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Robert “Bob” D. Castor, diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease in 2018, peacefully passed away on November 1, 2023. He was 76.

He was born on March 14, 1947, to parents Charles C. and Evelyn (Patterson) Castor in Mansfield, Ohio. After graduating from Lexington High School in 1965, he earned his bachelor’s degree in Philosophy from The Ohio State University in 1969, then his Law Degree from The Ohio State University College of Law in 1975. He was the first in his family to attend college, diligently working part-time jobs to fund his education—a testament to his determination and tenacity. Bob also served in the US Air Force during the Vietnam War.

He met the love of his life, Janet Keller, while both were students at The Ohio State University. On June 15, 1968, they exchanged vows, marking the beginning of 55 wonderful years of marriage.

Bob had an extensive and rewarding law career. He established a law firm in West Union, Ohio called Castor & Foster Attorneys-At-Law. He also served as the Assistant District Attorney in Adams County, Ohio until 1993, when he and his family relocated to Lexington, Ohio. During his tenure in Richland County, he held the title of First Assistant Prosecutor and was honored in 2002 as Ohio’s Outstanding Assistant Prosecutor of the Year.

In his spare time, he enjoyed woodworking, particularly crafting furniture, and dedicated time to volunteering for several organizations, including Habitat for Humanity, Meals on Wheels, and as a High School Mock Trial Advisor. Bob was a member of the Richland County Bar Association, the Ohio Bar Association, Lexington Kiwanis, and the Lexington Lions Club. However busy he was, his favorite times were spent with his family and friends, especially at Indian Lake.

He is survived by his loving wife, Janet Castor, daughters Tonya (David) Fulwider and Julia (Jeffrey) Ellis, and grandchildren Veronica Fulwider, Sarah Fulwider, Ethan Ellis, and Nolan Ellis.

In addition to his parents, he is preceded in death by his sister Tamara Bassin.

Per Bob’s wishes, private services will be held by the family.

Memories of a Special Friend:
By Kent Gulley
I met Bob Castor nearly 50 years ago when he had just arrived in Adams County from some hometown called Lexington – and not the Lexington I knew. My weakness for judging people by first impressions immediately “kicked in”. Bob was taller than me and had a deep and masculine voice – not a good start. A slightly faded scarlet and gray monogramed sweatshirt confirmed his Buckeye status and devotion to “The” Ohio State University. I was partial to the OU Bobcats. What could I possibly have in common with this dude (one of his favorite words) from up north?

Maybe a few things:
Bob was a first-class neighbor. He built a family home in the woods just behind our house connected by an impressive walking path for socializing. We both were foolish enough to believe our wood burning stoves were saving money. I will not forget our first day of wood cutting and thinking I should slow my pace so the lawyer could keep up. Walking through the woods I could see Bob waiting in his blue pickup work truck wearing a bright red bandana around his head tied in the back looking somewhat like a ponytail – a fashion statement well ahead of Willie Nelson. I asked if we were going to cut wood or rob a bank. Bob saw no humor in this question and in a voice two octaves lower than usual followed by two unrepeatable words, he grunted, “keeps the sweat out of my eyes.” End of conversation. With my brand-new oversized maul and wedge I could not wait to show Bob my wood splitting skills. Bob used an old splintered double-edged ax and with an unorthodox swing, managed to keep his pile of split wood growing faster than mine. As repeated many times, I am aware of only two lawyers who could skillfully swing a double-edged ax, Bob Castor, and Abraham Lincoln. I think he would accept this comparison to a Republican.

Bob could have been the safety director for OSHA or any major corporation. Whatever the endeavor, work or play, safety came first. During our first day of wood cutting, I was fired from operating the chainsaw and relegated to gathering and loading the wood. Seems I did not follow proper chainsaw safety guidelines and operating procedures. I was fired a second time using a miter saw in Bob’s elaborate woodworking shop. He took control of the saw and between a few creative swear words mumbled, “You can’t afford to make those stubby fingers any shorter”. Fortunately, I was never banned from riding in his boat though his eagle eyes constantly scanned for water hazards and passenger safety violations. Same goes for home, just ask his daughters who reluctantly wore NIOSH approved N95 face masks and safety goggles when mowing the yard, though they absolutely refused to wear those ugly green steel toed gum boots while weed eating. I’ve always had this strange vision of Bob driving a Mister Safety ice cream truck. He is wearing an oversized floppy hat giving the children lectures on safety while dipping their ice cream cones.

Bob loved road maps. The four of us took many wonderful road trips and vacations though Bob was never too concerned with the agenda. Instead, as the self-appointed navigator, he was totally focused on the route we were driving. Three travelers carried bags with snacks, drinks and sundries. One traveler carried a bag completely stuffed with various sizes and styles of state and national road maps. Bob had little faith in the GPS lady and was rather annoyed with her constant chatter. Soon we would be heading down the interstate as Bob opened his bag always dropping a few smaller maps on the floorboard while patiently wrestling with his favorite multifold 3’ X 4’ map that never failed to encroach my area on the driver’s side. His long index finger followed our exact location while the distinct cadence of his baritone voice explained why some interstates had even numbers and others had odd numbers. We always knew what exit ramp number we were passing and the exit number coming next. Sometimes the girls would doze off.

Bob was a dedicated runner. That was for about 4 weeks just over 40 years ago after reading a popular running book. He had learned a few words of jargon such as running form, foot strike, pace and stride. I would be his running partner, and we both looked forward to our first “runners high”. Bob soon had a running route planned in detail from our house up Rigdon Road, through the creek side entrance to the shelter house at Adams Lake, a distance we estimated between 5 and 6 miles. A measuring wheel later confirmed the roundtrip distance to be slightly less than 2 miles. Bob’s plan included two breaks. He had chosen a picnic table under a nice shade tree with a lake view as our first 7-minute rest area. It was perfect for a smoke break. For the return run, he had selected a spot near a large fence post just off the road as the second “7 minute” rest area. As Bob insisted, it was safety first. We were determined not to overtrain. There would be stretching exercises and a warm up walk before we lowered our sweat bands and kicked up the pace. Stretching exercises were boring, difficult in blue jeans and quickly dropped. What I remember most is our second break area at the fence post. Bob had switched to a low nicotine cigarette, but always bummed a Marlboro. The extra nicotine was required for the final quarter mile kick. It was a unanimous vote to drop the Boston Marathon from our bucket list.

All who were privileged to know Bob have memories and stories to share. He was blessed with a magnificent and versatile mind. He was a distinguished attorney and master chef who could build anything with his hands. Bob was also a prolific reader and intellect who could enjoy a beer with the common man as much as a cocktail with an upscale politician. Who else would enroll in college to become an architect, switch majors to philosophy and then attend law school? Bob enjoyed dirt, sweat and grease yet was a master in the courtroom. He liked fast cars, gardening and operating equipment. He could have been just as happy operating a backhoe or building houses.

Sometime next week I will probably tap the phone to make another long call to Bob. I will feel the emotion as his voice cracks bragging a little about one or more of his family. When asked how he is feeling, there will be a curt response. He rarely mentions the disease. Instead, whether I want to hear it or not, he will provide a detailed description of all culinary techniques used to prepare dinner including the origin of the recipe and where the fish was purchased. Every herb, spice, temperature level and cooking utensil will be mentioned. No sense trying to cut him off. Bob methodically finishes every word of every sentence of every story he begins. On the other hand, he was a great listener. If I needed advice, I would call Bob. His advice was precious, and he always spoke the truth. I wish we could have just one more phone call.

I think Bob is proud of his legacy. He should be. I will deeply miss my special friend, but one thought brings a smile. He followed his road map to a better place.