Chapter One:

Impressions

On first impression George Faulstich was a regular looking guy. About five-foot, six inches tall with a little stomach that grew with the years, he was bow-legged from riding horses since he was a kid. The two middle fingers from his left hand were missing, a legacy of an accident with an old rotary skill saw suffered while building his cabin in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. Shannon Bullock, at age four, can remember his great-grandfather’s rough beaten up hands, and that “he had the smell of metal about him.”

The photographs of the man called Gramps show someone who looks big. His large face and high forehead seem centered on his smile. A toothy grin (some of which was store-bought) dominates his face. He has a strong physical presence about him. Invariably his arm is draped around or he is leaning toward the family member next to him, usually Altha. Gramps is in the center of the photos. He is embracing someone and he seems happy.

In an early photo, a cocky teenager stares straight at the camera. He is half sitting on his Model T Ford with one leg flung over the fender almost as if he were stepping into the camera. His arms are crossed in front with his brimmed straw hat tilted back on his head revealing a full broad face. The shirtsleeves are rolled up, exposing a farm youth’s biceps. His half smile is a young man ready to take on the world and indifferent to the opinion of the camera confronting him.

Those who knew him agree that George was utterly uninterested in the impression he left. One old friend said, “Clothes had little or no interest to him.” He normally wore a white shirt with Levi’s to work. That was because, he joked, when he was sitting at a desk he could look like a businessman from the waist up. He seldom succeeded in this because by the end of the day his formerly crisp clean shirt would be covered in grease from the numerous jobs he had done. Pretense was the furthest thing from the man’s personality. His lawyer, Frank Hannig, put in plainly, “There was no bullshit in George.”

Even when he had the money, George never played the role. Both the Cadillac DeVilles and the Lincoln Continentals he drove often had tools, machinery and piles of wood in the back seat. The old ford pickup truck that George liked to tear around town in was by all accounts a mess—windows busted, paint falling off. On one occasion an official from a neighboring city called the Black Mountain office to complain about it. The bureaucrat had traced the license number and told the receptionist that he didn’t want to see the vehicle in his town again. Another time a more sympathetic gas station attendant, where George went to fill up the truck, told Ross Markley, vice-president of Black Mountain “I feel sorry for that old fart that comes in here and buys gas. My god, that truck’s ready to fall apart and he’s got holes in his Levi’s, you know, and his hands are all tore up,” Ross reassured the man, telling him not to worry about George, he was doing just fine.

Endless Energy

George not only looked like “a man of the soil,” he sounded like one. An educated co-worker noted that George frequently mixed up his words when he spoke and “beat up the King’s English.” Another longtime business associate described George and grandson Joe “Sparky” Bullock, as “dese, dem, dose guys.” George’s prose matched his speech. He could not have spelled your name, says one employee, which may be why he referred to everyone around the office as boy—“Hi ya boy,” was the usual morning greeting. George himself defiantly admitted that he wasn’t “school material.”

Any first impressions of an average working guy were dispelled by being around George. His energy was overwhelming. “Everything he did was fast,” said one employee. Everyone who knew him mentioned that George never walked, he was always running. Listen to Ros Markley:

“He was always so energetic. Those little ol’ bowlegs of his would start spinning and he was off. He’d rush into the office, sit down, and say something. Then he’d jump up and away he’d go. I always told him that I could hire somebody who did nothing. But if you ran around, just ran around, well, George would be happy.”

George was what a later generation called a workaholic. He was not only constantly busy, he enjoyed working. Even at home he’d be fixing something around the house, gardening and landscaping or building a new addition. He was also a nurturing man, taking care—at various times—of peacocks, pigeons, golden pheasants, guinea hens, horses and cattle. And while he was working he might yell to Darma, the daughter most like him, “Hop, hop the hoppers. A little work never hurt anyone.”

His energy was married to a fierce determination. When he was into a project—which was almost always—he let nothing get in his way, certainly not his own body. One friend recalls that George fell off the roof when he was building his adobe house and chipped a foot bone. Instead of going to the doctor he strapped two boards to his leg and went back to work. He fell of the roof again. That time he needed crutches.

Miguel Sanchez was working with George at Cap Snap Seal, the family’s tamper evident cap manufacturing business, when one of the large metal plates, containing some 16 cavity molds and weighing 400 pounds, fell on his boss’s finger. It was badly smashed with the meat of the finger coming out. Miguel remarked, “Jeez, George you oughta get some stitches on that.” Nah,” said George, who proceeded to snip off the hanging flesh with some wire cutters, wrap a band-aid around it and continue working. He was 70 years old at the time.

George was no saint of course. As his longtime bookkeeper Evelyn English insightfully remarked, “Everybody has the faults of their virtues.” George was no exception. His intensity was relentless. The pace at which he lived his life and his expectation for those close to him must have made for difficult moments. How could anyone live up to George? Not just to George’s demands, but to George himself. His absorption in his present moment was both total and at times unnerving, as the stories of how he dealt with his injuries illustrate. Darma was asked how her father treated her when she was sick. She replied that when she broke her arm, her father’s first reaction was to deny it. “Didn’t happen.” He would not admit that her arm was broken. Illness was not acceptable.

There was also narrowness to his vision. His focus on his business and family excluded almost everything else. Formal religion played almost no role in his life. Politics held no interest for him. Social obligations were a distraction. Involvement in his community, contributions to charities, participation in social groups or any broader social goals of improving the environment, helping the poor, or educating the public were not in his make-up. Perhaps this white-hot single-mindedness was necessary to overcome the obstacles he faced in the harsh world he grew up in. But the cost of his laser focus was that this uniquely talented man didn’t have a wider impact in a community which badly needed his genius.

A Different Approach to Business

In fact, the outside world was often seen as an enemy—regulators who presented irrelevant obstacles, like permits. Since George was constantly busy, usually building houses for his family or additions to his growing businesses, he would start construction on weekends when pesky government inspectors were less likely to be on the prowl. A story told by Sparky illustrates George’s defiance of any public interference in his making the most of his opportunities.

“Well, my grandfather wasn’t one to follow procedures, such as getting building permits or city approvals. When they were widening the Alameda right where the plant was built, he saw this great opportunity. During the construction, all the earthmovers and the dump trucks were moving dirt from where the road was going to be built. So he saw a chance to acquire the dirt and have it hauled up onto his property for free. He was thinking about improving the value of his land and making additional building sites with the dirt.

So he went down and talked to one of the truck drivers. He jumps out of his caddy, stops the dump truck and gives the driver 50 or 100 dollars and says, “Hey start hauling the dirt up here.” Well, soon he has every dump truck on the construction site hauling dirt up there.

Finally, the city came up and put a stop-work order on him, to cease-and-desist. He refused to do it, so the city cites him. He tells the city, “I’m not doing the dumping. They’re dumping up here without my authorization.” I said to Gramps “they’re going to arrest you. You’re gonna be thrown in jail.” He said, “that’s okay, I’m carrying enough cash in my pocket to bail myself out. Won’t hurt me if I spend a night in jail. I’d like to know what that’s like.” Eventually I had to intervene to get it settled with the city.”

Not Your Typical Executive

Clearly this was not your typical executive. The need to be systematic in approaching staff, organizations and budgets wasn’t in his makeup. As his long suffering bookkeeper remarked, “George had some weird ideas of bookkeeping.” His energy, native wit and problem-solving intelligence could overcome most of the challenges his business faced. But he would never be comfortable in managing the tasks of a large, complex organization. As a leader of living, breathing human beings, George could shine. He was a social creature who genuinely enjoyed spending time with people, especially the people who worked for him. At employee gatherings he would give the wives a kiss and speak about how he liked having all of them together.

While not a churchgoing man, George did a pretty good job of living the Golden Rule. In his work and life he was constantly reaching out to help people. Most of his employees started with him as young people who needed a chance to show their talent. He brought them along and they stayed with him not for years, but for decades. The outside craftsman who helped him design molds and equipment often got George’s help in keeping their own businesses afloat. When people in need crossed his path, he was there for them. As one said, “George walked the talk.” Frank Hannig summed him up by saying, “If you were on the highway with a flat tire, he was the kind of guy who would stop.”

He was also a generous employer. Beyond the annual Christmas parties and the fall weekend retreats to Lake Tahoe, there were the spontaneous acts of warmth and thoughtfulness. Twenty-dollar bills were handed out on Mother’s Day so workers could take their moms to dinner. After several late nights at Cap Snap, employees would receive $100 from George, who told them to take their wives out that evening. This generosity was not just a selfless act of charity—and George would be the last to present himself that way. For example, just before Christmas he would pay staff for any unused sick leave they had accumulated that year. It was a gracious gesture and it was also, as he told his office manager, cheaper than hiring replacements to fill in for those who did use their sick leave.

Whatever his motives, George knew what he was doing.