Late donor’s gift will open doors for USF students in need

Jun 16, 2023 

Nestor Castillo Jr. loved skiing the steep, snowcapped mountainsides of Colorado — skillfully traversing the slopes with nothing obstructing his path. His high-altitude hobby paralleled the heights of his career as a Tampa criminal defense attorney and masterful investor. Yet skiing was also a reverse image of his earliest years in life, when he faced enormous obstacles in an uphill climb from the time he was a baby.

Abandoned by his parents, Castillo was raised by his loving grandparents — Maria, who spoke no English, and Aurelio, who was bilingual and instilled in his grandson a desire to read — amid extreme poverty in Ybor City. 

As a child, Castillo would walk to a corner store on Sundays with an empty pail to bring home soup to his grandmother, so she could prepare a modest family meal. He was only 13 when Aurelio, a city bus driver, died suddenly. It was yet another devastating loss for the young man. And when Maria began receiving her husband’s social security check each month just to get by, Castillo dutifully took an array of jobs to supplement their meager income, including working as a custodian while still in high school.

In life, he carried the pain from being cast off by his parents without explanation, fueling his relentless determination to achieve: as a political science major at USF, at Stetson University College of Law, in decades of courtroom work, and later teaching himself the intricacies of analyzing and investing in the stock market, with great success.

Now, in death, Castillo, who died at age 72 in 2021, has found a paternal way to support youngsters in a manner he never experienced himself.

Castillo will help students facing their own hurdles in life to give them opportunities for success. With the help of his widow, JoAnne Castillo, he has made a gift of $3.7 million through his trust to the USF Foundation. It will establish scholarships in perpetuity for students like him so they won’t have to shoulder the financial debt he faced — building a bridge to help others through a posthumous act of great generosity.

“Nestor didn’t have any help to get to college, so he wanted to do something to make it easier for students to pursue their dreams,” JoAnne says. “And I want to make sure people know the incredibly dedicated and caring man he was.”

• • •

Despite his hardships, Castillo excelled academically at Jefferson High School, buoyed by the encouragement of his grandmother and a burning desire to prove his worth.

He was a baseball standout, hoping it would be his ticket to a new life. That didn’t pan out, so he went to USF with a single-minded focus to prepare for a law career, entering the university in August 1967 and graduating in May 1971. Castillo then took a Post Office job to save money for law school. After gaining admission to Stetson, he purchased an inexpensive used car so he could commute 60 miles daily to and from the St. Petersburg-area school, where he won the prestigious trial practice award in 1975.

After Stetson, Castillo poured himself into his legal career, becoming a dogged defense attorney. Later, he started a private practice in Tampa, handling extremely difficult court-appointed cases assigned to him. He worked hard and eventually earned a healthy income, retiring in 2005 and turning his attention to investing, where he displayed a natural ability for growing his savings and building a nest egg for the exciting future he planned to share with JoAnne.

“Nestor was a very, very smart person,” says Dick Puglisi, a close friend and former USF professor in the College of Education. “He had a good brain and would never have made it through law school without it. He and I worked out at the same gym for 17 years and  had the chance to chat every week. One thing always struck me: No matter how successful he was as a lawyer or how much money he had in the stock market, Nestor always carried the weight of having been abandoned.”

Puglisi remembers many a workout at the gym listening to his friend rehash the profound childhood loss he had endured, wondering what made his parents leave him. Fortunately, he had JoAnne to brighten his life. They met in 1993 after Nestor’s first marriage ended in divorce. 

A mutual friend introduced them, and despite JoAnne’s trepidation, they hit it off on a first date at a local eatery. They began seeing each other regularly — dinner, movies, friend’s houses — Nestor finally proposed at Bern’s Steakhouse. They were married in JoAnne’s hometown, New Orleans, in 1996 — and were an ideal match.

Longtime confidant and skiing partner Bill Geyer, a dentist and former neighbor, now serves as trustee of the Nestor Castillo Trust. He saw plenty of evidence of the couple’s deep affection over the years.

“I only hope to have somebody love me as much Nestor loved her,” Geyer says. “He was 110 percent head over heels in love with JoAnne. There was no doubt about it.”

• • •

JoAnne and Nestor moved to a dream home he purchased in Avila in 2000 but eventually sold it and moved for two years to Colorado, where they often made time to ski, hike and watch spectacular sunsets in the mountains. In 2016, they moved back to Tampa to enjoy their leisurely retirement pace, taking cruises, traveling, dining out and making plans for future adventures.

Everything changed abruptly, however, on the evening of June 12, 2021. Still in the midst of COVID, the couple decided to order dinner from a nearby eatery and bring it home. They enjoyed a great meal watching the Rays on TV and everything seemed normal. But that evening, Castillo went to bed and never awakened. He died in his sleep of a heart attack.

He had been diagnosed with a blockage in 2000 and doctors recommended medication. Unfortunately, he refused to take it. Then came a heart attack in 2008, which led to cardiac bypass surgery and Castillo agreeing to take his medication. 

In the end, his heart finally gave out — partially broken by the loss he had endured as a child yet also fulfilled by the promising futures he has ensured.

His will stipulated that his ashes be scattered on his favorite ski run in Colorado — something Geyer took care of in January — and in a Tampa cemetery, mixed with the ashes of his two favorite dogs, and sprinkled at the gravesite of his beloved grandmother, Maria. JoAnne made sure of that.

But the will also laid out his vision for his gift, which will become active after JoAnne’s passing. Candidates must concentrate on business and STEM (science, technology, engineering and mathematics) courses.

As for his parents, Castillo experienced a partial reconciliation with his dad, whose name he carried on. But his mother never showed any interest in him. That explains why he always kept a small, framed photo of his grandmother Maria by his bedside. 

It was a simple reminder of enduring love — the kind he desperately sought, and that he now passes on with an ever-lasting gift.