Montco's Castor eyeing state Senate bid

He is the man who believes he could be governor, but years of political infighting have stranded him in Norristown, cowboy boots on his desk, surrounded by souvenir firearms and other relics of past success.

Bruce L. Castor Jr., the golden-boy prosecutor who became a feckless Montgomery County commissioner, is restive again. Eighteen months after being cut out of power by his fellow commissioners, he is eyeing a state Senate seat as an escape.

"We have embraced everything that I campaigned against, and we have failed to implement anything that I campaigned for," he said ruefully.

"I thought it would be totally opposite."

He is 47, and a once-turbocharged political career has stalled. He remains as sharp and telegenic as when he made his name as a big-trial, perpetually televised prosecutor more than a decade ago. Though the cameras come around less, he retains a high public profile from his days as the charismatic, tough-talking lawman of the suburbs.

"At some point in time, he will hold statewide elected office," said Tim Woodward, a Norristown defense lawyer and colleague. "The only surprise is that it hasn't happened."

For now, for all his considerable assets, Castor is adrift in the political tides.

A state representative is in position to outflank Castor for a Republican nomination to the Senate seat, insiders say. That Castor is even in this battle is surprising, given his ambitions.

"I am not a legislator. I am not a consensus-builder. I am a leader," he said seven years ago. But he's now gamely talking up his quest to join a crowd of equals in the Senate.

"I guess I've mellowed some," he shrugged.

His once-boundless future lies in the hands of a GOP hierarchy he has previously offended. Castor may have more at stake than just a state Senate nod.

"I don't know if he can suffer a defeat of that nature and bounce back politically," said John Kennedy, political science professor at West Chester University.

Bruce Lee Castor Jr.'s smooth ride up began with his blue bloodlines.

In the family tree are early-20th-century Philadelphia Mayor Thomas B. Smith and Breyer's Ice Cream president Clyde H. Shaffer. Castor Avenue took its name from where it once led: the Frankford family farm Castor's Swiss ancestors founded after arriving in 1732.

After law school at Washington & Lee University in Virginia - where a hobby was riding horses - Castor bonded with Mike Marino, the three-term Montgomery County district attorney.

"He's very, very quick," Marino said of his former protege. "He can analyze something in 30 minutes that would take another guy two days. I mean, that's how good he is." Castor still occasionally rides horses at Marino's farm.

Showing up early and winning high-profile murder cases got the young lawyer noticed. At 32, he became Marino's top assistant. At 33, his name was already in circulation for the top job.

By the time Castor succeeded Marino in 2000, he was already talking higher office - attorney general, perhaps governor, people who knew him then say.

Montgomery County was the state's largest under GOP control. And he was regularly on television in Pennsylvania's largest media market, delivering flamboyant speeches as he sent criminals to jail.

"As a D.A., you're kind of on God's side," said Marcel Groen, the Democratic Party chair for Montgomery County. "It's pretty hard to mess that up, and he was pretty popular."

So, the same week in 2003 that he was reelected county district attorney, Castor announced he'd run for attorney general.

The failed campaign never got past the primary level. Though it broke his name statewide, it haunts his career.

Christian Marrone, now the estranged son-in-law of convicted former State Sen. Vincent J. Fumo, worked on fund-raising and other politicking needs for Castor, who coordinated the work by e-mail and meetings in the District Attorney's Office. At Fumo's trial, Castor testified he "probably shouldn't have" used county resources, and County Commissioner Joseph M. Hoeffel III, a Democrat, lambasted Castor for "political abuses" of his office.

"It was a mistake to let [Marrone] become involved" in the campaign, Castor said.

During that campaign, Castor blamed Republican power-broker Bob Asher for having "hijacked" key endorsements for his primary opponent, Tom Corbett. The two had history: law-and-order Castor had helped block Asher, convicted of a corruption felony from 1986, from appointment to the SEPTA board in 2001. It grew into political war when Castor questioned Asher's role in Corbett's campaign.

Now Castor talks of rapprochement.

"There aren't so many people that have my profile that you can throw away any," Castor said. "Maybe this Senate seat will be an opportunity to try to repair that rift."

Asher has little, if any, interest.

"He's not even on the face of the Earth," Asher said. "He's not even part of the Republican plan for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania."

Castor's broad appeal as a two-term district attorney got him the most votes of any commissioner candidate in 2007. He said he ran to help retain the GOP's hold on county government, but then the second- and third-place finishers, Hoeffel and Republican James R. Matthews, united against him, finding party differences less problematic than Castor.

He has fumed at length during county commissioner meetings. Hoeffel and Matthews frequently pass measures by a 2-1 vote, and Castor has unsuccessfully fought policies on ethics and economic development, several hiring decisions, and the county's 2009 budget.

"There's no partisan way to take out the trash," said Matthews, "and yet we've had all these negative votes and divisiveness."

Observers see little proof of effectiveness.

"He's earning a reputation that he can be difficult to deal with in a legislative setting," Kennedy said. "His career setbacks have not been at the hands of the Democrats. They have been at the hands of people in his own party. That may tell you something."

Castor's hope of escaping to the state Senate lies, for now, entirely in the hands of Republican leaders.

GOP delegates from Montgomery, Bucks, Lehigh and Northampton Counties will soon choose their preferred candidate for a special election this fall.

Castor and State Rep. Bob Mensch (R., Montgomery), who has few enemies, are said to be leading the field.

Mensch has declined to clear the path.

"He's been on television all those years, but it's about who understands the people," Mensch said.

If Castor is beaten, he's considering still running for the Senate seat in the 2010 primary.

It is a potential fallback plan to escape a commissioner's office.

The certificate of election as a county commissioner hangs in the restroom, and Matthews has been Photoshopped out of a group portrait of the county's 2007 GOP team.

The office is otherwise decorated in Early Arsenal: his great-grandfather Smith's mayoral rifle, a gift rifle and saber from his time as a prosecutor, and a replica of the pistol used in a Norristown State Hospital shooting.

Castor toyed with a dagger - a relic from a distant stabbing, sometime in 1986 in Pottstown - as he considered where endless public appearances and political warfare had gotten him.

"I can sometimes get somebody to fix a pothole," he said.