WESTSIDE COVER STORY : 3 Dimensions of Pain : The Nelson Family : ‘We’ve got to put this in God’s hands . . . basically that’s all we’ve got to go on.’

A note in Santa Monica’s Red Cross shelter gives earthquake victims a prayer and inspiration hot line number. But the “hot line” tells you to leave a message--no prayer, no inspiration.

Much to hope for but little to count on--that’s the way it’s been for thousands of dislocated Westsiders since the Jan. 17 quake. From fortress houses in Bel-Air to tarpaulin encampments in Santa Monica parks, the displaced found themselves in straits as varied as their backgrounds.

Rescue came in many forms. For the more fortunate, it was a sympathetic insurance adjuster or a healthy savings account. For others, it was a housing voucher, a friend’s couch.

Trouble also came in a variety pack. Some of the lucky who could go home were afraid to, even to clean up. Others had to rely on an alien bureaucracy for a new place or cash to stay afloat.

Here are the experiences of three Westside families--the Peraleses, Coopers and Nelsons--as they coped with distinct slices of the disaster.

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The quake was a ride all right, then came the roller coaster.

Kenneth and Stephanie Nelson, homeless and living in Santa Monica’s Memorial Park since summer, had just landed a room in a boarding house.

They would manage the building instead of paying rent. They had moved some things in when the quake struck.

The damage was bad enough to warrant an enter-at-your-own-risk yellow-tag designation from the city, so the Nelsons lost their room.

Four days later came a saving piece of news.

The couple, with six children living with relatives in San Bernardino, could get disaster aid. Lots of it.

A family of their size would qualify for a subsidy for a four-bedroom house, big enough to get the family together again.

“It appeared the quake was going to be a blessing for us,” said Stephanie, an unemployed office worker. “It looked like everything was going to be all right.”

They called their children. There was talk of a big Easter party.

The story of their good fortune spread through the Red Cross shelter where the Nelsons were staying.

They wondered if they were the only people around better off because of the quake.

“That’s when the brick hit,” said Kenneth, a former air traffic controller. “That’s when a dream come true turned into a nightmare.”

The brick was word that they probably would not qualify for the housing aid after all, since the rooming house would be repaired.

To compound matters, the manager who hired them had left.

The owner brought in someone else, unaware of the couple’s arrangement to manage the building.

But for the shelter, the Nelsons were homeless again.

Stephanie fast became one of the most visible people at the center--flying about with an unlighted cigarette, making small talk, trying to stay upbeat, wondering what to do next.

Kenneth listened to jazz, read the Bible, tried to decipher building-inspection reports.

The irony was not lost that the earthquake had, for the time being, put a roof over their heads.

Kenneth pointed to the line for dinner--pasta and salad.

“Why couldn’t they have done this for the homeless?” he asked.

At the shelter last week, they were phoning around in search of a new place away from Los Angeles. Stephanie had a list of four-bedroom houses she’d copied from a San Bernardino newspaper.

She still held out hope the couple would get the housing voucher.

“We’ve got to put this in God’s hands because basically that’s all we’ve got to go on,” Stephanie said, trying to choke back a cry.

“Other people have more problems than I do,” she said through clenched teeth, wiping a tear.

“I’m going to survive. I’m going to survive.”