Bert the Immigrant

30 September, 13

Susan's family teems with immigrants: 50% Swedish, 25% German and 25% Polish. I am 100% Mutt. Her dad, Bert, immigrated to the USA when he was a boy, way back in the 19-Teens. He was old as dirt. In fact, he was older than my mother-in-law's mother. Weird.

Bert was in his 80's when I first met him. He was not as spry as he had been in his old days, but he was still sharp. I remember studying before making a visit to his Palm Beach, Florida home, in preparation for the onslaught of questions. I could not even get in the house before he was grilling me about interest rates and depreciation schedules on our rental properties. 1,001 questions.

“What's the vacancy rate on your mini-storage?”

“When are you going to refinance?”

“What’s the product mix on your storage units?”

“How long will it take to build another one?”

It was like drinking from a fire hose, and I loved it.

Bert was an incredible encourager for me. He always pushed me to take risks, while at the same time, coaching me on potential pitfalls. When I stepped on the inevitable financial land mine, he was always ready with an anecdote from his past about one of his failures. Bert was like a second daddy to me.

He was Swedish, and about Elizabeth's age, when he came to the USA. This was back when we welcomed immigrants with open arms:

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows worldwide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

with silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” 

(Emma Lazarus, 1883)

His family came with nothing more than Swedish farmers from Varmland could be expected to bring. Bert finished high school and never attended college. One day he told me that was the best thing that ever happened to him, because if he had attended college, he would have ended up in a Corporate America cubicle.

Instead, he struck out on his own, going door to door, to sell new roofs, in the 1920's. One day he hit it big and came into a lady's tea party. He sold five jobs on the spot. Bert went on to build a big construction business in New York City and Long Island. He retired at 55 and moved to Palm Beach to raise his family. 

Bert recognized something vital. People are more important than things. He had plenty of things, nice things, but they were merely trinkets. His great joy was his wife and kids, to which he devoted all his time and energy.

Bert died 12 years ago, but I still have conversations with him in my head. He pushes me forward and provides guardrails as I go. Without Bert, there would be no Spain. 

Te quiero mi amigo!

Looking for Work

12 January, 14

 I was twelve years old with a vision for the rest of my life. I have total respect for people who work for others. There is dignity in every vocation, except maybe politicians. I just cannot work for other people, at least not for very long. Three years is my record.

Living in Spain has been an incredible adventure for me and my family. All of us have taken some bumps and bruises along the way, but it is definitely worth it. After four months, however, I am now ready to start work.

Work in Spain presents a bit of a ticklish problem for me. My "Non-lucrative Visa" does not allow me to earn income in Spain. Obtaining a "Work Visa" is very difficult, because priority for any job goes to a Spanish citizen first and next to a member of the EU. With 25% unemployment, the Spanish government is wisely protecting its citizens from an influx of cheap foreign labor, like me, by limiting the number of work visas. Other than working under the table, which I will not do, that leaves me only a few options.

I can make income, as long as it is paid in the USA. That means I can be a consultant or free-lance something. Many Spanish language websites need better English translations, which I can do from home. Getting published is another avenue. The other option is to get a job in America that pays me to be here, which is untenable for me.

This is an inherited trait, so I feel absolutely no shame in saying that I do not want to have a J-O-B working for somebody else. One day my daddy took me to lunch at the Rainbow Restaurant out on North 5th Street in Hartsville. Sitting at the table were 10 or 12 guys, all friends of my dad's. In a moment of clarity and inspiration, he asked me a question: "Boy, what's different about all these fellows at this table?"

I looked around, and other than the fact that they were poster children for the poorly dressed and slightly overweight, I really had no idea.

Then the Mind of Main Street said, "Everybody at this table right now owns his own business, and he's sitting here because he wants to be here. Everybody at the local mill, from the janitor to the president, is at work right now, because he has to be there."

That was a Eureka! moment for me. My dad has no recollection of it.

I am not lazy. I actually like to work. I love to see the results of blood, sweat and tears. Being highly goal-oriented makes work fun, most of the time. Since 1998 I have oriented all my energies toward creating passive income through rental real estate.

Some of that time, we have been poor. We qualified for Medicaid when Katherine was born. Other times we ate like kings. All the time, however, I knew I was doing the right thing for me and my family. All the time, Susan was by my side, walking some long hard miles with me.

Now we are in Spain. Everybody, in Spain and in the USA, asks us what we do for work. When we reply, "Nothing", an inevitable cloud of confusion and doubt creeps across the landscape of their faces. The concept of working for others is so ingrained in us, that seeing something other than looks false or unreal. That is the fruit of the Industrial Revolution. While obviously gaining from the incredible technological leaps, perhaps we have sacrificed some of our independence.

My family, on both sides, has a long heritage of entrepreneurship. A witches brew of Scots-Irish orneriness and Southern independence drives us to unloose the yoke of economic slavery. Sometimes we eat rocks, but free rocks taste better than hand-me-down steaks.

Knock, Knock, Knockin'

16 January, 14

"Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work." 
Thomas Edison 

My daddy and I were having an intense discussion about something of incredible importance one day. I was about 12 or 13, so it probably revolved around sports, as I still did not have a clue about girls (I still don't). I said something along the lines, "If only Clemson (or insert some other sports team) had done _________, we would have won the game."

Daddy replied, "If only a frog had wings, he wouldn't bump his ass on a lily pad." Profound wisdom from the Hartsville Magi. 

It took me a while to appreciate what that really meant, but now it is a truism, around which, I build my life. The "If only's" will suck you down into the mire of pessimism and paralysis.

If only I was:

• richer
• taller
• smarter
• faster
• stronger
• blah, blah, blah

If we take an honest look into the mirror, we must admit that these are only excuses for inaction. The difference between success and failure lies, not in some magical set of ingredients, but more in persistence and a dogged pursuit of our goals.

About 15 years ago, I wrote down a list of goals. Last May, When we were eschewing most of our worldly possessions in preparation for coming to Spain, I found the list. One of them was to learn Spanish. Another one was to generate sufficient passive income to retire from the traditional workforce by age 40. 

"Missed it by that much." Maxwell Smart 

It is funny how your goals stick with you, especially when they are cemented in your mind by writing them down on a simple piece of paper. Perhaps there is some neurological connection between fingers, eyes and mind.

“Whatever the mind can conceive and believe, it can achieve.” 

Napoleon Hill 

My next goal is to become a published author and speaker. Significant advantages arise from this enterprise. As long as I am submitting content to publishers, I can write off some of my expenses, such as living abroad. I might even need to travel to other places for more research. Booyah!

Writers write. If only I had the discipline... Well, I am not the most disciplined person on Earth, so this is my next challenge to overcome. Saying I don't have time is a joke. 

Here are five steps to achieving a goal:

1. Write it down.
2. Change your attitude.
3. Surround yourself with people who can help you.
4. Eliminate wasteful activities. (Facebook, TV, etc.)
5. WORK!

What challenge are you facing? Are you going to let it stifle you into submission or stimulate you to action? Go get that piece of paper, and write down your goals. Then get busy!

For nothing is impossible with God. God