Learning the Art of Business The Owners Biography from pools halls to cyber Security

The boiler room was unlike any place I’d ever worked in before—chaotic, intense, and overflowing with larger-than-life characters from all walks of life. Over 125 salesmen crammed into the same space, each one trying to outsell the others, battling for commissions like it was the last thing they’d ever do. The atmosphere was electric, and I immediately recognized the similarities to the pool hall back in Baldwin. There, like here, everyone was hustling, always trying to get the upper hand. This was just a different game, with higher stakes and even tougher competition.
For me, the high-pressure environment wasn’t intimidating—it was exhilarating. My years of experience, from running my own business to selling leads and precious metals, had sharpened my instincts. I knew how to work a sale, how to read people’s intentions over the phone, and most importantly, how to close a deal. It didn’t take long for me to rise to the top, establishing myself as one of the best brokers in the room. I sold precious metals—silver, gold, and platinum—to clients like a stockbroker would sell stocks. Every day was a grind, but it was also a game. And I knew how to win.
The hustle was relentless. Telemarketers around me were as aggressive as they come, and you had to be just as sharp or risk getting buried. But I thrived in that cutthroat environment. The energy of the room fueled me, and I quickly figured out how to maneuver through the chaos, using my skills to land the big sales. In a place like that, you had to have thick skin and a sharp mind, and luckily, I had both. The money was good. It was enough to support my wife and live comfortably, at least for the time being.
But the boiler room had its own dark side. Excess was the norm—parties, girls, gambling. It was easy to get caught up in it all. There was always something going on, whether it was a wild night out or a high-stakes poker game in some smoky back room. And in the office, when the phones weren’t ringing off the hook, we’d roll dice in the downtime, just like they do in Vegas. It was a reminder of the pool hall days, where the hustle and the games never seemed to end.
Despite the distractions, I managed to keep my focus. I wasn’t there to party or gamble away my hard-earned money. I was there to make a living, and that’s what I did. I had my priorities straight, and I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of that. My wife and I were building a life together, and I knew that money was what would give us stability. As much as I enjoyed the rush of working in the boiler room, I always kept one eye on the bigger picture.
The boiler room was a wild ride, but I knew deep down that it wasn’t a place I could stay forever. It was thrilling while it lasted, but I needed more. I wanted to build something bigger, something that could last. This was just another chapter in my life, one that was full of lessons and experiences, but also one that would eventually come to an end.
For now, though, I was in it, living every day like it was a competition, knowing that the next big deal could be just one phone call away.
As time passed, the boiler room became like a second home to me, even with all its chaos. There was an undeniable thrill in being part of something so intense, where every phone call could either make or break your day. The stakes were always high, and that’s what kept everyone on edge. The constant competition wasn’t just about the money—it was about proving yourself every single day. No one wanted to be at the bottom of the board, and that’s what pushed me and everyone else to grind even harder.
I remember the rush when I’d close a big deal. It was like hitting a perfect shot in pool—a combination of skill, timing, and a little bit of luck. The clients on the other end of the phone didn’t know me, but I had a way of getting them to trust me. I’d paint a picture of financial security through precious metals, offering them a way to protect their assets. And often, they’d buy in. They didn’t know the reality of what it was like on my side of the phone, the sheer chaos that surrounded me as I made my pitch.
But with every high, there was a low. I’d see people around me burn out fast. Guys who’d come in full of energy, convinced they’d be the top broker in no time, only to crash after a few weeks or months when the pressure got to them. Some turned to gambling, others to alcohol or drugs. The parties that started as fun quickly spiraled into something darker for many of the people there. It was easy to lose yourself in that world if you didn’t have a strong sense of purpose. I saw good men fall into bad habits, their lives unraveling right in front of me.
For me, though, it was different. I stayed grounded, mostly because of my wife. She was my anchor, the reason I didn’t let myself get sucked into the darker side of the boiler room. I had responsibilities, and I wasn’t going to let anything jeopardize that. Sure, I enjoyed rolling dice with the guys and having a good time after a long day, but I always knew when to draw the line.
The money I was making gave us a comfortable life, but it wasn’t enough for me to settle. Deep down, I knew that the boiler room was just another step on my journey, not the destination. The work was exciting, but it wasn’t fulfilling in the way I wanted it to be. I had bigger dreams—dreams that extended far beyond selling precious metals over the phone. I wanted to build something of my own again, something that couldn’t be taken away with the swing of the market or the collapse of a company.
Still, I can’t deny the lessons I learned during those years. The boiler room taught me resilience. It taught me how to navigate high-stakes situations, how to keep my cool when everything around me was falling apart. I learned how to survive—and thrive—in an environment where only the strong lasted.
I’d see new guys come in, full of ambition, and I’d watch them make the same mistakes over and over—getting too comfortable too fast, or letting their success get to their heads. They’d start slacking off or get caught up in the distractions that were always lurking around. But I never made that mistake. I knew that in the boiler room, if you weren’t constantly hustling, you would fall behind.
There were moments when I considered what the next move might be. The thought of going back to running my own business crossed my mind more than once. I’d proven I could do it before, but this time I wanted something bigger, something that would allow me the kind of financial freedom I was after.
For now, though, I was biding my time, mastering the game in the boiler room, and saving up for the next big leap. Whatever that would be, I knew I’d be ready. But as much as I had a plan in the back of my mind, I couldn’t deny that part of me loved the rush of it all—the fast money, the thrill of the sale, the constant competition. It was addicting, and in a way, I wasn’t quite ready to let go of that yet.
This chapter of my life was far from over, but I knew it wouldn’t last forever. I just had to make sure I was ready for whatever came next.

After spending a year selling precious metals in the boiler room, I knew it was time to elevate my career to the next level. The job had been a great introduction to the world of sales, finance, and high-stakes deals, but I had always been fascinated by commodities trading. Unlike precious metals, which held a specific niche value, commodities trading dealt with the lifeblood of the global economy—oil, gas, agricultural products, and more. I saw it as the ultimate challenge and knew that if I wanted to break into this new world, I would need to earn a license as a full-fledged commodities broker.
The decision to pursue the license wasn’t one I took lightly. I knew it would require a serious investment of time and energy, especially with the pressure I was already under from my day job. But when I set my mind on something, I don’t stop until it’s done. So, I took a week off from work to buckle down and study for the licensing exam. During that time, I was glued to my study materials—books on market mechanics, trade regulations, and all the complex details that made up the world of commodities trading. I barely left the house, focusing all my energy on passing that exam.
When the day of the test arrived, I was as prepared as I’d ever be. And when I passed on the first try, the sense of accomplishment was incredible. I felt like I had just climbed a mountain. This wasn’t just a test—it was a steppingstone to something much bigger.
Soon after, I landed my first job as a licensed commodities broker at Briggs & Stratton, and that’s where the real journey began. Walking into that office for the first time was like stepping into a new world. The energy was electric, reminding me of the boiler room, but this time, the stakes were much higher. We weren’t just selling precious metals over the phone anymore—we were trading the kinds of commodities that shaped the global economy. Oil, gas, pork bellies, wheat, corn—these weren’t abstract assets, they were the essential materials that fed, powered, and built the world. I quickly realized this was serious business, and I was all in.
Working at Briggs & Stratton was a daily adrenaline rush. The markets were unpredictable, and the constant ups and downs meant that no two days were the same. One day you might be riding high, watching as oil prices surged and your clients raked in profits. The next day, the market might tank, and you’d find yourself scrambling to mitigate losses. It was a fast-paced environment, where every decision could have major consequences. But I thrived in that chaos. I had always performed best under pressure, and commodities trading was the perfect match for my skills.
I dove headfirst into the strategies of trading. I learned how to analyze market trends, anticipate price shifts, and understand the complex supply and demand factors that influenced commodity prices. I studied the global economy obsessively, tracking political events, weather patterns, and anything else that could impact the market. In commodities, knowledge was power, and I made sure to stay ahead of the game.
One of the things I loved most about the job was the thrill of closing deals. There’s nothing quite like the rush of making a trade, knowing that you’ve just secured a profit for your client—or avoided a loss in a volatile market. Every trade felt like a high-stakes game of chess, with millions of dollars on the line. You had to be quick, decisive, and always ready to adapt to changing conditions. And I loved every minute of it.
It didn’t take long for me to establish myself as one of the top brokers in the office. My ability to read the market and build strong relationships with clients set me apart. In no time, I was raising between $200,000 and $250,000 per month in fresh equity. The clients I worked with trusted me, not just because I could get results, but because I took the time to understand their goals and tailor my strategies to their needs. I wasn’t just pushing trades to make a quick commission—I was building long-term relationships, helping my clients grow their investments over time.
The more success I had, the more I pushed myself to keep climbing. But as much as I loved being a commodities broker, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted more. Being a top broker was great, but I had always dreamed of building something of my own again. The entrepreneurial itch that had driven me in the past was starting to come back. I knew that I wasn’t cut out to work for someone else forever—I wanted to be my own boss, to create something from the ground up.
That’s when I met Danny Sterk. Danny was another broker with a sharp mind and a big vision for the future. We hit it off immediately, sharing a lot of the same values and ambitions. It didn’t take long before we started talking about going into business together. Danny had a background in telecommunications and wireless technology, and together we saw a huge opportunity in the growing wireless industry. We came up with the idea to launch Trans America Wireless Systems, a company that would sell wireless cable TV stations.
It was a bold idea, but we were confident that we could make it work. Wireless technology was starting to take off, and the demand for cable TV services was skyrocketing. We saw a gap in the market—there were plenty of small communities that didn’t have access to traditional cable infrastructure, and wireless cable offered a solution. We believed we could capitalize on that demand and build a successful business.
Launching Trans America Wireless Systems wasn’t going to be easy, but I was ready for the challenge. I had learned so much from my time at Briggs & Stratton—about markets, about business, about what it took to succeed. I knew that I could take everything I had learned as a commodities broker and apply it to this new venture. The stakes were higher, but I was ready to take the leap.
In many ways, starting Trans America Wireless Systems felt like a return to my roots. I was back in the entrepreneurial game, taking risks and betting on myself. But this time, I had a decade of experience under my belt, and I knew how to navigate the challenges ahead. I was excited about the future—about building something new, something that could potentially revolutionize the way people accessed television services.
As I prepared to leave the commodities world behind and dive into this new venture, I felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. I was walking away from a secure, high-paying job, but I knew that I couldn’t ignore the call of entrepreneurship. I had always thrived on risk, on the thrill of building something from nothing, and I was ready to do it all over again. With Danny as my partner, I felt like we had a real shot at making Trans America Wireless Systems a success. The future was uncertain, but I was ready for whatever came next.

Danny was a decade older than me, a smooth-talking schoolteacher with an entrepreneurial drive that mirrored my own. He wasn’t content with his teaching salary; he had ambitions to build something bigger—a brokerage firm of his own. But like so many ambitious people, he was short on capital. During one of our early conversations, he asked me how much money I had to invest. I told him the truth—I had $100,000 saved up, ready to take the plunge into something new.
That conversation sparked the beginning of Trans America Wireless Systems. We decided to incorporate the company and quickly moved forward with setting up an office in the Fort Lauderdale Corporate Park. The idea was simple: sell wireless cable TV stations through general partnerships, offering units at $15,000 apiece. This was cutting-edge technology at the time, and it felt like we were on the cusp of something truly revolutionary. Wireless technology was growing, and cable TV had immense demand, so why not combine the two?
The early days of Trans America were a whirlwind. With our pooled resources, we bought desks, phones, and hired brokers to work the phones. It was a fast-growing operation, with an energy that reminded me of my time in the boiler room, but this time, I was in charge. I took the role of president and treasurer, while Danny managed the legal side of things. We were both all in, building what we believed could be a multi-million-dollar company.
Our first big project was in Hot Springs, Arkansas. We needed to raise $3 million to install a wireless cable system there, and we were confident we could do it. The idea of bringing wireless cable to underserved markets was exciting, and we poured everything we had into making it a success. We expanded quickly, hiring more brokers—eventually growing to a team of 200. To drum up more business, we even ran infomercials, pulling in leads from all over the country. Things were moving fast, and the momentum felt unstoppable.
At first, it seemed like we were on top of the world. We successfully raised the $3 million for the Hot Springs system, which was a huge milestone. With that success under our belt, we turned our attention to our next project in Clarksville, Tennessee. We had already secured the wireless cable licenses for Clarksville, and it felt like we were on a roll. But, as with any business, things didn’t go as smoothly as we hoped.
The first snag came when our license for Hot Springs, Arkansas, ran into some unexpected complications. It was a tough situation, one that could’ve easily spiraled out of control. But I wasn’t about to let down the investors who had trusted us with their money. As an honest businessman, I made a swift decision to purchase the wireless cable licenses for Jackson, Tennessee. I transferred the investment from the troubled Hot Springs project to the new Jackson market, effectively giving our investors two markets—Hot Springs and Jackson. This move reassured them, and for a while, everyone was happy. My investors had faith in the company, and we kept moving forward.
We completed the fundraising for Clarksville, Tennessee, and soon after, we purchased wireless cable licenses for Valdosta, Georgia. Things were back on track, and we began raising money for this new market. It seemed like we had weathered the worst of the storm, and once again, everything appeared to be running smoothly.
However, success often comes with unforeseen challenges, and ours came in the form of the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC). The SEC accused us of selling unregistered securities, a blow that none of us saw coming. At the time, we didn’t fully understand the legal intricacies of what we were doing. In our minds, we were selling units in wireless cable TV systems, not engaging in securities fraud. But the SEC saw it differently.
The legal trouble hit us like a freight train. Suddenly, everything we had built was in jeopardy. The SEC investigation cast a long shadow over the company, and it wasn’t long before our investors started pulling out. Word spread fast in the financial world, and the very momentum that had fueled our rise was now driving us into a tailspin.
We tried to fight back, to explain our side of the story, but the damage had already been done. Investors lost confidence, and without their backing, we couldn’t keep the company afloat. The brokers we had hired left, the office became quiet, and the deals that had once seemed so promising evaporated. It was painful to watch everything unravel.
In the end, the collapse of Trans America Wireless Systems felt like a slow-motion car crash. One minute, we were on the verge of changing the game with wireless cable TV systems, and the next, we were facing the harsh reality of legal and financial ruin. The SEC had effectively shut us down, and there was nothing more we could do.
Looking back, the rise and fall of Trans America was a whirlwind of ambition, risk, and ultimately, defeat. But I don’t regret any of it. The experience taught me more than any success ever could. I learned about the importance of understanding the legal landscape of business, the value of transparency with investors, and the reality that not every bold idea is destined for success.
Trans America was over, but I wasn’t. I had been knocked down before, and each time, I had gotten back up. This would be no different. The collapse of the company didn’t break me—it only reinforced my resolve. The entrepreneurial spirit that had driven me to start the company in the first place was still alive, and I knew that this wasn’t the end of my story. Trans America Wireless Systems was a chapter, not the final word.
As I closed the door on that venture, I was already thinking about what would come next.

After the fall of Trans America Wireless Systems, I was back at square one, but I wasn’t ready to let the setback define me. The collapse of the company had been a major blow—financially, emotionally, and professionally—but if there’s one thing I knew how to do, it was bounce back. Failure wasn’t new to me, and neither was picking myself up after being knocked down. The SEC may have put an end to Trans America, but they weren’t going to stop me from finding success again.
I reconnected with an old friend, John Fisher, who had been selling leads to stockbrokers. John was a sharp guy, and the lead-selling business intrigued me. It seemed like a low-overhead, high-reward type of operation, and I knew that with my background in sales, I could excel in this space. At first, the operation was small-scale—just selling leads to telemarketing companies here and there—but as I got more involved, I started to realize the real potential of the business. Leads were in high demand, and it didn’t matter what industry they were for: telemarketing, investment firms, sweepstakes. Everybody needed fresh leads to fuel their sales teams.
I was no stranger to sales. I had been selling since I was a kid running the pool hall, hustling clients and making deals with confidence far beyond my years. Back then, I was only 14, but I was already handling money and closing deals that most grown men would struggle with. That experience had shaped me into a natural-born salesman. I understood people, I knew how to connect with them, and, more importantly, I knew how to get close. The lead-selling business was just another opportunity for me to put those skills to work.
The business took off faster than I ever expected, at least for me. Not everyone had the same success, but I had the edge—years of experience, raw sales talent, and a hunger that hadn’t faded, despite the setbacks I’d faced. I was bringing in more business than I had anticipated, and soon enough, I was raking in cash.
As the business grew, I started thinking bigger. I knew I could take what I had learned and go off on my own, selling leads independently. When I told John about my plans, I expected him to try and talk me out of it, maybe even fight to keep me on board. But to his credit, he didn’t. Instead, he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse—a partnership. He recognized my value and wasn’t about to let me walk away without making a deal that worked for both of us. I accepted, and together, we expanded the business.
With John as my partner, we dove deeper into the world of leads sales. We were selling all kinds of leads—telemarketing leads, investmentleads, even sweepstakes leads. The demand was endless. Companies were willing to pay top dollar for qualified leads, and we had no trouble delivering. We were tapping into a lucrative network, and the money was flowing in faster than we could count it.
Within months, I was making $10,000 to $12,000 a week. The lead-selling business was a wild ride. The phone was ringing constantly, deals were being made left and right, and I felt like I was back at the top of my game. The adrenaline rush of closing big sales was addictive, and the cash that came with it was a bonus. I had worked hard to rebuild myself after the collapse of Trans America, and now it was paying off in ways I hadn’t imagined.
But like any industry, the lead-selling business had its darker side. The telemarketing world was full of shady characters, and many of our clients had connections to the mob. It wasn’t unusual to brush up against some less-than-reputable people in this line of work. I had to navigate these waters carefully, always staying aware of who I was dealing with and making sure not to get too close to the wrong crowd. There were plenty of guys in the business who didn’t play by the rules, and while we did our best to keep things above board, it was impossible to ignore the reality of who we were dealing with.
As we continued to grow, I could feel the weight of the industry shifting. The government had started to crack down on telemarketing, and regulations were tightening. It was only a matter of time before the market began to slow. The golden era of selling leads was coming to an end, and I could see the writing on the wall. But I wasn’t too concerned. By the mid-1990s, I had made more than enough money to live comfortably. I didn’t need the business to last forever—I had already secured my financial future.
Looking back, the lead-selling business was one of the most profitable ventures I had ever been involved in. It was fast-paced, exciting, and incredibly lucrative. I was able to use every skill I had learned over the years, from my early days hustling in the pool hall to my time as a commodities broker. It was a perfect storm of timing, talent, and opportunity, and I made the most of it.
But like all good things, it couldn’t last forever. The government’s crackdown on telemarketing changed the game, and soon, the demand for leads started to dry up. Companies were pulling back, and the market became oversaturated. While others in the industry scrambled to stay afloat, I was ready to step away. I had made my money, and I wasn’t interested in fighting against the tide.
By the time I decided to leave the lead-selling business behind, I had earned enough to live a life of comfort and security. I wasn’t interested in chasing more money for the sake of it. I had always believed that success wasn’t just about how much you made—it was about knowing when to walk away. And for me, that time had come.The lead-selling business had given me the chance to bounce back after a major failure, and for that, I was grateful. It taught me that no matter how far you fall, there’s always a way to rise again. As I closed the door on that chapter of my life, I knew that I was ready for whatever came next.

The lead-selling business wasn’t just a lifeline—it was an unexpected goldmine. What started as a simple venture to get back on my feet quickly turned into one of the most profitable periods of my life. Every week brought new opportunities, and with each new client, I could feel the momentum building. The phone never stopped ringing, brokers and telemarketers were hungry for fresh leads, and John and I were perfectly positioned to meet that demand. It seemed like the more we sold, the more people came knocking, asking for more.
What made this business so unique wasn’t just the money—it was the sheer simplicity of the operation. Leads, at their core, are nothing more than names, phone numbers, and contact information, but in the hands of the right telemarketer or broker, they’re worth a fortune. These companies were willing to pay top dollars for the chance to connect with potential clients, and we had the supply they needed. I knew how to present the leads as indispensable assets to their business, which gave us incredible leverage in negotiations.
The beauty of selling leads was that the work never felt overwhelming. I had honed my skills over the years—first in the pool hall, then in the boiler room, and later as a commodities broker. Each experience sharpened my understanding of people, how to communicate, and how to close deals. In the leads business, I didn’t have to push hard to sell. I knew how to build relationships, how to gain trust, and ultimately, how to make our product seem like the key to our clients’ success. It wasn’t just about numbers; it was about making the leads feel like they were worth every penny.
While the business was going strong, I couldn’t shake the sense that we were playing in a grey area. The telemarketing industry was notorious for shady practices, and the deeper I got into it, the more I saw the less-than-reputable side of things. Many of the clients we worked with had ties to organized crime—mob connections that were too close for comfort. I wasn’t naïve. I knew that in an industry like this, you couldn’t always choose your clients. But I did my best to stay out of the dirtier side of things. My focus was on the business, on delivering leads and making money. If I could keep my distance from the criminal elements, I figured I’d be fine.
The relationships we had with these telemarketing companies were a balancing act. On the one hand, they needed us. They relied on our leads to drive their sales, and without them, they wouldn’t be able to survive. On the other hand, there was always the underlying tension of knowing that some of these clients weren’t playing by the rules. I remember one client who ran a telemarketing operation that, from the outside, seemed legitimate. But the more we worked with them, the more I realized they were using our leads to target vulnerable people with shady investment schemes. It was a line I wasn’t willing to cross, and I cut ties with them as soon as I could.
Despite the undercurrents of the industry, the business was booming. In just a few short months, I was pulling in $10,000 to $12,000 a week, more money than I had ever made before. The pace was relentless, but I loved it. The constant phone calls, the thrill of closing deals, the satisfaction of seeing the business grow—it reminded me of my time in the commodities world; only this time, I was running the show. John and I worked well together, and we built a solid operation. There was no doubt in my mind that we had tapped into something big.
But as much as I enjoyed the success, I knew the good times wouldn’t last forever. The government crackdown on telemarketing was inevitable. The industry had grown too fast, too big, and too corrupt for the authorities to ignore it any longer. By the mid-1990s, the writing was on the wall—federal regulators were coming after telemarketing companies with a vengeance, and that meant our business would take a hit.
For a while, we managed to ride the wave. Even as the government tightened regulations, we continued to find clients willing to pay top dollar for leads. But it was clear that the boom was coming to an end. The Telemarketing Sales Rule (TSR) was introduced, and with it came stricter guidelines on how telemarketers could operate. Suddenly, companies that had been buying leads from us by the thousands were being shut down or forced to scale back. The demand for leads started to shrink, and the golden age of telemarketing was over.
At first, I resisted the idea of leaving the business. I had made a fortune in such a short time, and it seemed crazy to walk away from something so lucrative. But the more I watched the industry change, the more I realized that staying in would be a losing game. Regulations were getting tighter, and the margins were shrinking. Plus, the risk of being caught up in a legal battle wasn’t worth it. I had seen too many people go down for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I wasn’t about to be one of them.
So, I made the decision to step away. By the time I left the lead-selling business, I had made more than enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life. It wasn’t just about financial success, though. It was about knowing when to get out. I had learned that lesson the hard way with Trans America Wireless Systems, and I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. Timing is everything in business, and I knew that my time in the lead industry was over.
Walking away from the business wasn’t easy. I had poured my heart and soul into it, and for a time, it had been my ticket to financial freedom. But I had also seen the darker side of the industry, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before the government put an end to it completely. By stepping away when I did, I avoided the collapse that would eventually take down so many others in the industry.
Looking back, the lead-selling business was one of the most profitable ventures I had ever been involved in. It allowed me to rebuild after the collapse of Trans America, and it gave me the financial stability I had always dreamed of. But more than that, it taught me the importance of adaptability. In business, things can change in an instant, and the ability to pivot, to see the opportunity in failure, is what separates those who succeed from those who don’t.
By the mid-1990s, I was done with lead-selling, and I was ready to move on. The journey hadn’t been easy, but I had come out on top. And as I closed that chapter of my life, I knew that whatever came next, I would be ready.