If you're having trouble getting through to a judge, business owner or bureaucrat in the Rochester, N.Y., area, mention the name Hattie Harris and hang up. Chances are in a minute or so your phone will practically jump out of its cradle.

Everybody loves the gentle, twinkly eyed 101-year-old who never saw a hurt she wouldn't try to heal or a worthy cause she wouldn't champion. Hattie's admirers think of her as Mother Teresa -- with just a bit of an attitude. Mind you, it's the sort of attitude that will melt a miser's heart -- and also the sort that'll have a toddler instinctively seek out Hattie's lap for a nap while the grownups talk about community needs.

Hattie's unrelenting efforts to help others have earned her the unofficial title of "Mayor Hattie" -- and inspired more than 30 of her friends, including singer Pat Boone, to jointly nominate her for induction in the National Women's Hall of Fame. The hall has only 141 members and includes the likes of Eleanor Roosevelt, Amelia Earhart, Helen Keller and Oprah Winfrey. Hattie's friends think she'll liven the group up a bit.

MDA's Jerry Lewis Labor Day Telethon wouldn't be the same in Rochester without "Mayor Hattie" answering the telephones. Last year, she worked two full shifts. Calls from young givers are routed to Hattie whenever possible.

Says Chris Noun, Hattie's dearest friend, dedicated caregiver and constant companion, "Hattie tells those kids how proud she is of them, and that they have done something they can look back on throughout their whole life and be glad about. She treats everyone the same, whether they've given a dollar or $10,000.

"She seems to get energized as it goes on," said Noun, who is 58. "Finally, I'll say, 'Please, Hattie, can't I take a little rest here?' "

FRIENDS EVERYWHERE

Noun has known Hattie for more than 25 years, and his parents virtually adopted her when she was in her 70s. His father, Perry T. Noun Sr., and Hattie shared the virtue of having loving, caring hearts, Noun said. "When I really got to know Hattie, I knew I had found someone totally unique."

Noun, a former engineer and college instructor, took Hattie into his home a decade ago and has provided constant care and companionship ever since. "I couldn't do this for my mother, but I can for Hattie," he said.

On the flip side, Hattie says Noun is her "guardian angel" and added, "He is the most brilliant and most gifted human being I have ever known." She calls him "mein ziserkind" -- my sweet child.

Gabe Dalmath, news anchor on NBC-Channel 10 in Rochester, WHEC, is the emcee of the MDA Telethon broadcast in Rochester. He adores Hattie.

"I've known her for 23 years, and she is so loving and caring, you just can't help but respect her totally," he said. "She works the phones for us, and at Christmas she sits out there in her wheelchair and rings the bell for the Salvation Army. Hattie has people like Arnold Palmer and Clint Eastwood as her friends, but when she meets someone for the first time, no matter who, she takes their hand in hers, looks them in the eye and shows a genuine interest. You feel like you're the only one she's interested in."

When Hattie turned 100 last year, a huge birthday bash was held for her at the city's convention center. And on national television, Geraldo Rivera led his studio audience in singing "Happy Birthday" to Hattie.

A LIFELONG GIVER

It's been a long way to come for a poor little girl from a modest Jewish neighborhood in Rochester. She was born Hattie Rabinowitz on April 25, 1897. Her father barely made ends meet as a peddler, and Hattie left school in the sixth grade to sew buttonholes and boost the family's income. Thanks to her labors, all four of Hattie's brothers attained advanced college degrees.

As a child, Hattie never owned a new pair of shoes and never had a birthday party. She married Harry Harris, a produce dealer. During the Great Depression, Hattie raised their son (now deceased) and worked as a manicurist to help pay the bills. When Harry contracted a respiratory disease, his doctor said he couldn't survive Rochester's icy winters.

Of her 35-cent-an-hour manicurist pay (she wouldn't accept tips), Hattie lived on 10 cents and sent the rest to pay for Harry to stay six months in Florida each winter. That arrangement lasted 17 years until Harry's death in 1952. This year, Hattie made her first visit to Florida with Noun -- by car.

Despite the lean times, Hattie always found time and money to help others. When needs arose in her neighborhood, Hattie would round up support and solve the problem.

In World War II, Hattie turned to smuggling -- for a good cause. She learned that people in displaced persons camps in Germany could buy their freedom with cigarettes. Hattie organized a system in which coffee cans would be emptied, then packed with highly regarded American cigarettes and shipped off to the camps. More than 500 people paid their way to freedom.

Soon, Hattie's neighborhood network began attracting the attention of those entering the political ring. Integrity, honesty, compassion and concern for others became Hattie's four-pronged litmus test for those seeking her support.

David O. Boehm was one young man who passed Hattie's muster. He's now Justice Boehm of the Appellate Division of the New York Supreme Court. "The thing about Hattie is that she's always the first person to reach out," he said. "She has made the entire community her family. She's involved on a personal level. When our daughter was seriously ill and in the hospital, Hattie called regularly -- just wanting to know how our daughter was doing and how she could help out."

When an apartment complex failed in Hattie's Strathallan neighborhood, she decided the empty building was an eyesore and set out to fix things. After years of arm-twisting, red tape slashing and delicate deal-making, the result is the elegant Strathallan Hotel, which has housed Prince Andrew of Great Britain and other such notables.

CHERRY PIE AND BAGELS

Charles A. Constantino, owner of the hotel as well as co-founder and CEO of PAR Technologies, a $250 million electronics firm, marvels at Hattie's negotiating power. But her heart impresses him the most.

"She's just so alive," he said. "My mother is 83 years old, and when she wants to feel good she goes to visit Hattie."

Kathy Averill and the folks at the Penfield Volunteer Ambulance Service in Hattie's current suburb don't have to visit Hattie. They can count on her showing up regularly at the facility with bagels or a cherry pie.

"She never forgets us," Averill said. "She's at all of our events and helped with our fund-raiser."

When Hattie broke her hip a few years ago, the ambulance service made sure it was on hand to bring her home -- as smooth and gentle a ride as anyone could remember.

"She's earned it," Averill said.

Who knows? Maybe Hattie will earn her way into the National Women's Hall of Fame this year as well.

If so, she'll probably bring cherry pie.

NOTE: We at Quest are saddened to report that Hattie Harris died a few days before the 1998 Telethon broadcast.

With her passing, the local Telethon broadcast on WHEC, NBC Channel 10 in Rochester, N.Y. has lost its most celebrated and venerable volunteer. She will be missed by all who knew her.