[Nyerges is the author of various books including
“Extreme Simplicity” and “How to Survive Anywhere.” For information about his classes and books, go to www.Schoolof Self-Reliance.com, or Box 41834,
Eagle Rock CA 90041]
From 1977 until 1979,
Nyerges was a squatter in an abandoned house in Los Angeles. The
following is adapted from a book he wrote about that period called “Squatter in
Los Angeles,” available as a Kindle book.
I had no regular job during this
period, though I earned $5 each week by writing an outdoor column for a local
paper. It wasn’t much money, but it seemed to add up when I got a check at the
end of each month. It also got my name out there, and I began to get requests
to give talks to local groups and to lead walks for schools.
Even though I paid no rent, I did
have a utility and phone bill to pay, so I needed a bit more than $5 a week. I sought out part time work here and there
which would still allow me to attend the various small classes offered by the
non-profit during the week. I found
work doing such tasks as roofing, framing, writing magazine articles.
I landed a part-time job doing
typesetting, which also led to my writing for that little newspaper, the
Altadena Chronicle, owned by Sue and Rich Redman. I thought I was on top of the world with that income and my $5 a
week income from the local paper. I also ended up doing some framing and
painting at the newspaper office when they remodeled.
In reality, I was on the edge of
poverty financially, and yet I felt good, at peace most of the time, and loved
to try new things and experiment. My
primary source of mental stimulation was through my classes and involvement with
the non-profit next door, and I believed this was the most important work I
could do. In fact, there was no reason
why I could not have gotten some full-time job like all my friends, or enrolled
back into college full-time and gotten a degree that would enable me to earn a
reasonable income. But somehow I convinced myself that -- for better or worse – my lifestyle was more important for the solace
of my soul, and for the salvation of the planet. Still, my soul wasn’t always solaced by my “lifestyle” because I
always had a nagging fear anytime anyone came up the driveway. Furthermore, I
constantly wavered between confidence and doubt that my way of life had any
effect whatsoever on the direction the planet was taking.
My time was divided between my work,
my studies and research with the non-profit organization that brought me to
Highland Park in the first place. I
drove a Honda 90 motorcycle at the time that got 100 miles to the gallon so my
transportation costs were very low.
I derived great pleasure from
experimenting and learning all the ways I could provide for my daily needs, and
even my wants, using things that I made, grew, found on the property, or
obtained from discards. Had I been
married with children, I believe this would have been an impossible pursuit,
for obvious reasons. But I was essentially alone.
I read Thoreau’s Walden Pond for
the first time during this period, and found
my state of mind frequently resonating with the basic themes in the
book. Remember, Thoreau wasn’t a bum,
or a drop-out, or an alcoholic.
Actually, for that matter, he was no squatter either, for the land where
he was given permission to do his “experiment” was owned by fellow writer and
friend William Emerson. He built for himself a little house (a “shack” by most
accounts), and did a lot of his writing there. It would be accurate to say that Thoreau – like me – was
profoundly interested in the very meaning of life and wanted to discover the
point of all the rushing about to get somewhere. Unable to discover these answers in his town, Thoreau built and
moved into his little shack in the woods and learned how to grow the food that
he ate, and found it nourishing and satisfying. Indians and trappers would visit and talk, and somehow through
this unprejudiced intercourse, he found that all people were more alike then
different, and a life lived for purely material reasons is a life wasted.
Now I found myself in a similar
setting, though it wasn’t in the woods but a ruralish part of Los Angeles. I
had no pond nearby, but I did manage to get over the Arroyo Seco which
was as close to my personal Walden Pond as I felt I would get.
At night, thinking over the day’s
classes and studies, typing up my notes and insights, I often ruminated over
how life should be lived, and wondered why we take up so much time and waste so
much of life on trivial pursuits.
I did learn some years later when
Thoreau was mentioned by the academics he was regarded as a brilliant
intellectual who discovered the simple reality that was right in front of everyone. Be here now. Imagine. The kingdom
is within. Which is why I naturally assumed that his own peers would have
regarded him as a saint and savior.
Wrong! I have actually spoken to
descendents of Thoreau’s peers and they said that in the day, Thoreau was by no
means universally respected. Rather, many regarded him as a bum, an outsider,
someone who had rejected society to hang out with the Indians in the
woods. I was starting to see that there
were more parallels with me and Thoreau than were originally apparent.
So I did my best – though usually
unsuccessfully – to not be seen as a freeloading bum who chose not to work and
who just sat around listening to the birds and who saw secret messages in the
clouds.