I remember the day clearly when an old friend who was the Director of Community Services Center in a small Appalachian community stopped me on the main street and said, "Would you like to be a VISTA volunteer?"

I thought for a moment, recollecting something about a domestic Peace Corps type thing, and said, "I dunno - what would I have to do?"

She gave me one of those charming grins I had grown to associate with previous impossible ventures we had weathered in the past and said, "Remodel this into a new community center," blithely gesturing to the dilapidated, rambling, two-story white collapsing elephant of a structure we were standing in front of - the eyesore of the town.

I started laughing, "That thing? It should be burned and put out of its misery."

Her smile disappeared to a look of grim determination that I also recognized. "I've been awarded a grant, and bought it, and I need help now. What can be done?"

"OK, OK," I said, "Let's take a look at the damn thing." Her smile returned - she knew she had me.

Later that evening, as my wife and I reclined, discussing the day's improbable turn...

"They got it for 20 grand," I said, "It would probably take close to 60 to make anything out of it, and apparently I'm supposed to do this with community volunteers and my good looks." "In that case," my wife smiled sweetly, "you should have no trouble."
"Look," I replied, "Quit joking around. I -"
"I'm not joking," she interrupted. 'You have the knowledge and experience with all the construction you've done, and you two have worked well together before. I'm sure everything will work out fine."

"But, hell," I protested, "I'm an outsider, a stranger from the city, and a Yankee to boot. How am I supposed to organize rural Appalachians to pull off a project like this ?"

She put the newspaper down and looked at me quietly for a moment with a patient expression. "I was born and raised here, both sides of my family have lived and died in this county since before the Civil war. I'll help you, go ahead, I think it would be fun." She resumed interest in the paper, the subject apparently resolved, as I sat fidgeting and scratching my head. My fate was now becoming inevitable.

So I found myself in an auditorium training session for VISTA recruits in Lancaster, PA, wondering what in the world I was getting into, and what I could possibly have in common with the two hundred or so nervous and expectant faces around me. The variety and spectrum was itself astonishing: a large, raucous, retired real estate developer in white wings and polyester, here; a brooding, sallow Socialist in cords, complete with leather elbow patches, there; bright-eyed exuberant newly grads; hard-looking, loud, and large black women in bright colors; thin suburban divorcees with a definite sense of purpose, very trim and erect.

Through the days and exercises that followed, we were quietly maneuvered into a cohesive, responsive, and spirited group of "pals" in spite of ourselves, and I began to see what this whole thing was about. After our last exercise on the last day, "my" group elected me to give "our" presentation to the whole assembly. I went to the podium, and forgot completely what our exercise had been about, so I stood on the stage in front of hundreds of people, facilitators, officials, and video cameras, and said something like: "Well, we've been here almost a week now, with strange people giving us strange problems that we had to sit down with strange people and come to consensus with. I think we've done a good job, but now, now we have to go back to our own communities in the cities, or out in the country, and do the same thing to those people in our communities that these people have done to us here."

There was stifled laughter from the facilitators and otherwise, silence.

"That's all I have to say." As I walked off the stage, the crowd applauded loudly, and my knees felt weak. I couldn't speak, and I went back to my group's table and looked away.

The next morning we took the VISTA Oath. I was stunned and riveted by the words. It was the same oath, the same words I pledged when I shipped out for Korea and the same words I said when I went to Viet Nam.

The next year was a whirlwind of activity. Volunteers were found in church groups, from colleges, local residents, workers from the governor's summer youth program, volunteers from the local jail, and a remarkable group that came all the way from Holland. Materials were begged, borrowed, or, how shall I say - "obtained" - grants were awarded, and that eyesore, that dilapidated wreck was transformed into the showpiece on Main Street. I was beginning to enjoy this kind of work, and re-enlisted for another VISTA year. That's when the trouble started.

I'm being circumspect as possible when I say simply that small town politics reared its ugly head. The building was taken over, the Director resigned, and I was out on the street with no project. I didn't know what to do. I was bitter, disgusted, not to mention furious. A year's work, everything we did, all ripped off by a bunch of lazy, pompous....

Well, I went home one night, and my wife said, "I got a phone call today from some friends that want to turn a $70K building and property over to us for non-profit community action. Do you want to go look at it?" (I'm not kidding, this really happened.)

So from this incredible donation was born Homes for the Hills, Incorporated, our own little "Mom and Pop" non-profit. The first thing to do was to acquire 501(c)(3) tax-exempt status. For anyone who hasn't tried this, I'll say that it's a lot like writing a master's thesis, except in that case you're writing about something you understand to professors who are more or less sympathetic. In the case of the 501(c)(3), you're writing to skeptical IRS lawyers about what your hypothetical organization will be doing 5 or 10 years in the future. It also requires incorporation papers, a Board of Directors, Bylaws, Mission Statements, business licenses, budgets, and a track record of actual performance.

To make a long story short, we did it, which surprised everybody in the community, including us. I must add that I had been lucky enough to be sent to several Neighborhood Reinvestment Corporation training institutes, and whatever one may think of NRC, the training institutes are excellent, and Homes for the Hills would not exist without the knowledge I gained in the classroom, and from other participants at those gatherings.

As for the property and project itself, we decided that because of the frequent fires from the countless wood burning stoves in this area, we would open an emergency homeless shelter to provide a refuge for victimized families until they could get back on their feet. To help pay expenses, we would operate a drop-off laundry service for the community. This all felt very satisfying in principle, and looked great on paper, but we had a lot to learn.

First, we promoted a few hundred in donations to turn on the utilities and clean the place up, then scrounged some washing machines, dryers, beds and bedding, refrigerator, stove, pots and pans, dishes, etc., got a live-in volunteer to do laundry and run the place, and open to the community. The lessons weren't long in coming.

It's probably obvious to many of you that a lot of people, particularly women, aren't attracted to the idea of airing their dirty laundry, so to speak, especially to a man (our volunteer), so the volume of business to support the project was not what we had hoped. Other problems were, for instance, one old guy brought his in, and we had to open the windows and do it three times before we could notice any difference. Repair parts were constantly in demand for the old machines, and the state sales tax man made a career of extracting every penny possible out of this two-bit operation. He spent weeks harassing us for revenues that wouldn't pay his own salary for half a day.

The emergency shelter, however, was by far a much greater education. People in extremity here go to their relations, and since everyone is related in one way or another, there is no lack of them. So our clientele were either con artists who worked their way through one area, and moved on, or people with chronic mental or substance abuse problems, no longer tolerated by anyone else. The premises are charming, well-furnished, and warm in the winter - so there is little, if any, incentive to leave. The telephone bill became astronomical, volunteers were treated like servants, children were practically abandoned there, and we became embroiled in domestic disputes which any cop will tell you is a more dangerous situation than arresting Mafia hit men. The insurance companies said they'd consider us for around $20 thousand a year. So, for anyone considering such a project, I would suggest that 1) they be independently wealthy, 2) at least a Ph.D. and 20 years experience in Psychology, and 3) extensive Green Beret and/or martial arts training. Finally, we had to admit that we were not helping the community, ourselves, or our clients, and terminated the project. But the organization had weathered extreme adversity, learned from mistakes, grown together, and had a better idea.

When I was re-building the new Community Services Center, I had the opportunity to direct a crew of college workcamp volunteers. These kids, though limited in technical expertise, were willing, eager, and quick learners. In the week they were here, they accomplished a good deal of work, and we all had a fun time. I proposed to the Homes for the Hills Board of Directors that we develop a program around such groups, and go out through the county to work on houses of the poor, elderly, and disabled. The Board approved the plan, and I was instructed to proceed. It didn't take long - within a week, I had the first group signed up. During that summer, four groups of 10-20 kids each were referred to HFTH by the Commission on Religion in Appalachia. We repaired houses : painting, roofing, porches, windows, and floors. Once again I was enjoying my work, and in the fall, the project was acclaimed a resounding success, and I re-enlisted for my third year with VISTA.

To date, things are going and growing at HFTH. We doubled the volume of work groups, many of them have returned for a second season, and we have repaired nearly 75 homes. HFTH has applied for and been awarded grants, including more VISTAs to help me out. We are the originating agency for HOME Repair grants, and low interest loans from various state and federal agencies. We are known and respected by area residents and businesses, who volunteer and provide discounts, respectively. We are developing our own construction crews for larger and more complex projects, such as complete rehab, and new construction jobs. We have applied to sponsor a complete VISTA program ourselves in 1994. Our problems are never over, from lack of funding, or bad weather during workcamps, to hassles with the State Dept. of Labor, and hostile Board takeover attempts (which shows that we're really becoming a valuable agency). The organization has kept developing and expanding. In my fourth year of VISTA, I feel a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment I haven't had since I graduated college when I was 40. Now my tenure is coming to a close, I don't know if I'll do one more year allowed or not. That depends on the circumstances at hand when the time comes. But I'll never again doubt that anything's possible if you give it a try.