safe, as long as she didn’t join the beast in the bathtub.

Wallace and Loree were the king and queen of the swing dance world in Los Angeles. My uncle Donald told me that my dad and Loree dominated the dance floor. Wallace was very much a zoot-suited jazz obsessive who danced extremely well. This makes perfect sense given his lifelong love for music—why not dance, as well? After Wallace’s death, my mom found his dance trophies at Grandma Anna’s house. I’m sure they weren’t of value to anyone because otherwise Loree would have stolen them and sold them off.

Wallace once played craps with another gambler in some vacant alley, and Loree was right beside him. The other player, who was losing and sore about it, was anxious to check the dice my dad was using. Loree immediately took the dice out of Wallace’s hands and threw them away, which, in turn, meant that my father got beaten to a pulp by the other gambler. Sadly, Loree was mistaken about the dice. They were not loaded.

I remember Loree from when I was a child. I remember thinking at the time, “Was she that bad?” She was neither here nor there for me, nor did I pick up on any troublesome vibrations from her. But alas, I think I was just small enough to fly under her radar. Loree was fascinating because she sounded to me like pure evil, yet she was very close to my parents and, of course, my uncle. Oddly enough, as far as I know, Donald only ever had one serious relationship with a woman, and it was with the queen of crime. I grew up in an environment where people were not judged for their weaknesses or faults. I never heard my father say a harsh word towards anyone. There never were any snap judgments, like “So and so is evil,” or “So and so is no good,” or any view of someone on a subjective level. All were accepted, or not. I hardly ever heard my parents condemn anyone for anything. Loree would break into the homes of her friends to steal without giving a second thought to the morality of it all. It never crossed her mind, or my parents’ or their friends’.

Loree once broke into our house in Beverly Glen to steal my mother’s passport, but once she found it, she realized it was a family document with my name attached to it, and therefore she couldn’t use it for her devilish purposes. When Loree and Donald settled in New York City, my mom visited them and stayed for a whole summer in their apartment. Shirley wrote to her new boyfriend Wallace on a regular basis, and she let Loree mail out the letters for her. Loree opened the correspondence, destroyed it, and wrote her version of the letters to Wallace, signed Shirley. As you might gather, she was, among her many talents, an expert forger. She almost ruined their relationship, but Wallace and Shirley figured out the trouble. Oddly enough, my parents never had a harsh word for Loree. They accepted her fully. She was a criminal and not to be trusted. On the other hand, she was a swell gal.

Nevertheless, Wallace and Shirley did eventually end their friendship with Loree, because they just couldn’t trust her in any form or fashion. It wasn’t because she stole from them so much as they realized any of their friends could have become a victim of her criminal schemes. This meant my mom’s brother also didn’t talk to my parents for a while. Donald and Loree relocated to the desert near Palm Springs, where I presume she robbed all the Palm Springs ladies as much as possible. Their house was a farm, and since Loree had a taste for exotic pets, she had not only the alligator but all sorts of wild birds, as well as two lions. One Christmas, at my grandparents’ home in Topanga Canyon, Donald brought one of the lions with him. The doorbell rang, I opened the front door, and this lion jumped upon me. The giant cat had no teeth, but it did pull me around the living room like I was a rag doll. I was terrified, but the grown-ups around me just watched the action in front of them and were all highly amused.

WALLACE BERMAN / Loree Foxx, 1955

Unhappily, though perhaps fortunately for some, Loree died in a prison cell in 1972 while having an asthma attack. Throughout her life, Loree suffered from asthma. The guards gave her medicine that she was allergic to, and she died right there on the spot, in her cell. Her niece Suzy, also a friend of my parents (and featured on the cover of Semina 2), went to the jail unit to identify the body. She went not out of courtesy, love, or family duty, but out of fear that Loree might be still alive and faking her death. But alas, Loree Foxx, artist, ex-girlfriend to my father and Uncle Donald, and master thief, was sincerely dead.