When Father Greg Boyle of Homeboy Industries was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Biden on May 3, I thought about going over to visit him, but then hesitated.
He’s not one to bow, and I know he’ll trust everyone but himself. So even if the city of Los Angeles now declares May 19 Father Greg Boyle Day to honor the man who launched the world’s largest gang intervention and rehabilitation program, it’s hard to come up with a new angle.
But then I got an idea. What if I talked to former gang members and inmates instead of the patron saint of second chances who turns 70 on Sunday? They know him better than anyone, and maybe I’ll find out something I don’t know.
A photo of Father Greg Boyle receiving the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Joe Biden is posted on the wall of the Homeboy Industries office in Los Angeles.
(Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
My timing was perfect because Boyle was out of the country.
“Come on,” he said in an email from Ireland.
On Tuesday, I stopped by Homeboy and spent a few minutes with Pamela Herrera, 39, who arrived in 2011 after being released from prison.
“When I walked into his office, he asked me, ‘Hey, kid. What are you doing here? ‘ I told him I wanted to change my life. “
She did it. Herrera is the general manager of Homegirl Cafe, and although she has never heard of the Presidential Medal of Freedom, she said Boyle is a worthy recipient. I asked her if she had seen him wearing the medal because I know if I won one of those medals I would wear it everywhere.
“He needs to do this,” she agreed, but no, she didn’t see the medal.
Hector Verdugo, deputy executive director of Homeboy Industries, smiles as he shares Father Greg Boyle’s story.
(Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
Hector Verdugo, 49, doesn’t know where the medal came from. The former gang member, who came here 18 years ago and now serves as Homeboy’s deputy executive director, knows what he’s going to do if he’s going to win hardware.
“I’ll wear it,” he said. “I would ride my motorcycle down Whittier Avenue.”
I can’t tell you how much I love this visual, but unfortunately, it’s just not Boyle’s style. In fact, Verdugo said, the priest had a habit of giving away things that were given to him.
“The only time you’d see him keep a gift was a bottle of whiskey,” Verdugo said.
Now we’ve made progress. Boyle favored single-malt Scotch whisky, while Verdugo followed the tradition of clergymen drinking during their evening “social” drinks.
I knew I liked the Jesuits.
I asked Verdugo and others whether Boyle was a tough boss behind the scenes. No one has any secrets to reveal, but Verdugo said Homeboy had a rite of passage in which Boyle was inflexible.
“He’d take you to a steak dinner,” Verdugo said, “and he’d say, ‘Son, how would you like your steak?’ or the waiter would ask. The brothers would ask, ‘Did you do a good job? ’ He’d say, ‘Order a burger. You’re not going to get a well-done steak. That’ll just ruin it.
Jarvis Thompson said of Father Greg Boyle receiving the Presidential Medal of Freedom at Homeboy Industries in Los Angeles: “In fact, he deserves it.”
(Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
Who would have thought that a man so generous, easy-going, and famously non-judgmental would be so picky when it came to ordering a steak?
I tested Verdugo’s account with Jarvis Thompson, 30, who told me he traveled to Texas with Boyle to work in community relations at Homeboy on his Transform into giving a speech.
I said, Texas is a cattle state. Did you go out for steak?
“I hope it does well,” Thompson said.
What did Boyle tell him?
“You’re going to mess up the steak,” Thompson said.
Stefanie Rios, 39, assistant manager of the cafe, has another interesting thing going on.
“I mean, he curses sometimes,” Rios said.
I hope he comes clean.
But honestly, all everyone wants to talk about is a man who created a place that felt like home.
Thompson calls Boyle “Dad,” as do many others, including Verdugo, 49. Photos of El’s neck.
“This is special. The leaders of our country are paying tribute to our pope, our father, and I don’t mean father in a pastoral way,” Verdugo said. “I say ‘father’ like he’s our father. I’m honored that’s my dad. He called me. I called him. He called me his son, you know what I mean? Now He deserves the accolades of being one of the most powerful men in the world.
Over the years, Homeboy hasn’t been for everyone. Some have disappeared, some have been unable to overcome the damage they absorbed or inflicted on others, and too many have died young.
But it worked for thousands of people, in large part because Boyle understood their underlying issues and the myriad obstacles to recovery.
“He always told me to never stop coming back,” said Rios, who has been in and out of jail over the years. “He said, ‘I don’t care how many times it takes you. I don’t care if you screw up. My door will always be open to you and never give up.
Noel Rubio (from left), Homeboy Industries Deputy Executive Director Hector Verdugo, Taloma Miller and Steve Montoya share their thoughts on Homeboy Industries Greg Boyle The story of Fr.
(Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
Noel Rubio, 62, a kitchen worker at Homeboy, said he sold drugs as a youth and often saw Boyle riding his bicycle through the neighborhood.
“I wanted to steal his bike because I wanted a beach cruiser,” Rubio said. “He said, ‘You need to stop selling drugs and come work with us.'”
Rubio ignored Boyle and spent half his life in prison.
“Thank God he was able to find me,” Rubio said. “Since I’ve been here, he’s taught me how to love people and how to respect people.”
Kitchen worker Manuel Ornelas, 50, who heard about Homeboy in prison, said Father Boyle had a radical idea. I asked what that idea was.
“We deserve a second chance. He believed in us when others didn’t,” Ornelas said. “If you know his history, he’s been involved in penalty kicks. … He was willing to risk his life to contact us.
Taloma Miller, a 51-year-old line cook, said she fell into drug addiction and was incarcerated after the 2020 murder of her 14-year-old son, basketball prodigy Semaj. Boyle was seen in TV news segments and to her, he looked like Santa Claus.
“I thought, ‘He has a beautiful spirit. I want to go there,'” Miller said. “When I walked in the door and saw him, he just smiled. … He hugged me, he told me, ‘I love you. ” He prayed for me. … I asked him, “Am I in the right place?” “He said, ‘You’re here, right? How do you feel? I feel good here because there’s nothing like home.’
Verdugo said he was in awe of Boyle’s patience and generosity, but had wondered whether the newcomers might need tougher tactics.
“I would say you’re more patient than I am. … They’re taking advantage of you,” Verdugo said. “He’d say, ‘No, son. I’m giving them an advantage.
A few years ago, I asked Boyle if he was considering retiring. He told me that the Jesuits retired in cemeteries, which seemed to be what his Homeboy family expected.
“I think humans are put on this earth for a purpose,” said Steve Montoya, 36, who doesn’t think Boyle will hang it up.
“Honestly, I think he’s going to do it until the end,” Thompson said.
“He’s going to do this when he’s in heaven,” Miller said. “He will send His special workers, His special elves, and His little angels to care for this foundation. This is a foundation that will never be shaken.
As usual, Boyle’s official reaction, one of 19 people to receive America’s highest civilian honor in May, was to say that the recognition “honors the thousands of men and women who have walked through our doors since 1988… ”. He added that it “recognizes their dignity and nobility and their gentle courage” and signals the need to “invest in people and co-create a community with a cherished sense of belonging”.
A glass of scotch and a steak.
Medium rare, of course.
steve.lopez@latimes.com
