Lighthouse for Folks in Transition : Lifestyles: For 13 years, Freda Amsel’s Northridge residence has served as a beacon for people seeking refuge from hard times.

Room to Rent. In the heart of Northridge. Share a beautifully furnished, elegant home on a quiet street, west of CSUN. Good Vibes.

Last year, when Joanne Fountain spotted that newspaper ad while searching for a place to live, the Midwestern woman’s reaction was one of disbelief.

“Oh mom,” she said, rolling her eyes. “This is soooo California , this ‘good vibes’ stuff. I’ve gotta check this out.”

What Fountain, 32, had stumbled onto was the home of Freda Amsel, a type of “New Age” Donna Reed whose Northridge residence has served as a transition port for the tired, the poor, the wretched refuse and the tempest-tossed of the San Fernando Valley for 13 years.

“Everybody in life goes through hard times--a transition from one way of life to another,” said Amsel, 58, who has two boarders and is searching for a third. “I look at this house as a chance for them to get back on their feet, a chance to show them a healthy environment where positive people respect each other and live in harmony.”

Amsel, who’s described by one friend as a “shot of Vitamin B-12,” purchased her house in 1975, the same year her 22-year marriage ended. Two years later, she began boarding renters, who have stayed anywhere from one month to three years. She charges $350 to $400 a month for each of the three rooms.

Amsel, who advertises in local newspapers such as The Recycler, does not ask for security deposits, references or even a signed rental agreement.

“I just don’t like the way it sounds,” said Amsel of rental agreements, seated in her large living room with a towering wooden statue of Kuan Yin, the traditional Chinese “mother of compassion” at her side. “This is not a business to me. It’s an exercise in personal growth. I go on faith and intuition when it comes to renters and money. Sometimes we work out a barter system. I’ve had a new patio put in, general repairs done and a backyard gazebo built by boarders.”

She thinks fondly of her renters--who now total 44 over the years--keeping albums packed with their letters, poems, pictures and cards. A devoted numerologist, who teaches weekly at the Cosmic Connection metaphysical bookstore in Northridge, Amsel chronicles her roommates by numbers, attaching each with vignettes and personal observations. Renter No. 36, she remembered, cooked meals six nights a week for the entire household.

Some problems, however, have arisen. Amsel said she has been bilked out of $1,000 in rent money on two occasions, once by a Buddhist monk who “vegetated instead of meditated,” she said. And renter No. 42 racked up a $200 phone bill and vacated without paying.

“What some aren’t able to give, others make up for in other ways,” said Amsel, tugging at her black Lycra leggings bunched up around her knees. “I’m never sorry about any of my experiences. I do have to re-evaluate myself with each new boarder because each one brings a challenge that forces me to grow. I’ve gained more than I’ve lost with each experience.”

Amsel, who does not rent rooms out of financial need, marched in the Great Peace March from Los Angeles to Washington in 1986. She also joined the American-Soviet Walk from Leningrad to Moscow in 1987. Both treks were to promote global nuclear disarmament. Besides managing the Cosmic Connection from 1982 to 1986, she owned a bookstore, the Lighthouse, also in Northridge, in the 1970s.

Lighthouses, in fact, are the unifying theme of her home. There are lighthouse plaques, mugs, models, refrigerator magnets, photographs and paintings in every room. The symbol is indicative of the positive atmosphere she strives to maintain, providing a “ray of hope” for those who enter.

Amsel does harbor dreams of building a lighthouse that would double as a retreat house where weary city dwellers could find some serenity. But so far, she hasn’t made it a reality.

“Maybe I’m looking on the outside for what I already have here,” said Amsel, looking around her well-kept house as she fingered a large onyx ring on her left hand.

Initially, Fountain found some of Amsel’s new-age ideas, such as numerology counseling, rather “flaky.”

“I’m the original skeptic,” said Fountain, who moved in with Amsel after traveling from St. Louis to accept a job as an engineer at Lockheed Corp. in Burbank. “But after living here, I’m very impressed. I had never been exposed to numerology, but I find the atmosphere here is not flaky at all. The feeling is very upbeat, very happy, very harmonious.”

As with previous boarders, Fountain’s life has been in transition, with Amsel standing by to help cushion the bumps. Fountain was laid off from her Lockheed job in August and has launched a new career as an artist and photographer.

“It’s rough enough when you walk out the door and face the world alone,” Fountain said. “Freda supports you, but doesn’t push.”

“She’s not just someone who lets you cry on her shoulder,” said Bianca Gill-Lytle, who moved out of Amsel’s house in July after a two-year stint.

“Freda always says, ‘Well, let’s look at this problem, and see what’s going on,’ ” added Gill-Lytle, 35, an elementary school teacher who now now lives in Canoga Park. “She doesn’t pity people or allow them to wallow in their own self-pity.”

Phil, who asked that his last name not be used, was going through a divorce, using drugs and gambling when he saw Amsel’s “good vibes” advertisement in 1978. He recalls that at age 26 the phrase signaled some hope for his ailing life.

“At some point during their life, everyone reaches the bottom of the barrel,” said Phil, now 38 and a property manager. “When I met Freda, I was there.”

After eight months, Phil left Amsel’s house with increased self-confidence, goals and what he termed a “greater respect for money,” even though he left behind a $1,500 debt in unpaid rent. Five years later, Phil sent Amsel a $1,000 check and has since knocked off the balance by performing carpentry needs around her property.

“At Freda’s there was an inner peace, serenity--you know, like love,” said Phil in a thick Brooklyn accent. “I’m a New Yorker, a street-wise guy, but I started to write poetry and meditate when I was there. She just brings it out of you.

“I mean, a guy like me just doesn’t think about nature and love and all that kind of stuff. I’m a golfer. I’m a businessman. I’m still me. But for once in my life, I captured something. I haven’t written poetry or meditated since, but what she teaches stays with you.”

Many of the renters have formed lasting friendships. There have been about 18 romantic relationships and two marriages, Amsel said.

But years of experience have toughened her approach to renters’ habits. She now asks smokers to smoke outside and also prohibits alcohol abuse and pets.

“I’ve gotten stronger and now realize I was much more lenient before,” said Amsel as she sorted mail (many affixed with lighthouse stamps) in her kitchen for renters who have moved on.

Her sage advice for others considering opening their homes to strangers?

“I would advise people to be willing to give of themselves,” she said, placing a hand on top of her curry-colored hair. “Yes, you can ask for references and you don’t have to be as lenient as I am. But be willing to share parts of your house, and more importantly, parts of yourself.”