COMMENTARY ON CHARITIES : Attempts to Aid the Homeless Go Unanswered on Weekends : The needy will not get help because many shelters operate only during their normal business hours.

I have come to the conclusion that it is illegal to be homeless in Orange County on the weekend. Like the rain in Camelot, homelessness in Orange County is forbidden--except during normal workdays and normal working hours. It is not allowed on the weekends. If you find yourself homeless after say 4 p.m. on Friday, you are on your own until 8:30 a.m. on Monday.

That includes you, your spouse and your children.

I made this discovery during a recent cold, rainy weekend, after my wife and I cleaned out our closets and decided to give some of our winter clothes to a shelter for the homeless.

“No problem,” said I. “Maybe they’ll even come and pick them up.”

That was about 3:30 on a Saturday afternoon.

I went to the (Pacific Bell) Yellow Pages and quickly discovered that charities, as such, aren’t listed. However, in the front of the book, under “Community Services, Food, Emergency,” there are several listings. I figured to call one, find a homeless shelter and make arrangements to give it some much needed clothes, and then back to the ballgame.

Man, was I wrong.

What began was a two-day odyssey in search of a homeless shelter where a man, a woman and their children might spend a wet, freezing weekend in Orange County, California, the land of plenty, home of the well-to-do, Conservative City, U.S.A., at the end of the search for the American dream. And, I failed.

My first call was to the Episcopal Service Alliance, the Yellow Pages claiming that it provided “emergency food, shelter and referrals for financial and medical assistance.” A machine answered and advised me that if I had an “emergency” to call another number, pointing out that the center’s hours were from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. Monday through Thursday. The second call was also answered by a machine, which in turn referred me to a third number in the event that this was a “crisis call.” I dutifully called the third number and was greeted with an incessantly busy signal.

I then telephoned the other listed numbers, the “Friendly Center Inc.,” where there was no answer, the “Lutheran Social Services” where I was greeted by another machine instructing me to leave my name and number and told someone would get back to me during normal business hours. I then called “Orange County Social Services” and there was no answer. The last listing, the “Salvation Army,” also had an answering machine that told me it wasclosed for the weekend but gave instructions as to how I could make a donation if I wished.

And then I looked outside and watched the rain falling and felt the chill in the air. The announcer on the radio advised that this promised to be the coldest, wettest weekend of the year. “Stay warm,” he advised.

What, I suddenly thought, if I was homeless and trying to find shelter for my family and myself? What if this was real?

Well, I reasoned, I’ll try the police departments. Surely they, if anyone, would know where a homeless family might spend the cold, wet weekend. Yes, that’s it.

It wasn’t.

I decided to begin with the Police Department in Santa Ana and my call was transferred to a bored desk officer who advised me that he had no referral numbers for the homeless. I then assumed the role of a man trying to find shelter for my family for the weekend and asked him if there was any way he might help. He now seemed not only bored but uninterested. I thanked him and hung up.

The young woman at the Orange Police Department seemed eager to help. She gave me such names as “Project Hope,” the “Martha House” and the “Orange County Rescue Mission,” and I felt that there surely I could find help.

“Project Hope” turned out to be another name for the “Lutheran Social Services,” and I had to listen to the same recording as before. My mythical man had wasted about $1.40 in telephone calls by now. “Martha House” was answered by a machine that advised me of its “Monday-through-Friday” working hours. Another 20 cents wasted. The “Orange County Rescue Mission” had a real, live person on the other end. I was elated. My imaginary man quickly detailed his imaginary problem.

“We house men only,” said the voice, “and we’re full. But I can give you some numbers to call.” My imaginary man complained about the rain and the cold and the fact that he was wasting the last of his money. “Sorry,” said the voice, “here are the numbers.”

I went on, obsessed now. I telephoned the Anaheim police (they referred me to the Salvation Army where nobody was home), the Fullerton police who, while sympathetic, said that the most they could do was to advise me to check with them after 5 p.m. Sunday in case they received any motel “chits,” which were occasionally provided to them by a local church and which afforded a night’s free lodging to the needy. “Probably because of the rain,” said the officer, “but we’re all out of chits tonight.” On to the Westminster police who had all sorts of night numbers for animal control and vehicle impound information but nothing at all for the homeless.

On Sunday I tried again and soon I was swimming in names and telephone numbers. “Santa Ana Hospitality House” (no answer), the “Sheep Fold” (another recording), “Anaheim Interface” (a recording), “Homeless Shelter of San Clemente” (no answer), “Christian Temporary Housing” (a recording), “Safety Net” (a recording), the “Costa Mesa Shelter” (a live person but no space available, reservations are required and taken at 9 a.m. each day), “Missionary Brothers of Charity” (a live person advised me that the center only provided long-term shelter and it took from two to three days of advance screening to get approved), and the “United Way Emergency Shelter,” at which a recording machine referred me to another machine. That machine in turn referred me to a third machine that referred me to 911 in case I had “a true emergency.”

Finally, I was exhausted. I calculated that my imaginary man had spent the better part of two days and at least $10 in telephone calls at 20 cents a pop. And he and his imaginary family were still cold and wet and hungry and alone in Orange County.

Home of Disneyland. The happiest place on the face of the Earth. . . .