Stu Bykofsky: These 2 Philadelphians believe in the power of redemption

IF YOU AND he don't mind, I'm going to use Michael Vick to tie together the efforts of two Philadelphians doing good with a lot less attention than No. 7.

Last year, Gloria Brown launched the Lastari Nicglora Business Village, a company producing promotional products - like coffee mugs, T-shirts, key chains - solely to provide training and a path to business ownership for ex-offenders.

I mean ex-offenders who don't run like quicksilver or throw lightning bolts.

Lastari Nicglora (it's a blend of the names of Brown's six children) is located in a beat-up two-story rowhouse in Mantua. Her day job is the village, but her paid job - she works the overnight shift - is as a supervisor at Willow Grove's Lynch Home, which serves people with developmental disabilities.

Twenty-five miles north of Mantua, in a low-slung, modernistic building on Pennsylvania Avenue in Oreland, Shawn Banks' day job is CEO of Philly-Wood Entertainment, where he prefers his lifelong nickname of Frogg with two g's.

Short, dark and handsome, his work as an actor, voice-over artist and executive in video and music production is interspersed with visits to troubled schools to talk with troubled youth about the deathly danger of gangs, guns and drugs. Because of his hands-on experience, last year the North Philly native was called by the Humane Society of the United States about adding something to his repertoire.

"Humane Society?" he asked himself. The father of three thought, "I deal with kids."

"Dog fighting," they said.

Bingo!

It's all part of the same culture, the culture that was once the 40-year-old Frogg's way of life.

On March 27, 1995 - he remembers the precise date - tied hand and foot, his mouth duct-taped, a gun to his head, Frogg was having second thoughts about the thug-and-drug culture he'd been lured into by easy money.

Three ski-masked hoods had broken into the Phoenixville hotel room he used as a stash and office, and after robbing him of drugs, cash and bling, had put a gun to his head. "Hurry up and kill the m-----f-----," said one, as another cocked the hammer.

They were stopped by the sound of a maid cleaning outside the door and they fled.

Frogg believes the maid was God's intervention. He started to turn himself around.

It began with a foray into show business, a long story, but that expanded into a desire to stop other kids from making his mistakes.

To "repay" God, he says, he talks to "the young brothers" in schools. He encourages them, gives them his cell-phone number and takes calls day or night. He also visits prisons and, in his office, shows me art by lifers - talented men who will never walk free because of mistakes they made when young.

What had been a persistent smile fades when he shows me the artwork. Each canvas represents a wasted life.

Back in Mantua, four ex-offenders are working in the rowhouse. A fifth dropped out when a friend hooked him up with a construction job.

They are under the wing of the amazing Gloria Brown, 53, mother of six, wife of one, working two full-time jobs (the one at Lynch for pay, the one at the Lastari Nicglora for everyone's good - the ex-cons' and yours and mine). The business, Brown tells me, "is secondary to the training."

The recidivism rate among ex-offenders is about 33 percent, she says. It's obvious that if an ex-con can't get an honest job, he'll turn to dishonest jobs.

In connection with Vick, I've written before about the challenges faced by ex-offenders in finding jobs. Brown's "big idea" is to train them to own their own businesses and become entrepreneurs.

A big woman with a big smile, Brown uses a 16-week course to teach ex-cons business skills such as drawing up a business plan, computer operations, marketing, overhead - the vital basics.

She doesn't ask about their crimes. "It might prejudice our behavior toward the guys," she says.

I don't have that issue.

Demond Davis, 30, came from Virginia to join the program. A former drug dealer, his goal is to own a coin-operated laundry, maybe two. He struck me as bright, polite and ambitious.

Larry White, 24, is a South Philadelphian who wants to open a grocery store selling fresh fruits and vegetables. He's scouting for a smart location.

Brown's always had an entrepreneurial streak - her mom taught her: "It's better for us to own something" - and she passes along what she has learned.

She gets some help from the Small Business Administration and the Senior Corps of Retired Executives but wouldn't turn down help - time, staff or equipment - from any well-run company or agency.

Here's where the "second-chance" chorus can show they care about more than a star quarterback. The last time I asked, all I heard was crickets.

I hope you, and Michael Vick, don't mind me using him in this way. "Second chances" shouldn't fall only to the famous.

E-mail stubyko@phillynews.com or call 215-854-5977. See Stu on Facebook. For recent columns:

http://go.philly.com/byko.