When Father Greg Boyle of Homeboy Industries received the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Biden on May 3, I thought about stopping by to talk to him, but then hesitated.
He’s not one to bow down, and I knew he would give credit to everyone but himself. So it would be difficult to find a new angle, even though the city of Los Angeles now proclaims May 19 as Father Greg Boyle Day in honor of the man who started the world’s largest intervention and gang rehabilitation in the world.
But then I had 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 would discover things I didn’t know.
A photograph of Father Greg Boyle receiving the Presidential Medal of Freedom from President Joe Biden has been added to the walls of his office at Homeboy Industries in Los Angeles.
(Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
My timing was perfect, as Boyle was overseas.
“Go for it,” he said in an email from Ireland.
I stopped by Homeboy on Tuesday and spent a few minutes with Pamela Herrera, 39, who arrived in 2011 after her release from prison.
“When I walked into his office, he asked me, ‘Hey, kid. Why are you here ?’ ” said Herrera. “I told him I wanted to change my life.”
And she did. Herrera is 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 had won one I would wear it everywhere.
“He must,” she admitted, but no, she hadn’t seen the medal.
Hector Verdugo, associate executive director of Homeboy Industries, smiles as he shares stories about Father Greg Boyle.
(Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
Hector Verdugo, 49, also didn’t know what happened to the medal. The former gang member, who arrived 18 years ago and now helps run Homeboy as associate executive director, knew what he would do if he won the hardware.
“I would wear it,” he said. “I would ride down Whittier Boulevard on my motorcycle.”
I can’t begin to tell you how much I love this visual, but unfortunately, it’s not Boyle’s style. In fact, Verdugo said, the father has a habit of giving away things that are offered to him.
“The only time you’ll see him keep a gift is if it’s a bottle of whiskey,” Verdugo said.
Now we’re getting somewhere. Boyle enjoys single malt scotch, and Verdugo has observed a tradition of clergy imbibing during a “social” evening.
I knew I loved the Jesuits.
I asked Verdugo and others if Boyle, behind the scenes, was a tough boss. No one had any beans to say, but Verdugo said there was a rite of passage at Homeboy that Boyle was adamant about.
“He takes you to a steak dinner,” Verdugo said, “and then he says, ‘How do you like your steak, son?’ Or the waiter will ask. And the homies say, “Well done?” He’ll say, “Order a hamburger.” That’s just going to ruin it.
“Realistically, he deserved every bit of this award,” Jarvis Thompson said of Father Greg Boyle’s receipt of the Presidential Medal of Freedom at Homeboy Industries in Los Angeles.
(Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
Who would have thought that a man so generous and accommodating – so famously non-judgmental – could be so particular when it comes to how you order your steak?
I tested Verdugo’s story with Jarvis Thompson, 30, who told me he traveled to Texas with Boyle to give a speech about his transformation at Homeboy, where he works in community relations.
Texas is a cattle state, I say. Did you go out for steak and if so, did Father Boyle give you any advice?
“I wanted it to be done right,” Thompson said.
And what did Boyle say to him?
“You’re going to ruin the steak,” Thompson said.
Stefanie Rios, 39, assistant manager of the café, had one more interesting tidbit.
“I mean, he swears sometimes,” Rios said.
I hope he confesses frankly.
To be honest, everyone wanted to talk about a man who created a place that felt like home.
Thompson calls Boyle “Pops,” as do many others, including 49-year-old Verdugo. I sat with him in Boyle’s office, where there is a photo of President Biden putting the medal around Boyle’s neck.
“This one is special. The leader of our nation honors our dads, our father, and I don’t say father in a priestly way,” Verdugo said. “I say father as if he were our father. And I’m honored that it’s my Pops here. His name is. I call him. He calls me his son, you know what I mean? And now he’s receiving praise from one of the most powerful people in the world. As it should be.”
Homeboy hasn’t worked for everyone over the years. Some have disappeared, some cannot overcome the damage they have absorbed or inflicted on others, and too many have died young.
But it has worked for thousands of people, in large part because Boyle understands the depths of their problems and the countless obstacles to recovery.
“He always told me to never stop coming back,” said Rios, who was incarcerated for years. “He said, ‘I don’t care how many times it takes you. I don’t care if you make a mistake. My doors will always be open to you and will never give up.’
Noel Rubio, from left, Homeboy Industries Associate Executive Director Hector Verdugo, Taloma Miller and Steve Montoya share their stories about Father Greg Boyle at Homeboy Industries. “He blessed me so much,” Miller said of Father Greg.
(Genaro Molina/Los Angeles Times)
Noel Rubio, 62, a kitchen worker at Homeboy, said he sold drugs when he was young and used to see Boyle riding his bike through the neighborhood.
“I wanted to steal his bike because I wanted a beach cruiser,” Rubio said. “He told me, ‘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 to love and respect people.”
Father Boyle had a radical idea, said Manuel Ornelas, 50, a kitchen worker, who heard about Homeboy while he was in prison. I asked what this idea was.
“That we deserve a second chance. That he believed in us when no one else did,” Ornelas said. “If you know his story, he found himself in the middle of the shootings. …He was willing to risk his life to join us.
Cook Taloma Miller, 51, said she fell into addiction and incarceration after the murder of her 14-year-old son, basketball prodigy Semaj, in 2020. One day she saw Boyle on a TV news show and he looked like Santa Claus to him. .
“I was like, ‘He has a beautiful spirit.’ I want to be there,” Miller said. “When I walked through the doors and saw him, he was just smiling. … He hugs me, he says, ‘I love you.’ He prays for me…I ask him, ‘Am I in the right place?’ He says, ‘You’re here, aren’t you?’ I feel so good here, because there’s nothing better than home.
Verdugo said he was impressed by Boyle’s patience and generosity, but he wondered if the newcomers needed a firmer hand.
“I would say you have more patience than me. … They take advantage of you,” Verdugo said. “And he said: “No, my son. I give them the advantage.
A few years ago, I asked Boyle if he had ever considered retiring. He told me that the Jesuits were retreating to the cemetery, and that seems to be what his Homeboy family is expecting.
“I think the man has a purpose on this earth,” said Steve Montoya, 36, who doesn’t see Boyle hanging it up.
“To be honest, I think he’s going to do this until the end,” Thompson said.
“When he gets to heaven, he’ll do that,” Miller said. “He will send his special workers, his special elves and his little angels to take care of this foundation. It is a foundation that will never be shaken.
True to form, Boyle’s official reaction to being one of 19 people to receive the nation’s highest civilian honor in May was to say that the recognition “honors many thousands of men and women who have passed through our doors… since 1988.” He added that he “recognizes their dignity and nobility as well as the courage of their tenderness” and highlights the need “to invest in people and to create together a valuable community of belonging.”
A scotch and a steak too.
Moderately rare, of course.
steve.lopez@latimes.com
California Daily Newspapers
