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Gary Dockery looked rigidly uncomfortable sitting in his black patterned suit and red tie. Tattoos peeked out from behind the stiff fabric. There were flames on his hands, letters on his knuckles, and other symbols on his neck.
But when he started to tell a story about his savior, the 29-year-old former convict, who was facing life in prison for a hate crime only a year and a half ago, relaxed. His eyes lightened as he recalled a conversation he had with other Delancey Street residents at the rehabilitation center’s upscale restaurant.
The construction crew was talking about tattoos while doing some remodeling work. Mimi Silbert looked over at Dockery and told him, “I don’t see tattoos. I see a soul.”
“That, for me, was one of the most awesome feelings because society looks at us when we come in, as ‘Look at these guys, they’re ex-cons and all this,’” he said. “Mimi doesn’t see that. Mimi sees right past all that. She sees the inner person she knows we can become, and that inspires me to keep doing what I’m doing and let that old life go.”
Dockery is just one of the thousands of residents to go through Delancey Street since Silbert founded the program with four former convicts in a small San Francisco apartment in 1971. She and then-partner John Maher started the foundation on the principles of self-reliance, teaching each other and learning viable job skills.
Thirty-six years later, the foundation has started five other facilities around the country, graduated more than 14,000 residents, and received commendations from several presidents and international leaders. And in February, when Mayor Gavin Newsom admitted to having an alcohol problem, he told the public he would seek outpatient help from the Delancey Street.
The dozens of accolades have all come while the foundation has had only one non-resident staff member: Silbert.
“She’s like an angel,” said 10-year resident Sandra Monez. “Her friends are people of stature, and people who are public figures. But Mimi chooses to be here with us and live here with us and teach us how to do our lives better.”
It’s true. She’s close to Sen. Dianne Feinstein, the senator’s office said. And the foundation’s 30th anniversary party drew the likes of Sharon Stone, Oakland Mayor Jerry Brown and future U.S. Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi, according to a 2002 San Francisco Chronicle article.
Still, the long-time divorced Silbert raised her twin sons at the foundation, and continues to live there herself 36 years later.
“People have asked her, ‘Why do you want to do this? You could do anything.’” Monez said. “Her response is, ‘Why wouldn’t I want to do this? I get to be a part of watching people change and grow. What more is there?’ ”
Silbert serves as a model for the residents, Monez said. They watch the way she dresses and the way she interacts with people. She tells residents they need to learn to be responsible and educated.
Even when they graduate the program, Delancey alums still follow Silbert’s example. Many even work to extend the opportunities Silbert gave them to others.
Before coming to Delancey Street, Shirley Lamarr was a third-generation prostitute and drug abuser. She was beaten and sexually abused before coming to the foundation.
Now Lamarr, who married another Delancey graduate, works in jails in San Mateo County, Calif., implementing a program she created and modeled off of Delancey Street.
“I owe my life to (Silbert) and Delancey Street,” Lamarr said. “She’s the greatest woman I know in existence in this universe. She taught me a lot of what I do today, and left some of her personal touch with me.”
Lamarr spent the last two of her five years at Delancey Street working in Silbert’s office and doing administrative work.
“She helped me work through stuff,” Lamarr said. “The greatest part of what Mimi does is she’s a role model and she sets the standard. The people from Delancey Street who are successful follow her.”
Silbert established groups for the residents to learn to have healthy friendships and romantic relationships, and how to be a good parent. And she does it all with the theory that the residents should be teaching and mentoring each other.
When a new person moves into the facility, the last person to arrive before them is in charge. In the program’s 20-some different businesses, residents who have worked in the business longer supervise the new arrivals.
Together, they build a sense of community.
“Society don’t want us no more,” Dockery said. “We’ve done horrible things out there. She takes us in and shows us love and shows us there’s a family here that does care.”
It’s such a close family that Dockery considers Silbert like his mother.
“From the day I got here and the day I met her, I wanted to know Mimi. I wanted her to know who I was,” he said.
He recalled a speech Silbert gave the residents after Dockery arrived at the facility.
“Being who I was and who I used to represent, it hit home for me because this woman knows my background and knows who I am and knows what I used to be like and it didn’t even matter,” he said.
“She took me anyway and gave me a chance. It’s not wanting to let a person down that’s given you your life back.”
