Raul Castro, Arizona's only Latino governor, dies at 98

Raul Hector Castro, who became Arizona's only Latino governor and a well-traveled U.S. diplomat after lifting himself out of a hardscrabble, impoverished childhood, has died. He was 98.

Castro followed an improbable journey to the state's highest office and a series of presidential diplomatic appointments. Born in Mexico, he spent some of his childhood scouring the desert for food to feed his family. He spent some of his young-adult years as a hobo, boxing for money at carnivals or picking sugar beets.

Castro was a Tucson lawyer when he decided to enter politics. He'd seen rampant discrimination against Latinos and figured the best way to change the system was to become part of it. He was elected Pima County attorney in 1954 and was later elected a Superior Court judge. He spent time as a U.S. ambassador in Latin America before returning to Arizona and running for governor.

Castro served two years as governor before being asked again to serve as a diplomat.

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Family spokesman James Garcia said Castro passed away in his sleep early Friday morning.

In a statement later Friday, Arizona Gov. Doug Ducey said: "He was an honorable public servant, a history-maker, a beloved family man and a strong friend and fighter for Arizona. Whether as a county attorney, a superior court judge, a United States ambassador or — as we will best remember him — our 14th governor, his life and legacy of service is forever ingrained in our history."

Ducey ordered state flags to be lowered to half-staff in Castro's honor.

During Castro's short gubernatorial stint, he visited China on a trade mission and established a state film commission that tried to attract television and movie productions. Castro also stepped into the investigation of the 1976 car bombing of Arizona Republic reporter Don Bolles.

Castro, at the request of the state attorney general, pulled the case from the Maricopa County Attorney's Office and gave it to the state after attorneys raised concerns about comments the county attorney made to the CBS program "60 Minutes" about potential suspects.

In a statement, Castro's grandson Donald Daley III said his 98-year-old grandfather was proud to be the first Latino elected to serve as governor and "lived as full and meaningful a life as any man could imagine."

"He made history through his public service while helping to improve the lives of the countless numbers of people with whom he came in contact — though my family simply knew him as our beloved patriarch and a man to be cherished and respected," Daley wrote.

Although he was a trailblazer for Latinos in Arizona politics, Castro expressed regret that since his election in 1974, no Latino has been his or her party's nominee for governor.

"I'd have figured, after all these years, someone would have come in," Castro said during a 2011 interview.

Castro was born in Cananea, Mexico, about 30 miles south of the U.S. border. His father, Francisco, brought the family to the United States as political refugees after Mexican authorities targeted him for union-organizing activities.

Raul Castro remembered the family entering the United States at Naco when he was 2.

A border agent welcomed the family and told them their future was up to them. "That's what we wanted to hear," Castro said. "On our own."

Castro's family settled in Pirtleville, a town with a primarily Mexican population outside Douglas.

One day, Arizona Gov. George W.P. Hunt was scheduled to make a speech at 10th Street Park in Douglas. Castro and two friends from Pirtleville went, lured by the promise of free hamburgers and hot dogs. Castro said Hunt, dressed in a white-linen suit and pith helmet, talked about Douglas and Arizona being a land of opportunity. He then gestured toward Castro and his friends and said that even one of "these young barefooted Mexican kids" could be governor one day.

"I didn't know what 'governor' meant," Castro said. "All I was interested in was the free hot dogs and hamburgers."

In 2002, that park was renamed Raul H. Castro Park.

As a child, Castro said, he could not see a path to political power. He saw himself treated as a second-class citizen.

The school bus would pass by him and other Latino students, picking up only Anglo children to take them to school in Douglas. "They'd wave at us but wouldn't pick us up," Castro said. "And my query even then, even at that age, was: 'Why should it be? Why do they ride and we have to walk?'"

When Castro was 12, his father died. His mother, Rosario, a midwife, was left to raise 12 children on her own. Castro remembered foraging for wild greens or prickly-pear fruit for his family. He said his mother would be in tears occasionally.

"She didn't know where the next meal was coming from," he said.

Castro remembered asking his mother if life would always be difficult.

"She said, 'Son, you're going to be whatever you want to be. It's up to you,'" Castro said. "She passed the burden on to me."

Castro, though, was not a good elementary-school student. He had some primary schooling in Mexico but felt like he was starting over again in Arizona. He was placed two grades back and had to quickly learn English.

In fifth grade, his teacher put a hand on his shoulder and said he had potential to be a great student if he simply applied himself.

Castro said he was touched that someone would take an interest in him. "I didn't want to disappoint her," he said. "So, starting the following day, I did become a very good student all the way through."

On the day he was inaugurated as governor, Castro received a telegram from a woman asking him if he was the same Raul Castro who was a fifth-grade student in Douglas decades before.

"I called her and said, 'Yes, I am the same Raul Castro,'" he said. "I was very happy and proud, and I'm sure she was, too."

Castro graduated from high school in 1935 and had no plans to attend college. He was working as a window washer when a professor from the Arizona State Teachers College in Flagstaff approached him with a scholarship offer. Castro had played quarterback for Douglas High School, and the northern Arizona college needed a quarterback.

With his mother's blessing, Castro headed to Flagstaff. But he proved to be too small to play college quarterback and soon found himself lost on campus.

"There were, maybe, five Mexican students on the whole campus," Castro said, "and we were ignored completely."

Wanting to make his mark, Castro joined the boxing club. He ended his campus career undefeated. "I had clout on campus," he said. "People knew who I was."

After graduating with a teaching degree, Castro tried to get a job at a school but was denied. "I was practically told, 'We don't hire Mexican-Americans as schoolteachers,'" he said. "Not even in my hometown of Douglas."

Feeling dispirited, Castro became a hobo. He traveled by rail around the country and took whatever job came his way, usually as a farmhand. He would also box at carnivals for money.

It was during these travels that he learned an odd lesson on racial discrimination. He heard Italian slurs — mistakenly directed at him — in Pennsylvania. He heard anti-Catholic talk in Oklahoma. In Minnesota, he saw signs on apartments saying Finnish people weren't allowed.

"It helped me get the chip off my shoulder," he said. "You're not the only one in the world being picked on."

His vagabond days ended with a call from his younger brother. He was attending college in Flagstaff and told Castro that he was going to drop out. After all, the brother said, Castro got a degree and he was a hobo. Castro told his brother to stay in school because the degree would be worth it. Castro returned to Douglas determined to get a job befitting his education.

He passed several civil-service exams to work as a mail carrier, a customs inspector and an FBI agent. But he never made it past the oral interview.

"It became rather obvious it was a racial thing," Castro said. "In those days, you didn't see anyone of Mexican ancestry working for the government."

He heard about a new U.S. consulate office in Agua Prieta, Mexico. The staff members were all bright people but had limited Spanish. Castro applied for a job as a clerk and got it.

That put him to work translating reports and meeting with members of the legal community in the Sonoran town. "I became a young man about town in Agua Prieta," he said.

After five years, Castro came back to Tucson and attended law school. He also worked as a Spanish instructor. He graduated in 1949 and opened a private practice. Three years later, he joined the Pima County Attorney's Office as a deputy prosecutor.

While at a barbershop, the talk among the mostly Latino crowd was about discrimination. Castro told those there that he was through talking and said that he was going to run for county attorney. The barbershop wags told him he was crazy, that no one would vote for a Mexican-born man. But Castro had made his mind up. It was worth a shot.

His decision did not sit well with the sitting Pima County attorney, Morris K. Udall, who later became a longtime and beloved congressman from southern Arizona.

Castro was at a meeting where Udall announced he had made his choice for a successor. Castro got up and walked out.

Udall later asked Castro why he was upset. When Castro told him his plan for running for the post, Udall became upset.

"I said, 'Look, don't you grumble. I'm going to get up and knock the hell out of you,'" Castro said. He stood up and started around his desk. Udall must have known Castro was a former boxer, Castro said. "Out the door he went," he said.

In 1954, Castro became the first Latino elected as Pima County attorney. There hasn't been another.

Four years later, he was elected a judge for Pima County Superior Court.

Around that time, Castro met Patricia Steiner, who had moved to Tucson from Milwaukee. Steiner's mother had asthma, and her doctor recommended the desert climate.

It was a long courtship because Castro, despite being in his 40s, was afraid to bring the German-Irish girl home to meet his mother.

"My mother would tell me, 'Son, whatever you do, don't you marry an American girl,'" Castro said. Those women, according to his mother, smoked and drank and were not good mothers.

After five years of dating, Castro finally took Steiner to meet his mother in Douglas. The two hit it off famously, despite a language barrier.

"Since that day, Mother always took her side, never my side," Castro said. The two married in 1959.

The couple honeymooned in Mexico City but happened to pick the same hotel that Fidel Castro was using to plan the Cuban Revolution. Castro said the couple received "crazy" phone calls and knocks on their door from men carrying pistols who had mistakenly been directed to the wrong Castro.

In 1960, when Lyndon B. Johnson was campaigning for president, he stopped in Tucson for a speech. Castro gave a short speech preceding his. That began a correspondence between the two. In 1964, then-President Johnson asked Castro if he would be an ambassador. His one condition: that Castro adopt his mother's maiden name. Johnson didn't want to appoint someone who shared the last name of Cuba's communist dictator.

Castro refused. "No, sir. No way," Castro said. "I like my name. I'm not changing my name."

Johnson relented and named Castro ambassador to El Salvador. While there, Castro hosted the president and his family for a week.

Castro later became ambassador to Bolivia and held onto the post after President Richard Nixon took office. Castro returned to Tucson in 1969 and began his quest for governor.

It was another campaign that even close friends and supporters figured was a long shot. He ran against a popular incumbent, Jack Williams.

Castro said the state was also largely conservative. "I said, 'Look, nobody's tried it. I'm going to try it,'" he said.

He lost that election by 5,000 votes. But he gave it another try in 1974, running against Republican Russ Williams.

Castro figured there were votes to be gained on Native American reservations and in little-visited areas of the states. "Believe you me, I made the rounds," he said.

As governor, Castro pushed for a motion-picture office aimed at attracting movie and television productions to the state. Among the first projects was a Clint Eastwood movie called "The Gauntlet." The action movie concluded with a rolling shootout along Adams Street in downtown Phoenix.

In the 1976 elections, Castro supported former Georgia Gov. Jimmy Carter over Udall in the Democratic presidential primary. After his election, Carter repaid the favor by offering Castro an ambassadorship to Argentina.

Castro resigned in 1977, a move that he later said caused him some regret. "The Hispanic community in Arizona felt very badly," Castro said. "They felt like I turned them down.

"Here, they go through this struggle of getting me elected governor of Arizona, and then, I only serve two years. … That made me feel badly."

Castro served as ambassador until June 1980, a few months before Carter left office. Castro returned to Arizona and resumed private practice in Tucson. He moved to Nogales in 1996 and retired his law practice in 2003.

In 2012, Castro would again make news along the border, but not in a good way. As he was headed from his Nogales home to his 96th-birthday celebration in Tucson, he was detained by Border Patrol agents, who had set up a checkpoint on a freeway, after Castro apparently set off a radiation sensor, possibly caused by his pacemaker.

A family friend who was driving Castro described the incident in a letter to the Nogales International, saying it was disrespectful for agents to force Castro to stand in 100-degree temperatures for half an hour wearing a suit. Border Patrol agents estimated he was detained only 10 minutes.

Castro was charitable in discussing the issue. He said he thought agents "would have been more considerate and said, 'Keep on going.' But that didn't happen."

Castro moved to an assisted-living facility in San Diego in April 2014.

Castro did not attend Ducey's January inauguration. Until then, Castro had attended every gubernatorial address that opened the legislative session at the state Capitol. He also frequently gave speeches to civic organizations. He particularly enjoyed speaking to schools, especially those in poor neighborhoods, using his life as an object lesson.

"You can't use the excuse of 'You can't go to college because you don't have any money,'" Castro said. "Look at me … I couldn't be any poorer. …

"If you have a desire and a willingness, you can go to school," Castro said. "You can go to a university. You can get a degree and be something."

Castro is survived by his wife, Pat Castro, and daughters, Mary Pat James and Beth Castro. The family suggests memorials to the Castro college scholarship funds at Northern Arizona University or the University of Arizona, or to the Raul H. Castro Institute at Phoenix College.