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The New Mountain men

The New Mountain Men

by Richard Bermack

May 2001

Eva Ahmed and Pharaoh

Pharaoh suffers from several war injuries, including a bad leg, and has a metal rod in his arm. He was just evicted from his encampment (right). He said that he worked most of his life in the electronics industry, but became homeless when his wife left him. He is dual diagnosed as suffering from mental illness and addiction. Homeless outreach worker Eva Ahmed was able to get him some assistance and medical treatment through the Veterans Administration. She contacted his ex-wife, who asked Eva to please help him, as he was a good man and had worked most of his life.

“They call me Pharaoh, like the king. Every bum comes to me for money. I’m third-generation military. I was in Vietnam and proud to serve my country and I would do it again, although I’m not proud of how America treats us. They are trying to scoop us all up. If you don’t comply, they tell you you need this medication and ultimately it will lead to a lobotomy. And if you fight this physically, they will shoot you.
Every shelter puts your butt out on the street at 6:00 a.m. They put you out even if it is raining. And you have to stand under the storefront awning and wait for 5:00 p.m. to get back in like a cow. And then they tell you, you can’t smoke, or they stick a breath analyzer in your mouth and say you have been drinking. ‘You are goddamned right I’m drinking. Hell, I survived the jungles of Vietnam and you tell me I can’t drink.’ Now I don’t really cuss them out. I say, ‘Yes, I understand, I’m sorry. Now can I come back in out of the rain?’

Eva looking at the encampment where Pharaoh was living

“So finally you say, ‘Screw this,’ and become a homeless man. We are the new-age Jeremiah Jones, mountain men who take care of themselves. You find a spot and make a hooch, so you don’t have to ramble around all the time. The other day I was in the tent, smoking, having a shot or two, reading my articles, typing on my typewriter, and you can’t do that in no shelter.

“I love it. Freedom. I got no bills, no electricity. I ask people for money and get enough to get by. I write. I finished a novel about theology, and a story called ‘The Good, the Proud, and the Civilized,’ a metaphor about the good civilized people of Berkeley who let me live in their yard like a dog.

“I like Berkeley Mental Health. They are cool. They ask you, ‘What do you need to get help? What can we do to help you? You are an intelligent person, you must have some idea what it would take to get your life together.’ I told them I need my medication, so I can sleep at night, so I don’t have to drink myself into a stupor. They cut you room and give you a chance. They don’t say, ‘If you don’t do this, we will turn you in.’ You can’t legislate away addiction. It ain’t an easy job, what they do.”