Businessman. Philanthropist. Mentor. Inspiration.

All these words and more can be used to describe Emerson Valley resident Anthony Faulk. Yet the word he’d pick to describe himself is very different.

“Sweat,” he says as he sinks a putt on a par 5 hole. When I press him about what he means, he lays it all out for me. “Whatever I do, I do with everything I got. I work till I can barely stand up and my fingers bleed. I make sure there’s never a day where I don’t sweat. If I’m not sweating, I’m not working hard enough.”

It’s an interesting ethos to say the least. While leading me back into his palatial home from his private golf course, I can see the appeal. Sweat has brought Mr. Faulk plenty of good fortune. Being the CEO of Jorus Technology Solutions for 15 years hasn’t hurt, either. Thanks to the many patents they own, they rake in over $12.6 billion annually.

After going inside to the kitchen, he opens his fridge and tosses me a beer. We sit down on the sofa in his den, and he flicks on the TV. If I hadn’t just come inside from a backyard golf course, I might mistake this tableau for a weekend evening hanging out with the boys.

“Nothing was ever handed to me on a silver platter,” he tells me. He’s very insistent that people know he never had a leg up in the world. “My pop died when I was seven. Ma couldn’t work, so it was up to me and my older brother Tommy to take care of things. I got a job selling lollipops on the street corner.”

Mr. Faulk laughs heartily and takes a sip of his beer. “I’m sure the statue of limitations has run out by now, so it’s probably safe to tell you I didn’t exactly procure those lollipops by entirely legitimate means.”

He laughs again and pats his belly. His eyes are looking off into the distance, but not at the TV screen. He’s peering deep into the past. A past checkered with colorful characters and questionable actions. But he put all that behind him a long time ago.

“I got pinched for shoplifting when I was fifteen,” he admits. His beer is almost gone. The amber nectar is like a lubricant for the soul. “At the time, it seemed like my life was over. But I was still a minor. I did some time in juvie and met a priest while I was there. He helped me turn my life around. Got me my first legitimate job. He even helped me pay for college.”

Who was this miracle man who mentored Mr. Faulk at such an integral time in his life?

“Father Mike,” he says wistfully. “One of the good ones. I know he’s finally got himself an angelic choir to conduct. He don’t have to listen to us all screeching like a buncha banshees anymore.”

Mr. Faulk was talking about Father Michael William Farley. The late priest ran our local parish for nearly 35 years. Throughout that time, he took many young men under his wing. Before Emerson Valley had their own boy scouts troop, Father Mike was, in essence, a scoutmaster.

“He used to take us camping in Blackwood Forest,” Mr. Faulk tells me as he brings me another beer. “I loved those trips. He knew so much about the woods and nature. He’s point out different flowers and trees and mushrooms, and he’d tell us all about them. Then later, he’d quiz us on them when we saw them again. He wasn’t the type of guy who messed around much, but he still knew how to make stuff fun.”

It’s that same sense of joy and wonderment that Mr. Faulk wants to bring to a new generation of Emerson Valley residents. Over the next few weeks, he’s going to be leading his own version of Father Mike’s old camping trips. In addition to his own children, kids from all over town are invited to go.

“I know the boy scouts are doing their thing, and I think it’s great,” he says, gnashing on a handful of grapes. “But they don’t take the scouts camping anymore. There’s something life-affirming about sitting outside with nothing but the woods around you and the stars in the sky. You really feel connected with nature. And you realize that you’re only a very small part in a very big universe.”

Deciding that things have gotten too philosophical, Mr. Faulk steers the conversation back to his ethos. “Another thing I wanna teach them is hard work. You never sweat the same way you do when you’re out there in the big, wide wilderness with no iPhones or superhero movies or video games to distract you. When your head finally hits your pillow, you’ll sleep better than you ever have before. All because you put in the work to sweat.”

When I bid Mr. Faulk a fond farewell, I’m left wondering how I would fare if I lived the way he does. Would I be working for the New York Times? Maybe CNN? It’s a nice thought, but it’s fleeting. I accepted a long time ago that I wasn’t going anywhere. I don’t really want to, either. I like my life. I like the people in it. But there is one thing missing from my life. And I’ve decided that I won’t stop sweating till I find it.

-William Cooper, Human Interest, Emerson Valley Gazette