Mullaney takes ministry beyond pulpit

Third in a 12-part series.

Fahy “Skip” Mullaney grew up on an Ohio dairy farm, and as a boy he figured that’s where his future lay.

By the time he was a junior in high school, Mullaney had 16 Jersey cows and was a member of the Future Farmers of America. He figured he’d leave college to his sisters.

But, shockingly to his parents, he “felt this call to be a minister,” Mullaney said recently in his Charlottesville home. He added slyly that he also wanted to play basketball in college, which he did, on scholarship, at Capital University in Ohio.

The 69-year-old has since come a long way from the Ohio dairy farm.

He indeed became a Methodist minister, but eventually distinguished himself as a highly touted organizational development consultant and a man who has dedicated much of his life to working for the disenfranchised.

“I’ve always felt called” to his pursuits, Mullaney said.

The calling that would eventually lead him to Charlottesville began in the early 1970s, when, as a church clergyman, he became part of protests “against social ills,” Mullaney said. That’s how he became driven to do something about a flawed criminal justice system.

On Easter in 1970, he was part of a group that surrounded a “decrepit old county jail” in Ohio. The inmates were hanging out of windows singing hymns.

“A classic ’70s protest,” Mullaney said.

They made a documentary about the jail, and eventually it was razed and replaced with a new one.

Six years later, Mullaney and his wife, Mary Ann, moved to Charlottesville and he became the national director of OAR Jefferson Area Community Corrections, which focuses on helping offenders accept accountability and to develop constructive lifestyles.

In the nearly 40 years he has lived and worked in the area, Mullaney has dedicated himself to organizations similar to OAR and many other nonprofits. In 2004, he and five others started People and Congregations Engaged in Ministry, which helps find shelter for the homeless.

“That’s been a wonderful thing to see develop,” Mull-aney said.

Those who know Mullaney laud his positive attitude, leadership and organizational skills and his dedication to those often forgotten by society.

“I think Skip has a real sense that to be a just society, we have to allow everyone to have a seat at the table,” said Charlottesville Mayor Dave Norris, also the executive director of PACEM.

Norris was one of several who nominated Mullaney for the Distinguished Dozen honor. He described Mullaney as “an organizational wiz” and an adept leader who “inspires trust in people.”

Mullaney said his work with the area’s justice system and nonprofits is made easier because “this is a compassionate community … and smart and well-organized.”

His work is not just local. Mullaney has done consulting — primarily in the criminal justice system — in all but two states.

The key to his success in turning around struggling organizations is that he involves all of the staff, from top to bottom, and allows them to decide what will work.

“It really is a process of drawing from the group,” he said. “No one of us knows as much as all of us.”

Another reason people listen to Mullaney is that he practices what he preaches.

“He lives it,” said Norris, explaining that Mullaney leads mostly through his own life, which instills trust in others.

That’s how Pat Smith feels about him.

“I’ve always viewed him as someone I could go to and trust,” said Smith, executive director of OAR. “He’s just a good all-around person.”

Not many people choose to work for society’s disenfranchised, as Mullaney has, she said.

He considers himself to be the lucky one.

“Fortunately, things have worked out,” Mullaney said. “I’ve been able to make a living doing what I’m passionate about.”