Life Insurance

WASHINGTON - He sneaked over the U.S. border with an alias, forged papers and what he calls "a whole lot of lies." First he cadged day jobs in Los Angeles, then in the Washington, D.C. area, where he stood in parking lots waiting for contractors to hire him. His story could be that of any number of Salvadorans in suburban Northern Virginia today, waiting in the morning at a 7-Eleven for a construction job. Except that Carlos Castro is now a millionaire who dines with politicians and sits on various civic boards mainly through the success of his brainchild: Todos Supermarkets.

The two stores employ 86 people and generated $9.4 million in sales last year. The Virginia Chamber of Commerce this year named Todos one of its Fantastic 50, an annual honor roll recognizing the state's fastest-growing businesses.

Castro, now a U.S. citizen, acknowledges his past. "Of course, we broke the law…. We came and found jobs and worked," said Castro, 51. "It's my reality. I cannot hide from it."

Castro said the best way to change the perception of immigrants and to change laws to legally open U.S. borders to more of them is by telling his story to the recipients of his frequent donations - from charitable organizations to Republican and Democratic candidates who tap him for contributions.

He sympathizes with day laborers but questions the use of taxpayer money to help undocumented ones. And he admits to mixed feelings on the issue, conceding that, yes, some Hispanic men are loitering, not just waiting for jobs.

"The one thing that makes me ambivalent is that I've been there. Some are just hanging out. If we have only the good people, I would say, yes, let's do it," he said. "It's a very complex issue. Within the same community … there is discontent … . Now, you are talking about Hispanic people complaining about Hispanic people."

For those reasons, he does not support a local town council's recent decision to spend taxpayer money on a dedicated site for day laborers, he said. But that doesn't mean day laborers should be vilified and used as a campaign issue.

Castro, one of seven children, grew up poor in San Salvador. His father did his best to fix up their small house. "The neighbors made fun of us. They called it the ‘cardboard house,' " he said. "The front door came from a church my father had worked on. … The home had no glass in the windows, but we still locked the door each night."

Work came first and education second, so he went to high school at night. "I looked at it as a dream. I was first in my class. I think I worked hard for this," he said, twisting the high school class ring he still wears on his left hand. A gold band encrusted with diamonds is on the right; a gold stickpin, topped by a diamond-tipped C, adorns his tie. A gold watch jangles on his left wrist. "It just looks expensive," he said, recalling that he paid $85 for it at Costco.

Castro was studying engineering at National University in San Salvador, then embarking on a civil war that would last 12 years. A family friend suggested he think about going to the United States.

Castro and a cousin decided to go for it in 1979, and Castro left behind a 1-year-old son and his wife, Gladis. The two men were caught and spent nearly seven weeks in an El Paso jail. "Those 48 days were the most positive of my life," Castro said. "I had the time to think about my child and my wife, what to do next."

Upon his release, he lied and said he was from Mexico, so he would be deported no farther than the border country. In Guadalajara, he and his cousin met a professor who gave them documents saying they university students, he said. His new name was Carlos Escovera.

They paid $600 each to a gun-toting "coyote," a person who smuggles immigrants out of Mexico, to get them to Los Angeles in March 1980. A month later, he came to Washington. With his experience in construction and some knowledge of engineering, he quickly gained a reputation among developers.

He created a family business that now includes Carlos Jr., 26, and daughter Gina, 19.But Castro was a novice in the grocery business, and by 1998, he was nearly bankrupt. Gwen Cody, a colleague in his real estate business, asked how much he needed.

"I asked him to speak to my Rotary Club. I titled his talk, ‘From Wetback to Millionaire.' Isn't that racy? I did this to shake up my Rotary Club," she said. "After the speech, we offered him a cup or a pen, and you know what he did? He gave us a check for our Annandale Rotary Club foundation for $1,000."

Castro said he tries to give back. "My father always said, ‘When you do something for someone, you are really doing something for yourself,' " he said. "Most of the people in management (at Todos) come from the bottom."

He said he has hired illegal immigrants and has sponsored them for visas. But stricter laws have stopped that practice, and he said he wants those laws changed.

Giving illegal immigrants a chance could mean big returns for U.S. society, he said. He makes his spiel at Republican and Democratic fundraisers one handshake at a time: "We have to make a difference in the way they think, the way they feel and the way they look at people. We have to reach out to the heart of people."

This is cache, read story here