That she did. With the help of donations, Hall, 58, transformed the basement of their leased three-bedroom home into a refuge for those with nowhere else to go. Since its opening in 2003, the Lighthouse of Hope shelter has taken in 22 women and their children—most of whom were fleeing domestic violence or poverty. With only volunteers to help—and a mother's caring touch—Hall teaches young women to cook nutritious meals, proffers advice about landing jobs and lends a sympathetic ear. She also teaches the rewards of self-discipline. Residents, who hear of Hall by word of mouth or are referred by social service agencies, must be six-months clean of all drugs, abide by a strict 9 p.m. curfew, attend worthwhile classes and look for work. "She helps one person at a time," says Tanya Tull, who runs Beyond Shelter, a group that helps the homeless. "And she does it with class."
With that formula Hall has enjoyed some gratifying successes. Nine months ago Blanca Solis, 30, fled the projects of Las Vegas for a new life in California but wound up sleeping in her car with her three children. She found more than shelter with Hall. With her encouragement Solis enrolled in community college and will soon earn a certificate as an ultrasound technician. She also found a job as a medical receptionist and rented her own apartment. Today, she says, "I have a bigger purpose than just doing and living for myself."
Hall learned that lesson herself while growing up as one of 12 children in Dolcena, Ala. Her father, despite working long hours in the local coal mines, always rose early to feed the local needy families. When Hall was 18, she moved to L.A. and took a job in the mail room at Wells Fargo Bank, and in 1966 she married Larry. Her peaceful life as a mother of two (Larry Jr., now 34, and Erica, 33) was shattered in 1974 when an intruder entered their home and raped her. Rather than withdraw, Hall decided to fight back by helping other women in crisis. "He could have killed me," she says, "but I said, 'I am not going to let this stop me.' "
The Halls began slowly, but by 1986 they were working full-time with the poor. Literally opening their home as a shelter became the ultimate contribution. And women like Solis can't thank her enough. "Somehow," she says, "I am going to be the next person to help someone who is homeless."
For Hall, Solis's renewed spirit and determination are reward enough. "If I haven't made this earth better," she asks, "what was the good of being here in the first place?"
Thomas Fields-Meyer. Sandra Marquez and Johnny Dodd in Los Angeles
- Contributors:
- Sandra Marquez,
- Johnny Dodd.
Saved by the Bell Reunion
The hookups, the meltdowns, the memoires
The case reveals what was really going on what they think of each other now!
