Habitat For Humanity A Bootstrap Approach To Low-Cost Housing Millard Fuller believes in volunteer labor a little seed money and a lot of inspiration

By Don Winbush

"Make no small plans," somebody once reasoned, "for they have no power to stir men's blood." Millard Fuller has always acted on that advice. He was worth a million dollars by his 29th birthday, but then decided to pursue a more ambitious goal: "the elimination of poverty housing in the world." If you want details, Fuller, a tireless and persuasive salesman, is more than excited to talk about his plans. They are large.

There are 7.6 million people in the U.S. whose dwelling places are deemed "substandard," a euphemism that fails to evoke adequately the living conditions in scanty rural shotgun shacks or the inhabited shells of buildings in urban areas. These quarters are commonly without heat and plumbing, and in some cases are in such disrepair that the term shelter is misapplied. But worse than the deficient housing, Fuller laments, is the world's indifference to it. "People of goodwill, especially people of faith, should find it hard to rest in peace," he admonishes.

Twelve years ago, Fuller founded an organization he said would "make shelter a matter of conscience," that would provide the poor with "simple, decent, affordable housing." He called his enterprise Habitat for Humanity. The idea of a house-building ministry was inspired by Koinonia Farm, an integrated Christian community in a poor, rural, south Georgia area strewn with crude shacks and tumbledown homes.

Fuller and Koinonia leader Clarence Jordan started Fund for Humanity, a pool of capital that was used to buy building materials and serve as a mortgage source for people too poor to qualify for bank loans. Modest homes, built with volunteer labor and some donated materials, were sold at cost to low-income families. Their payments, plus donations and other money raised, replenished the fund, and the money was recycled to build even more homes. There were problems: raising seed money and bureaucratic snarls, but it worked. By 1976 he had visions of grandeur.

"It's not your blue blood, your pedigree or your college degree. It's what you do with your life that counts," says Fuller. Like a peripatetic preacher, he makes his folksy "theology of the hammer" spiels to audiences all over the world, trying to tap into what he contends is "an incredible reservoir of goodwill out there."

On the stump, the messenger is as entertaining as his message is fervid. Fuller, 53, is an Ichabod Crane look-alike who is incessantly joking, cajoling, commoving, pressing, pleading for Habitat. He leans and swaggers, hunches his shoulders, pokes his head and forms grandfather spiders with his lean hands, which are constantly aswirl. He still crows about the sales pitch he made to former President Jimmy Carter: "I said to him, 'Sir, are you interested in Habitat for Humanity, or are you very interested?' " Since 1984 Carter has been one of Habitat's celebrity supporters, along with Bob Hope, Paul Newman and Amy Grant.

Low-income housing is disappearing by the thousands of units every year. And increasingly, people are very interested in Habitat. In the U.S. a typical Habitat home is a no-frills, 1,000-sq.-ft., three-bedroom residence that sells for about $28,000. Habitat homeowners usually make $150 or so monthly mortgage payments -- which is sometimes less than the rent they paid for indecent housing. Fuller often reminds Habitat affiliates, "The houses we build should be a joy to the people, not a burden on their backs."

The number of communities interested in trying Habitat's formula has grown most strikingly in recent years. There were just eleven Habitat affiliates in the U.S. in 1980; there were 171 by 1986. This year there are 324 affiliates, ranging in size from the one in New York City to one in Coahoma, Miss. (pop. 351), which plans to replace the town's entire housing stock. There are 38 college chapters and 68 Habitat affiliates overseas. All told, 4,000 homes have been built since 1976. Boasts Fuller: "It's clear to me that we are seeing the birth of a movement."

Fuller's energy was not always so well directed. By the time he entered law school at the University of Alabama, Fuller and a college chum had a business partnership that was churning out moneymaking schemes. By the time he had made his million, he was a workaholic, and his health was suffering. His wife Linda left home one day, announcing that she was off to decide whether she wanted to continue being wed to a man who was married to his business.

The crisis was dramatically resolved: they were reconciled; Fuller sold his share of the business and donated a small fortune to charity. He and Linda kept only several thousand dollars to start life over, this time with a renewed commitment to the Christian principles each had grown up with. Fuller's life today is modest but, he says, far more meaningful. His salary is $14,300; Linda, who works as his assistant, makes $7,200.

As Habitat's executive director, Millard is "a lot more fun to live with," Linda says. But he is only slightly less intense than when he was obsessed by wealth. Habitat staffers say a strange but not uncommon sight is the gangling Fuller bounding up to the headquarters, clutching a fistful of trash he swooped up on his walk to work. He functions as the spiritual leader of the ecumenical, nonprofit outfit. Much of his time is spent visiting local Habitat affiliates and proselytizing. Once or twice a year he takes hammer in hand and helps finish off a Habitat home with the volunteers. Full-time helpers in Americus, Ga., are paid only their lodging and a weekly "pig check" -- a $25 certificate redeemable at the Piggly Wiggly supermarket.

Habitat, which will raise more than $30 million this year, is not a charity organization. Homeowners must qualify for their loans and make mortgage payments over a fixed period, typically 20 years. Also, they abide by a "sweat equity" agreement to participate in the construction of their own homes and donate so many hours of labor to building other homes. Insists Fuller: "We're not caseworkers, we're co-workers."

House-dedication ceremonies are invariably emotional, spirit-lifting occasions for homeowners. "It's like you've given 'em the moon," Fuller says. Affiliates agree that a by-product of Habitat projects is enhanced community spirit. Says Fuller: "Habitat for Humanity has a way of bringing folks together who normally don't work with each other."

Probably the question most often asked of Fuller is how Habitat, its success notwithstanding, plans to reach its goal of wiping out the world's poverty housing. He answers, volubly, "The Bible says that with God all things are possible. We'll build 2,000 houses this year. We hope to build 4,000 more next year. We're adding local projects at the rate of one every two days. Man, we're just whittling away."