In the business of changing lives
He went from Texas Stadium to the business world and now to a deserted parking lot to help make a difference
Joey Mickey is in the business of changing lives
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By Jenni Carlson
Published: January 25, 2008
Lined up in the parking lot near 4th and Hudson, the group was such a sight that even the bums stared.
Some folks wore workout clothes. Running shoes. Sweatshirts. Shorts for a brave few on a brisk January morning. One gal even carried an iPod.Advertisement
‘Cared about them more'
Joey Mickey never intended to be in the business of changing lives.
Selected in the seventh round of the 1993 NFL Draft, Mickey landed with the Dallas Cowboys but always had designs on returning to Oklahoma City. It was home. It was the place he wanted to put down roots, open a business, make his life.
Mickey got his insurance license in 1997 while his wife opened a bail bonds agency.
Business was good for both.
But after a few years, the bail bonds business was going so well that Mickey sold his insurance agency and went to work with his wife. He quickly found himself offering more than dollars and cents. He provided common sense, too.
Mickey would tell folks how to dress when they appeared in court, how to talk to the judge, how to present themselves well.
"The business just really picked up,” Mickey said. "I guess they felt that we cared about them more.”
Simple gestures made such a profound impact.
Why not do more?
Mickey approached Oklahoma County District Judge Ray Elliott with an idea. He wanted to open a facility that offered counseling for substance abuse and domestic abuse as well as life skills classes such as money management and job assistance, but he wanted to put his own twist on the program.
"Go for it,” the judge told him.
Mickey started hiring staff, including certified counselors. The state granted certification in 2004.
New Alternatives Center was born.
‘Changed everything about me'
Inside the tidy but plain building on Hudson Avenue, the waiting room is packed with dozens checking in for the run.
Kennith Fennel used to run. As an 18-year-old, he was found guilty on drug and weapons charges and sentenced to Regimented Inmate Discipline, a bootcamp-style program used mainly with young offenders.
Fennel fled instead of fulfilling his sentence.
Finally at the age of 34, he turned himself in. He spent a year in RID, was paroled in 2006 and assigned to New Alternatives.
"Thank God they put me in that program,” Fennel said.
Like everyone who comes through the doors, New Alternatives gave Fennel a battery of tests to pinpoint where he needed help. He was a long-time drug user, so he had to do a weekly drug test. He had no driver's license and no financial credit, important tools in getting and keeping a job, so Mickey showed him how to get both.
Now, Fennel owns a home and a painting business, Fennel Fine Finishes.
"His program, I know it's going to sound sappy, but it's changed my life,” he said. "I didn't have nothing and was nothing. They changed everything about me. They taught me how to be better.”
He credits not only the program but also the people.
A father of four, Fennel couldn't always get a babysitter. He could bring them with him to New Alternatives. Or if he couldn't get anyone to pick them up, someone from the center would do it.
Even something as simple as calling him by name was a big deal.
"Most places, you're just a client or a parolee or you're addressed as defendant,” Fennel said. "They treated me like a human.”
And he knows that if need be, Mickey would be there for him even though Fennel has been out of the program for several months.
"Mickey's committed,” Fennel said. "He believes in this.”
‘It's God-sent'
Ask Jerry Bass if Joey Mickey's program is working, and the Oklahoma County District Judge will tell about a young man from Midwest City.
The man had no driver's license, but he never missed a Saturday morning run. He rode his bike all the way from Midwest City to downtown Oklahoma City every week.
"Joey got this kid believing in himself,” the judge said.
The young man earned his high school diploma.
"These are the differences that guy is making,” Bass said of Mickey. "Joey Mickey humbles all of us with his commitment to these kids.” By all of us, Bass didn't just mean judges.
‘Y'all know I love ya, right?'
Standing in the parking lot behind New Alternatives, Joey Mickey watched the last of the runners return.
Mickey, still looking much like he did during his playing days, gathered the group around him. The men and women looked at him like a little league team peering up at its coach.
People told Mickey that his methods wouldn't work, that he had to pound change into the heads of these young people by yelling and cussing at them.
"It's always good to see y'all,” he said. "Out of trouble. Not goin' back to jail.”
Heads nodded.
"Y'all know I love ya, right?”

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