Weis will venture anywhere for her

As strange Southern California invasions go, this ranks right up there with red tide and rain.

He is the Notre Dame football coach, and tonight he will enter USC country with hat in hand.

He will show up at a swank Beverly Hills hotel. He will step to the front of the room. He will make a speech.

He will ask for money.

You will wonder, how?

How can tight-jawed, chill-glaring Charlie Weis travel to the middle of a Trojans neighborhood in the middle of a Trojans dynasty and expect a gift that doesn’t include a jeer or a gesture?

You will wonder, what is he thinking?

This is where he will really surprise you.

That jaw will go slack. Those eyes will go soft. His wallop becomes a whisper.

“Thinking about my angel,” he says.

Her father is known for his oration skills, yet she speaks only 50 words.

Her father is known for his innate intelligence, yet she may forever have the mental capacity of a 5-year-old.

Her father is the Notre Dame football coach, yet she may never attend a game, or sing the fight song, or understand the legend.

In all the families in all the sports world, there may not be a combination more unusual than Charlie Weis and 12-year-old daughter Hannah, who suffers from a seizure disorder that causes mental retardation.

Yet, as tonight will once again show, they are one person.

Her fight is his fight.

“When we’re at the beach and she walks up to some kid and says, ‘Hi!’ ... and then that kid looks at her like, ‘Get away from me!’

Her tears are his tears.

“Two of the combination of words she knows is, ‘I’m sad’ and ‘I’m sorry,’ ” he says. “When I tuck her in and hear that, all I can do is hold her and tell her I love her.”

But her hope is also his hope.

That is why Weis is here today. Joined by Ara Parseghian and Lou Holtz, he is co-hosting the ND Coaches Kickoff for Charity dinner and auction at the Regent Beverly Wilshire. The money raised will be split among the three coaches’ individual charities.

Weis’ is the one that is literally operated out of his basement, fueled by one full-time employee and the inspiration of one 12-year-old girl.

It’s called Hannah & Friends.

It sounds like a children’s TV show, and its mission is just as simple.

“We realized we were blessed with Hannah for a reason,” Weis says. “That reason is to help people in our situation who can’t help themselves.”

For the last four years, Weis and wife Maura have led an effort to raise money for the long-term care of special-needs children.

Have you seen an older woman walking through your neighborhood hand in hand with a special-needs adult? Do you ever wonder what happens when that woman dies?

That’s where Hannah and Friends helps, funding placement in special-needs homes and, now, actually building a special-needs neighborhood near Notre Dame.

“We’re blessed to have the funds to be able to always take care of our daughter, but what about those who aren’t so fortunate?” Weis said. “When those children become adults, where do they go? How do they live?”

The neighborhood project, featuring homes and a recreation center, will eventually cost $15 million. It’s taken four years for the charity to raise about $4 million, so the challenge is huge.

It becomes a football story when you realize, the challenge is clearly best met under the golden dome of Notre Dame exposure.

It is a battle that might not resonate so well in a more obscure NFL community.

It is a mission that has become such a part of Weis’ personal mandate -- perhaps defining it, even -- that he laughs when he hears the constant rumors of his return to the NFL.

“People who say that, they don’t know me,” he says. “They see this stiff coach, they don’t see me as a person. They don’t see the part of me that believes Hannah has come into our lives to show us how to do something good.”

He shook his head.

“I can’t go anywhere,” he says.

It’s hard to imagine a tough sort such as Weis melting at the thought of a little girl, but that’s him. Huge, stern haircut, purposeful swagger, and yet the gentlest of intentions.

“Unless you can help someone else on this earth, your life is not complete, is it?” he says.

While it’s easy and even understandable for many Southern Californians to dislike the perceived arrogance of the Notre Dame football program, it is nearly impossible to dislike Weis.

He’s not all thunder and echoes, he’s human.

What other football coach would ever publicly acknowledge undergoing weight-loss surgery that nearly killed him?

“When I came out of that, I realized, I didn’t want to die without having done something for someone else on this earth,” he says.

What other football coach would react as Weis did after the memorable USC victory at Notre Dame two years ago?

I was standing outside the USC locker room after the Trojans’ controversial Bush-push victory when I noticed Weis standing behind me.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“You going in there?” I asked.

He promptly opened the locker-room door, stood inside, whistled the half-dressed USC players to attention, and used a couple of well-placed curse words to congratulate them on their victory.

When I interviewed him a couple of months ago, he was the same ordinary sort, less a coach and more of a dad.

“When we first realized Hannah’s problems, you go through, ‘Why me?’ ” he says. “Then you get mad at the world. Then you say, ‘OK, this is what we have, what are we going to do about it?’ ”

Maura is the same way. A couple of times during a phone interview, she pauses to care for their daughter, then apologizes and continues.

“Hannah brings out the best in everyone, including ourselves,” she says. “At first we were worried about how much she could learn. Now we know it’s about what we learn from her.”

During the interview, their one full-time employee, Sharon Bui, was working the phones in the family’s basement. They were scrambling to prepare for the trip to Los Angeles. Low overhead, huge dreams.

“We want people to know where their money is going,” Weis says. “And it’s not going to us.”

He smiles.

“That’s why I’m the main spokesman here. My wife uses me. She sells me out. I’ll do anything.”

Including today’s most extraordinary act of a Notre Dame football coach walking into Pete Carroll’s backyard and convincing people to believe in him.

Charlie Weis will need an angel. But, apparently, he’s got one.

Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Plaschke, go to latimes.com/plaschke.