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  I was born to Sicilian immigrants. My mother was 15 years old and my father was 21 when they met. He was a firefighter in Italy, which was a very prestigious job and still is. My mother and father were engaged in Sicily. Soon after that engagement, my maternal grandfather decided to uproot his wife and five children to come to the United States against my father’s wishes. At that time, my mother was only 15 and was legally unable to marry my father without her parents’ consent. My father worked for the Italian government, so he was not able to take time off work to travel to the US with them. He decided to wait until he had vacation time, then decided to go to the US to elope with my mother and bring her with him back to Italy.

  Months later, my father was able to come to the US. My parents, again, were unable to marry without my grandparent’s’ permission because of her age in the US. My grandfather made a deal with my father that he would grant permission if my father agreed to stay in the US. My mother was the oldest of five children and the only daughter. My grandfather was never going to let her live that far away from him. So, in April 1969, when my parents were 16 and 22, they were married in Brooklyn, NY.

  A year and a half later, I was born. As first-generation Sicilian Americans, work was of first and foremost importance to my family. My father went from wearing a tailored Italian fireman’s uniform to working as a construction laborer by day and a dishwasher at a local restaurant at night. Work was work. He was never afraid or ashamed of it.

  Very early in life, I was taught that hard work was respectable. All our friends, family, and neighbors were mostly in the construction trade. They were men with hands of stone. They had very little education but were shrewd, hard businessmen. That is where I got my first education.

  I was never a good student but, after graduating high school, I decided to go to college. I was a full-time student and an almost full-time employee of my father’s. I loved working with my father. It was very bonding. I went to NYC Technical College in Brooklyn, NY. There, I took up construction technology. After two months, I realized school wasn’t for me. Dyslexia wasn’t a thing in 1988, especially in an immigrant family. I realized I had dyslexia years later when I told my wife that I see letters and numbers, but if I write them down or speak them, they come out backwards. All that time, I thought I was just dumb.

  After my two-month sentence in college, I continued to work with my father. By this time, he had a small construction company. He was so upset I had left school that he gave me the physically hardest jobs. The first month I was literally digging ditches. He gave me a pick and a shovel and pointed at the ground. I enjoyed the work. I loved it. I was born to do it. My father’s company mostly did small additions, kitchens, bathrooms, etc. I started doing some side work for extra money, so after my 10 hours with Dad, I went to work at night for a banquet hall owner. The guy was fascinated by my work ethic. I became a permanent fixture in this gentleman’s establishment. When I was 21, he asked me if I could build him a new house. Young and foolish, I said, “Of course.” So, at 21 years old, I built him a new 5000 square foot house. I did a great job for him, and we are still friends today. I made a small fortune, or at least I thought so at the time.

  I worked with my father until I was 27 years old. It was 1997. I was getting married in August 1998. At the time, I was making $500 per week―not enough to save for a wedding and buy a house. I needed to make more money. I went to my father and discussed my dilemma. He suggested I get a job with one of the local utility companies and do construction work on the side. It was a solid plan, but I was ambitious, and I didn’t want to work for a utility company. In late 1997, I opened my own construction company. My future father-in-law was gracious enough to give me a 1976 Chevy Chevelle, mint green station wagon, and just like that, I was in business.

  From 1997 until 2010, I was able to double my sales year after year. At the height of my company’s existence, I employed directly and indirectly 86 employees. My annual sales surpassed 16 million dollars. I worked from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m. six days a week and a half a day on Sunday, usually 8 a.m. to 3 p.m.

  In June of 2010, I started feeling sick. I thought it was all the hours I was working. Someone told me that I may have Epstein-Barr (EBV), a virus that, among other things, causes fatigue. My doctor told me most American adults have some form of EBV. I thought I was just getting lazy. I pushed forward. I wasn’t going to be one of those lazy guys I knew from the old neighborhood. The symptoms got worse and worse. The doctor told me I was fine. I just need a little rest.

  When my wife and I left the doctor’s office, I told my wife that I couldn’t deal with feeling the way I did. I came up with a plan to move out of NY. I want to move to a place where life was simple. We were planning to move to North Carolina. Cost of living was far less than it was in NY. My wife and I are both savers. We had a nice nest egg put together. I was going to buy land and start building in the Charlotte area. I bought 60 building lots and a 20-unit abandoned building. I went from king of the world to what is going to happen to me.

  The land I bought was in Westport, NC, right on the golf course. I was going to build three to six houses a year to maintain our current lifestyle. In October 2011, I was in a meeting with the golf course owner. He had a pathway encroaching on my land. He was very nice; the relationship was amicable.

  During our meeting, he noticed how much I was sweating. He asked me if I was okay. I started to tell him how I hadn’t felt well for the last few years. He asked me if I had possible been bitten by a spider. I answered that I didn’t think so. I told him I had what felt like light bruising on the right side of my back. He asked me to lift up my shirt. He wanted to see where. He touched the area where the bruise was. He told me I should probably get to a hospital right away. He said, “You definitely have a spider bite.”

  I didn’t know the area that well yet. I saw a treat and release sign. I figure that was as good as any place to go to. I went through the entire triage thing, and then I went in to see the physician’s assistant. It turned out I had a 13-inch bullseye rash on my back. “Lyme disease,” he said. He sent off a sample of blood to a lab in California for verification, but based on what he saw, he didn’t need to get the results back. I was prescribed doxycycline.

  Doxycycline, that’s it. That was the best doctors could do for me. By this time, I was down to 14 employees and under $2 million in sales. I had been to several “Lyme literate” doctors. They were unable to help me. The head of infectious disease at prominent Brooklyn hospital told me I would be back to normal after I finished the Doxycycline treatment. Two years of seeing doctor after doctor and that was not the case. I was recommended to a neighborhood doctor, Dr. Joe. He asked me what my symptoms were. I told him, “You tell me.” I refused to have that conversation with him. Over a four-month period and dozens of tests, he was able to help me. I was back to about 75% normal.

  A few weeks before meeting Dr. Joe, I told my wife I was either going to commit suicide or give blank checks to any doctor that could help me. I was in the darkest chapter of my life. I had not spoken with my parents or siblings in three years since I found out I was sick. I am not a sentimental person. Nothing phases me. Even so, Neil Diamond’s song, “I Am... I Said” seemed to play in my head over and over. “I am... I said / to no one there / and no one heard / not even the chair. But I’ve got an emptiness deep inside / and I’ve tried / but it won’t let me go.” I still cry when I hear that song today. I change the station whenever it comes on. Depression was eating me up from the inside out. I remember my father saying to someone, “If you give in to depression, you will get lost in it.” I was lost!

  The one thing I learned was, I was done being a contractor. It took me a few more years to wind down my construction company. I put the North Carolina land on hold, and I started and finished the renovation on the 20 units in Charlotte. Everything about me was off. My concentration, attention span, and ability to work long hours were shot, on top of me being an emotional wreck. Italians are emotional e
nough. I was 10x emotional. Thank God, my wife has the patience of a saint, or she really, really loves me. It’s the latter, I’m sure.

  I needed to figure out a new plan. I decided not to move to North Carolina. I couldn’t work as a contractor, and my accountant laughed when I uttered the words “disability insurance.” I only had one other idea. I needed to reinvent a good work ethic in a new inferior body. I had flipped a few houses over the years. Could I do that now? No clients, a fraction of the employees. Maybe...yep, that’s it. I’m going to flip houses! But how? I really didn’t know how to do it on a professional level. I’d flipped a few houses using my cash, but that was not a long-term solution.

  So, I bought a franchise in 2012. I started flipping houses. I loved it. I was able to work around my new body. I slept a little later. Pre-Lyme, I started work at 6 a.m. and would work until 9 p.m. Now I was able to start at 8 a.m. and end at 4 p.m. Life was manageable. I also had the 20 units in Charlotte. It was like a cash register. I said to myself, why not buy more rentals? I was 42 years old now. I started keeping some of my flips as rentals. I found out that I was addicted to renting out apartments―the 20-unit and a few more I owned in my local area. I became a player of sorts.

  I immediately began to read everything I could read on buying apartment buildings. I took some classes at a nearby college. I added units to my rental portfolio every year. I took my construction experience and my house flipping experience, and I bought anything and everything. My dark moment ended.

  A few years ago, in my efforts to expand, I partnered with a group which I had very high hopes for. It was very disappointing. I learned that I wasn’t ready to deal with certain players. Big money brings with it smart guys, “work smarter not harder” guys. I was devastated when I was terminated from the partnership. I realized that some work smarter guys are generally lazy and cut corners. They think their education can make up for their lack of work ethic and experience. I worked very hard on that project. My counterpart was very lazy and not that smart, but he was very articulate, and he ran rings around me, or so I thought. The broker involved in that deal noticed my passion and persistence in closing that deal. Two weeks after settling with my work smarter guys, the broker introduced me to a group of work harder guys. I partnered with them and closed on 100 units 30 days later. In all, I own several hundred rental units and am adding more every day.

  I hate to be the “I walked to school uphill both ways” guy, but it really seems people of today’s generation don’t like to work. My sons go to private school. My older son’s school’s motto was, “Work smarter not harder.” I say the opposite, “Work harder not smarter.” It’s in the hard work that you figure out the smarter ways to get things done.

  At the end of the day, I realized that my lack of FORMAL education, no degree in anything, starting late in life, Lyme disease, and termination from a bad business relationship didn’t affect who I’ve become. Except for that dark 3-4 years in my life, I’ve had and have a great life. One of my favorite quotes is, “You fail only when you stop trying.”

  Today, I have new and seasoned investors calling me for advice. Brokers call me to partner with their buyers in order to get deals done, no financial investment on my part. I mentor two new investors at a time. I speak at small REI meetings. I am teaching everyday people how to leverage their Roths, IRAs, and 401ks to earn upwards of 8% with a self-directed product, and I am syndicating an average of 2-4 multimillion-dollar real estate deals a year in jeans and sneakers. I haven’t been able to keep up with the simple 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. workday. I find myself on the phone or in front of the computer at 10 p.m. most nights, but you know what they say…if you love what you do… it’s not really work!

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  TWEETABLE

  Work harder not smarter. It’s in the hard work that you figure out the smarter ways to get things done.

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  Nunzio D. Fontana is known as the investor’s investor. He is a professional landlord, real estate entrepreneur, and syndicator who currently owns and operates hundreds of rental units throughout the East coast. He has raised millions of dollars for syndication. He has taught several dozens of everyday people financial literacy and helped them to take control of their 401k’s and IRAs in order to invest in real estate. He is a qualified equity partner and specializes in difficult real estate deals. Mr. Fontana is also owner of several real estate investment and property management companies.

  Contact Nunzio at [email protected] regarding real estate advice or investing in real estate.

  CHAPTER 36

  Climbing Out of the Pit of Poverty Thinking to

  Powerful Business Owner and Mentor

  by Angel Chandler

  I’ m not quite sure when exactly I stopped believing in myself. It’s funny how once you start to lose your identity, feeling small, stupid, ugly, and annoying just kind of seems normal.

  I don’t even have one of those “this happened and it messed me up” stories. I was born to a young mom. She did her absolute best for me, and honestly, I had the best grandparents I could have ever asked for. They helped raise me, loved me, and made me feel like the most important kid in the world. So I definitely did not grow up sad or unconfident. I was always fed words from my family affirming I was “special,” “smart,” “best at anything I did,” and I believed it. What more could a kid ask for?

  But somewhere in high school, things changed. When I look back now, I can see it. I started surrounding myself with people who had low standards in life. I started feeling like I fit in with them. I struggled between being a kid who wanted to succeed and this alter ego who wanted to be wild, free, rebellious, and live life on her own terms. The latter kid won. That’s when I stopped listening to voices that encouraged me, spent half of high school high on weed, and thought the world couldn’t touch me. This also happens to be when I met the boy who I ended up spending 20 years with in a tumultuous relationship, 13 years of which we were married.

  I can sum up where it all went wrong for me in one word: “settling.” After high school, my friends were starting to do some harder drugs, and I knew I didn’t want that life, so I settled, moved in with my boyfriend and took what felt like the “less wrong” path. It felt like safety. I knew deep down he wasn’t what I wanted or needed in my life. But I still went down that path. I wonder sometimes if my settling was just out of pure laziness, a lack of trying for better, or some sense of unworthiness. All I know is, despite obvious reasons that this relationship would not last forever, I got married at 23, and we had two beautiful children together. Unfortunately, despite the joy my children brought to my life, those married years were long and dark.

  Most of my marriage was spent micromanaging a spiraling, toxic marriage and life. Living with someone who drinks heavily, to the point that it seems like they’re having a hard time keeping things together, is a roller coaster. Half of the time, you have someone who seems to resemble the person you married and the other half you are living with what seems like a monster who hates you more than they hate themselves. I had a friend and recovering alcoholic explain to me once that alcohol wants to kill you. When you’re sober, you hate yourself so much for the way you are and the things you do and say that you start drinking again to numb the pain. It’s a circle, a circle to death that is so hard to watch and worse to live in.

  My life never felt secure. I had been living moment to moment in my marriage, terrified. What if we can’t pay bills? What if I can’t feed the kids? How drunk is he going to get tonight? What if I die and my kids are left with just him? I lived in that fear daily. I was consumed by a dark, unhappy environment that controlled me. But I didn’t know it. I thought it was normal. I physically shook continually. But I held on to the smallest seed of faith that things would get better.

  My journey to my breakthrough started in 2013. I think I was being prepared mentally for the storms I would go through for the next five years. In February 2013, I lost my dad to a batt
le with lung cancer. I don’t think there are any words I can write that explain the pain of losing a parent, especially way too early, the pain of what cancer does to a family, or the loss when the one you all need is gone.

  Shortly after my dad passed, I was introduced to the direct sales industry, and the positive and encouraging personal development that comes with it. All of a sudden, I found myself on the long road to discovering the TRUE me again. I discovered things about myself that I needed to change. I realized that my habitual patterns, thinking, language, vision for my life, surroundings, and relationships, were all contributing to my reality. I realized I needed to change and heal. But, more importantly, I started to realize I had the gift of a voice to help other women to heal as well.

  My mentor, Dr. Doug Firebaugh, came into my life on a complete fluke. By chance, he asked me to be on his radio show, The Millionaire Road , as a female home business expert. At that time, I felt like NO expert. I was trying to feed a family of four on $65 a week, living life in a loveless marriage, and feeling completely unsuccessful in life. But I DID IT. Through the sweat, the shaky voice, and the feeling of inadequacy, all while chasing a one-year-old boy around in the background, I somehow did it.

  That tiny belief in myself started coming back, and I remembered what it felt like when I didn’t doubt myself. It’s amazing what you can do when someone helps you believe you’re amazing. Dr. Doug had me back on his show many times over the years. Sometimes I wonder if he somehow sensed that I needed the boost in confidence. I will always be grateful for his wisdom.

  After that, I started creating courses for other women to help them on the healing journey. I bonded with women I had never physically met. We laughed, we cried, we shared stories of pain. We GREW together. Getting better can be painful. But the sense of awareness you gain is so worth it. I started on this journey all alone but somehow had built a whole community of women who wanted to hear what I had to say. I was able to speak power into women. I was helping to create change in their lives, and it felt amazing. I want every woman to know that there is never an obstacle too big that you can’t overcome.