SOCIAL ISSUES : Woman Who Feeds 300 Poor Children Fights City Hall : Houston Health Department says her much-lauded home operation violates codes. Both sides are adamant.

As dawn breaks, Carol Porter is in her kitchen, preparing sack lunches for 300 underprivileged preschoolers who live near her north Houston home. By noon, she will deliver the food by van in one of the nation’s first meals-on-wheels programs for children.

KidCare began nine years ago as a personally financed crusade against hunger. As private donations grew, the program expanded to provide 14,000 meals a month to area children.

Porter operates out of her small wood-frame house, which bulges with five refrigerators (two in the living room), three freezers and two stoves. The garage--a combination pantry and kitchen--is lined with shelves holding enormous cans of vegetables, tomato sauce and baby formula.

And hanging from a refrigerator door are two city health department notices listing an array of code violations: The pantry lacks a separate sink to rinse out mops, the stove lacks a vent hood, and the exposed beam ceiling must be covered. If these and other violations are not corrected, the KidCare pantry may have to close its doors.

Neither Porter nor the city is willing to budge.

To Porter, a registered nurse, the issue isn’t sanitation but bureaucratic nit-picking that stifles private sector initiative. “I’m endangering the health and welfare of children who are eating out of garbage cans? Give me a break.”

And city officials charged with enforcing laws intended to protect residents face the public relations nightmare of shutting down a nationally recognized program that feeds hungry children. “We believe young children deserve the same standards of food quality that anyone in Houston enjoys,” says Kathy Barton, a health department spokeswoman. “Why should we allow a lower standard for vulnerable children than for anyone else?”

Porter has refused offers by local firms to donate the fixtures. She asks them to “save their generosity for our building,” a nearby structure bought in foreclosure that eventually will be KidCare headquarters. “We’re not saying lower the standards. Let’s modify them so that the average citizen can take the initiative and help feed the hungry. Not everyone knows someone willing to donate commercial-grade fixtures,” she says.

But, observes Barton, “ordinances do not distinguish between a for-profit or nonprofit kitchen. You’re preparing food for people outside of your home, and there’s an awful lot of potential for food-borne contaminants.”

Porter started KidCare in 1985, haunted by the memory of neighborhood children scavenging for food in a garbage dump behind a McDonald’s. For five years, she and her husband, Hurt, bought the food with their paychecks and savings.

Federal grants that might go to KidCare are steadfastly refused because of the regulations involved. “We’re not going to ask someone to prove they’re poor enough to get our help, it’s demoralizing,” Porter says. “It’s not easy to ask for food. When someone does, you know they need it. We give assistance with dignity.”

As word of KidCare spread, private donors and corporations such as Toys R Us began to support the program. Today, KidCare provides lunch and an afternoon snack six days a week. A paid staff of four and a small group of volunteers help prepare and distribute the meals.

The walls of Porter’s house are decorated with community service awards from groups ranging from the Assn. of Black Social Workers to the Houston division of the FBI. Last month, Porter went to the White House to accept the Presidential Volunteer Action Award.

She applied for a food service license for the first time in 1993. It was granted on the condition that the kitchen be brought up to code.

When only some of the necessary improvements were made--such as the installation of a stainless steel sink--health inspectors in February refused to issue a renewal. Porter recently found out that her newly donated sink does not meet code standards--it’s the wrong size.

“Why are they on my back now when I’ve been doing this for years and nobody said a negative word?” asks Porter, waving letters of commendation from Houston Mayor Bob Lanier and City Health Department Director Mary des Vignes-Kendrick.

Barton says she does not know why the city failed to act until now. But another health department employee said that total compliance with the code should be beside the point when hungry children regularly poison themselves by eating lead-based paint from walls.

The employee, who asked not to be identified, said: “I often refer children to Carol because I know she will get things done. If she’s shut down, there’s no one else here to fill the vacuum. No one is doing what she does.”

On a recent morning, a donated KidCare van loaded with 300 sack lunches made more than 20 stops in impoverished neighborhoods within a 10-mile radius of the Porters’ home. As the driver honked the horn, doors flew open and children of all ages ran outside as if the ice cream man had arrived.

The children stood patiently in line. Today’s lunch is turkey and cheese on whole wheat bread, an apple, chocolate wafers and orange juice. Hot lunches of spaghetti and hot dogs are often on the menu.

The Porters make a point to hug and greet parents and children alike. “One-on-one is important; it steps out of a certain feeling that they’re not good enough,” Hurt Porter says.

For the forthright Carol Porter, nothing is off limits if it’s in the best interest of a child. “Are you taking vitamins? Seeing a doctor? Drinking milk?” she badgers a young pregnant woman, who nods proudly. She has heard this line of questioning before.

Earlier, she chided three teen-age girls who said, “We don’t got that.” “You don’t got ?” demanded Porter. “We don’t have ,” they chimed in unison.

Maria Mendoza, 17, was waiting for the Porters on her porch. “Before, I felt like my family was alone,” said Mendoza as she collected the lunches for her younger brothers. “They didn’t even know me that much, but they show love to us. It made me feel happy that people care.”

The showdown between the Porters and the Houston health department could come to a head if the city issues an injunction to prevent her from distributing food. Fines could follow.

But Porter is unfazed. “If they think I’m going to stop feeding my kids, they’re nuts,” she says.