EARTHQUAKE: THE LONG ROAD BACK : Clinton Offers Welcome Diversion : Visit: Though without water and power, hundreds leave their debris-strewn homes to see the President. ‘It’s a sanity check,’ says one.

Mary Lisa Orth had not had a shower in three days and did not know when she would see water run out of her bathroom faucets again. But she left her Granada Hills home--where “everything that can fall did”--to come to the nearby intersection of Rinaldi Street and Balboa Boulevard in hopes of just a glimpse of President Clinton.

“It’s a sanity check,” she said after pointing out to her 10-year-old twin boys the Secret Service agents who now stalked the streets. “How long can you pick up broken things? You need to get out of your house.”

About 1,000 people--many whose homes were a shambles, some still devoid of electricity, gas and water--lined all sides of the intersection that rattled with aftershocks even as they waited for a glimpse of the President. They brought their children and dogs, binoculars and cameras--when they could.

“We should have brought the camera,” said Joyce White, whose house slid off its foundation, “except we don’t have one that works.”

For their efforts, most got no more than a glimpse of the President. A few got a handshake. The chosen got words of sympathy.

Office manager Darlene Horsley, standing on Balboa Boulevard, said Clinton “put his hand on my shoulder and told me about the freezing weather back in Washington.”

Edward Pena, a College of the Canyons student whose family lives in Granada Hills, said the President told him: “ ‘God bless you’ and that he felt for us and that help was on its way.” As the President moved on, Pena was still boasting about his brief encounter and telling everyone how he shook Clinton’s hand.

Simply being part of the crowd was a pleasant distraction, some said, because it allowed them to leave behind their nagging problems of damage and destruction for half an hour.

“We’re going to have our own stuff to deal with for the next month,” said Joyce White, who came with her mother and daughter. “But--whether you like him or not--he’s the President.”

Others wanted what Fred Rennwald described as “a glimmer of hope.”

“I don’t have earthquake insurance. Most people I know don’t,” said Rennwald, whose house moved six inches off its foundation and lost windows, showers and toilet tanks. “This is something where he can show people what he can do.”

For many, there was a sense that this was a historic moment--a presidential motorcade down an otherwise ordinary middle-class street that just happened to have suffered an extraordinary occurrence.

As Nikki Martin strode quickly along Rinaldi Street toward Balboa Boulevard, she dangled a camera by its strap in one hand and clutched the leash to her tiny Shih Tzu, Gizmo, in the other.

“I figured I should get a picture of this,” said Martin, 20, whose home is filled with broken furniture. “I got pictures of everything else--our home, the 118 Freeway.”

Clinton initially passed through the throngs along Rinaldi en route to a scheduled meeting on Balboa with a group of residents whose homes were damaged by the quake and a gas main explosion. Afterward, his limousine drove back along Rinaldi and--to the delight of pleading onlookers--made an unscheduled stop. At the Balboa meeting, Clinton spent about half an hour shaking hands with residents who had been pre-screened by Secret Service agents and meeting with the road crews working on the ravaged boulevard to thank them for their hard work and dedication.

One man standing outside his earthquake-damaged home told the President: “No water, no electricity, I haven’t had a shower in three days.”

Joe Rosenfield, a benefits consultant from Granada Hills who was among those screened, said the visit “seemed to boost us a bit. The whole inside of our house is trashed, even my grandmother’s china,” Rosenfield lamented, doubting that any federal subsidies or loans could restore his sense of equanimity and the mementos lost.

Some onlookers were even solicitous of the President’s safety.

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Before he even got to the Balboa and Rinaldi intersections, he made a stop at the juncture of the San Diego and Simi Valley freeways. While he idled at an underpass on Hayvenhurst Avenue to shake hands, resident Dorothy McKeel worried.

“I don’t think he should be standing under that underpass considering all the aftershocks we’ve been getting,” said McKeel of Sylmar.

At Balboa and Rinaldi, residents confined to the sidewalks by police and National Guardsmen strained for a glimpse of Clinton chatting with residents a block to the north.

“He likes this stuff,” said Alden Chase watching with binoculars. “He’s just hanging out with people.”

Then the President made his unscheduled stop. The crowd screamed with delight as he got out of the limousine.

“Bill! Bill! Over here!” shouted one plaintive young woman. As people on the north side of Rinaldi tried to run to the other side, Guardsmen barked at them to stay put and a few momentarily pointed rifles at the crowd.

Even the rest of Clinton’s entourage had a fan club.

“Hey, Dee Dee! We love you! Keep up the good work!” shouted George Constantinopoulos as Dee Dee Meyers, Clinton’s press secretary, walking behind the President, turned and grinned shyly at her admirer.

“This is the highlight of my life!” said 14-year-old Gunit Bedi, a freshman at Chatsworth High School, as she dissolved into tears after shaking Clinton’s hand.

Not everyone in the Valley was left with warm feelings after Clinton’s tour. About 2,500 people had gathered at the Northridge Meadows apartment complex, where 16 first-floor residents perished Monday, in the mistaken belief that the President would visit there. They were sorely disappointed.

“This is the heart of the catastrophe, right here,” said Scott Bui, 20, who survived when the complex collapsed. “You have 16 people dead in my apartment building. I’m very disappointed that he did not at least show up. I’m just disgusted.” After Clinton finally left the crowd on Rinaldi, people began to disperse.

Mary Lisa Orth’s neighbor, Sandra Keck, who had accompanied her, noticed the river of muddy water from a broken main running along the curb of the street. Both would be returning to homes without water.

“Take your last look at running water,” Keck said.