BOOK NOTES

In 1986, the young Father Boyle became pastor of Delores Mission Church, the poorest parish in the Los Angeles archdiocese. It also was ground zero for active gangs in the LA area. He immediately began with much pushback to replace the parish model with keep the good folks in with a new open model that was open and inclusive. The prevailing belief became “we help gang members because that is what Jesus would do.” It was in those early years that an organization was formed—Jobs for a Future—which initially sought gainful employment for gang members.

Father Boyle spent his time there placing gang members in a variety of businesses and nonprofit organizations. He promoted peace treaties, cease fires, and truces among gangs. He said he would never do the latter again because it legitimized the gangs and fed them oxygen. The unrest became even more profound in 1992 with riots in light of the Rodney King beating by police and property damages of over one billion at the time. But with help from philanthropist Ray Starkey (Hollywood agent), Father Boyle bought an old bakery and renamed it The Homeboy Bakery. Other businesses soon started and Jobs for a Future became Homeboy Industries in 1992. Thus began the addition of staff, job developers, and tattoo removal services.

Businesses were started—some succeeded and others failed. For example, Homeboy Plumbing. Who knew people did not want gang members to come to their home? Others like Homeboy Silkscreen, Homeboy/Homegirl Merchandising, and Homegirl Cafe still operate successfully today. The Homeboy Industries is not for everyone who needs help but for those who WANT help. It operates more like a gang rehabilitation center. The early days were challenging because many felt helping gang members was like co-signing onto their bad behavior. Today, Homeboy Industries operate as much a symbol as a place of concrete help. “G” as Father Greg Boyle is most often referred to today by gang members—describes David who had sunk to drug addiction and homelessness. David, who came to G for help said, “ …I know I can fly. I just need to catch a gust o’ wind.” Homeboy Industries tried to be that gust.

Still G has buried scores of young people. One was a boy he called Luis in his book (names were changed). Luis went from the biggest drug dealer in town to becoming a baker in the bakery run by Homeboy. He was gunned down by former enemies. At his funeral, gang members asked G—what is the point of doing good if this can happen to you? He told the packed church at Luis’s funeral that Luis was a human being who came to know the truth about himself and liked what he found there.

GOD, DISGRACE, AND COMPASSION

To G, not much makes any sense outside of God. G’s God is one that “loves without measure and without regret.” Marinate, he says, in the vastness of that. He offers countless stories of success, failures, and restarts of young people again and again. Scrappy came to him from prison acknowledging that he knew how to sell drugs and gangbang but did not know how to change oil in a car or wash his clothes. G put him to work immediately with the graffiti crew. Scrappy didn't have to knock on the door of God to be noticed. He was already inside.

G shares the story of Carmen…a heroin addict, gang member, and prostitute. Always defiant, G had seen her many times in the neighborhood screaming and arguing with people. She finally comes to his office just as he was preparing to leave for a mass and says, “I am a disgrace.” G acknowledges that her shame met his. He had mistaken her for an interruption. Disgrace seems to be on the back of every homie Father G has met. They have repeatedly been told you are no good, your mom is a blank, your dad is a blank, etc. It’s hard for anyone to penetrate these deep-seated feelings of disgrace. Guilt is feeling bad about one’s actions while shame is feeling bad about oneself.

Still, in light of all the heavy stories and insights, G offers his sense of humor. A young boy comes to see him with his report card. The kid is gleeful as G examines his card. He can’t figure out why the kid is so excited when every subject has an F assigned to it. He’s not sure what he is to praise and then he sees it. Absences: 0. So G started there….showing up. G makes sure he knows people’s names. He goes back to his first day of teaching at Loyola High School in LA in 1979. He admits he was scared to death and asked a veteran teacher for advice. She replied, “Two things. One: know all their names by tomorrow. Two: it’s more important that they know you than they know what you know.” Pretty good advice even today.

G admits it is exceedingly difficult to carve out compassion for kids you love who have killed kids you love. He was once attacked by a woman whose daughter had been set on fire by gang members. She saw G and believed he represented the victimizers. He says he knows it is the harder thing to show some spaciousness for the victimizer and the victim, but it resembles the more expansive compassion of God.

SLOW WORK

G estimates that he has baptized 1000’s of homies over the years. There is a lethal absence of hope in gang members. He says he has met with countless “what if” kids. What if they had been parented? What if they had been surrounded by love and attention? What if they had had a stable place to even sleep? Or as poet Robert Frost says, “How many things have to happen to you, before something occurs to you?” He shares a poignant exchange with a gang member who asked him how many homies he had buried? After acknowledging 75 at the time, the homie says, “...damn, when is it going to end?” G says it will end the minute you decide. The homie replies, “then I decide.” Change awaits us. What is decisive is deciding.

He takes homies with him on trips, to talks, and restaurants at the sites. For many, they are intimidated and say they don’t talk much. But few have been to a sit-down restaurant where a person takes your order as opposed to pointing to a plastic picture of a cheeseburger. He said lots of variations happen on these occasions. Homies sometimes think they need to clear the dishes. Once a homie said, “I need to give the waitress a tip, right?” Yes, G advises and then when she comes back the homie says to her, “Don’t use drugs.” It’s simply a strange world to them.

G found before Homeboys got too large; he used to walk new hires to their job sites and introduce them to their coworkers. Commonly, coworkers were members of rival gangs. One night G was at a hospital where one of his workers was beaten badly by rival gang members. One of them heard about the attack and showed up offering to give blood. He said, “He was not my enemy. He was my friend. We worked together.”

SUCCESS

People today want—especially in nonprofit work—evidence-based outcomes. They clamor for what works. G invokes Mother Teresa here: “We are not called to be successful but faithful.” He says there are days, weeks, when it’s three steps forward, five steps back. When you hang out with folks who carry more burdens than they can bear, all bets are off. Embracing a strategy and approach you believe in is sometimes the best you can do. He tells the story of a former gang member he calls Scrappy. He once as a youngster had pulled a gun on G and spent 20 years building a tough guy reputation. He finally came to G, apologized, asked for help, and went to work on the graffiti crew. Just a few months later while brushing over graffiti at 5:30 am, he was gunned down. He was clearly executed and no one knows why.

Was Scrappy a success story? Does he appear as a failure when outcomes are tallied? The truth, according to G, is that the tyranny of success can’t be bothered with complexity. Perhaps, it’s as Elaine Roulette, founder of My Mother’s House in New York answered when asked how you work with the poor. She answered, “You don’t. You share your life with the poor.” G concludes that Jesus might have chosen a better evidence-based outcome that didn't end in crucifixion, but he could not have found a strategy more soaked with fidelity than the one he embraced.

G accepts success as a byproduct of fidelity. Someone asked him, “what does it take to get fired at Homeboys—release nerve gas?” When it seems the best thing for a person, G says he has often fired someone. But he also adds, “the day won’t ever come when I will withdraw love and support from you. I am in your corner until the wheels fall off.” When he lets them go, they usually agree. You stand with the least likely to succeed until you create something more valuable—kinship. Kinship is remembering we belong to each other. Piling onto success stories is not what they target.

Kinship is not serving each other. It’s being one with the other. At Homeboys they seek to tell each person this truth: they are exactly what God had in mind when God made them.

Publisher: Free Press, New York City, NY, 2011