Salvation Army Officer Wages War for Poor, Homeless

There he was, dressed in his navy blue uniform, standing on a crate in front of the sprawling mall, shouting through a megaphone for shoppers to fight the “crass commercialization” of Christmas and give their money to the poor.

He brought along a small band with a drummer boy to help attract attention. Whenever he got tired of talking, he would break into a verse of “Joy to the World.” The drummer boy would play along on his kettle drum.

Later that same day, he found himself lashing out against a city plan that shelters the homeless in what he describes as “hellishly dangerous hotels.” The situation calls for action and so, he said, “I decided to open up my own shelter.”

Capt. John Purdell, commanding officer of the San Fernando Valley Corps of the Salvation Army, had stepped into the limelight this holiday season for a reason: to fight “in a war against homelessness and poverty.”

Armed with Bible verses and a flair for oratory, Purdell is a “vintage Salvationist,” as one Corps official put it.

Just as the pioneers who founded the 109-year-old Christian organization did, Purdell stands on a soapbox and preaches on street corners. He serves up hot bowls of stew to winos. And he’s not afraid to take a gutsy stand when he thinks he is right.

“He’s a maverick, a holy maverick,” said Dick DeMattos, the Salvation Army’s Southern California spokesman.

Purdell, 55, a tall Englishman with a proper British accent, attributes his high profile these past three weeks to a California chill, both of the soul and in the air.

“It’s the cold spirit of indifference and the cold weather snap got me in the position,” he said.

First, he became indignant when several large Valley shopping centers prohibited him from placing red Salvation Army donation kettles and workers ringing little silver bells outside mall doors.

Some of the mall officials claimed that they had to bar the bell ringers because, if an exception was made, all kinds of organizations would be demanding equal treatment. Shoppers, they said, would be harassed at every door by solicitors.

“How could a kindly person with a silver bell bother anyone?” Purdell argued. “It was just this same type of cold business practice that kept Mary and Joseph out of Bethlehem inns. I cannot and will not stand for this.”

So Purdell made a big banner proclaiming: “Sadly, there is no room for us at the inn either.” He brought out his soapbox--actually a sturdy crate with “soap” stenciled across it--stood on top and preached on sidewalks outside the malls.

Then he put his uniformed workers on corners with large nets so passers-by could drop in donations from their cars. He showed the workers how to attract attention by beating drums and singing Christmas carols and then checked on them every afternoon.

One day, as he approached the Topanga Boulevard entrance to Topanga Plaza and saw five teen-age cadets ringing the hand-held bells, pounding the drums and pushing the nets into car windows, he burst out with a “Hallelujah!”

“It does look kind of funny, doesn’t it?” he said, laughing. “It serves Topanga Plaza jolly well. I must be honest. It does feel wonderful to take a stand.”

Bible Says So

Not only is it wonderful, it is even permissible because the Bible says so, Purdell reasons.

Purdell said he took his marching orders these past weeks from Ephesians 6:13: “. . . take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.”

Although mall officials may have been a bit annoyed by the public stand Purdell staged in front of their centers, none attempted to have the Salvation Army workers removed, even when they strayed onto private parking lots.

“At this point, we’re not going to do anything about them,” said John Lyda, regional director of May Centers, which owns Topanga Plaza.

One mall official, who asked not to be named, said the Salvation Army’s street-corner fund-raising efforts are “outdated methods of the 1930s and ‘40s. They need to change with the times.”

But, if this year’s Valley contributions are any guide, Purdell’s collection tactics don’t need changing.

Each net was catching about $300 a day, double the amount that usually goes into one of the little kettles.

Although Salvation Army officials reported last week that kettle contributions in Southern California were down 20%, San Fernando Valley contributions are expected to surpass last year’s by thousands of dollars before the holiday season ends, Purdell said. On Saturday, the tally hit $52,000, matching that of the same day last year, he added.

Although he concedes that he is getting a “kick” out of the kettle controversy, especially because it is such a financial success, Purdell doesn’t want to gloat. He said, “I don’t want to match their rotten spirit with a rotten spirit of my own.”

The former owner of a Valley area upholstery and carpet-cleaning business, Purdell abandoned his comfortable suburban life style in 1980 to accept a $165-a-week post as a commanding officer in the Salvation Army.

After serving in the British navy, he immigrated to the United States in 1957, settling first in San Diego. He met his wife, Arrie, while managing a drive-through restaurant there and, 20 years ago, the pair moved to the Valley.

He and his 54-year-old wife joined the Corps because “we wanted to reach out to people. Carpet cleaning is a noble trade, but we wanted more,” Purdell said. The couple enjoyed material successes, a stable business, a big car, a nice place to live, “but we still felt a certain emptiness.”

The pair turned to religion to fill the void. They attended several churches and Purdell sang for a time in a Roman Catholic choir.

But, “we were hungry for a religion that was active seven days a week,” he said. “I wanted to roll up my sleeves and work.”

In 1979, they turned to the Salvation Army, first enlisting as cadets in the Burbank Corps. But they quickly moved up in the ranks and, after a year as auxiliary commanders in El Centro, they returned to the Valley in 1981 to head the local Corps. The Salvation Army provides their home, car and the $165 stipend.

Intense 2 Weeks

The past weeks have been the most intense in his Salvation Army career, Purdell said.

In the midst of his kettle protests, a fierce winter swept into the Southland, bringing freezing temperatures, strong winds and rain. Los Angeles city officials declared a cold-weather crisis and decided to open emergency shelters for some of the homeless and hand out free hotel vouchers to others.

But Purdell said several homeless families, after spending one night in the motels, complained to him that they were afraid to go back because of drug and prostitution problems.

Drugs and prostitution: Those are fighting words to Purdell.

“I will not send a family to hellishly dangerous hotels,” he said. “We are trying to rescue people from drugs and prostitution, not send them back to it.

“If you had a choice between a flop house or the street, it becomes a choice of two evils,” he said, his voice becoming louder and his face stern. “But the Salvation Army is not in the business of giving people a choice between two evils.”

Suddenly, as if catching himself, Purdell stopped talking. He thought for a second and said with a laugh, “Oh, that was good, wasn’t it?”

The preaching over, Purdell put his words into action. The very day he heard the complaints, he opened his Van Nuys auditorium as a temporary shelter for the homeless. Using Salvation Army funds, he sent some families with children to a motel he said he could trust.

Running the shelter for those who remained was no easy task.

Paramedics Called

Rows of cots, stacks of blankets and the dozens of tired, homeless people occupied his auditorium. Every couple of minutes, Purdell was called on to solve a mini-crisis:

One drunken man had urinated and vomited on his cot. Purdell called the paramedics.

Several youngsters loudly played tag, irritating some rough-looking men. He told them to calm down.

A woman and her three children had not eaten in three days. He fed them a bowl of stew.

Running the shelter cost the Valley Corps about $1,000 a day. The money came from kettle donations, giving Purdell all the more reason to continue the mall protests.

“I’m not standing on vans preaching phony baloney, sanctimonious garbage,” he said. “We are doing some bizarre things, but we are fighting a war against poverty here.”