But he is, sadly. If he truly accepted responsibility, he wouldn't argue that point - unless he believes that admitting you're wrong ought to spare you the consequences of your wrongdoing.
Still, something about the case of this much-decorated, once-promising and now-disgraced former department luminary makes me feel for the guy.
Castro lost $90,000, his entire life's savings, to Encarnacion, who'd promised a $400,000 return on the investment. That's about a 350 percent payback, which even a financial dope like me knows is the equivalent of an infomercial get-rich-quick promise.
When the deal fell apart, Castro took his case to civil court, where it languished - and where the legal fees to recoup his investment would eat right into the money he'd hoped to recover.
Can you imagine Castro's desperation? He wasn't a rich businessman who'd been looking to play with some unexpected, end-of-the-year bonus. He was an up-from-the-streets career cop who was proving, every day, that where you come from doesn't have to determine where you wind up.
That 90 grand, squirreled away over a 25-year-career, was more than a nest egg. It was evidence of how far he had traveled.
So was his paycheck. As head of the Police Department's traffic division, Castro was earning a $90,000 salary. And, only 48 years old, he was on track to collect a very healthy pension at retirement (even heftier than the $4,795.04 per month he started receiving when he was fired from the department last November).
Castro's savings was the dignified, slow-growth kind, earned over a long period of time. Perhaps it had started to look stale, safe and dull to a man who had dazzling dreams of being the city's future police commissioner.
So he risked it, and lost every penny. Being willing to use brute force to get it back makes him a criminal. But the way he lost it in the first place makes him a sad sack - the kind that any of us can become, when we think we can get something for nothing.
"The bigger story here, the kind we don't hear about enough, is that there are all these scams out there," says Lance Haver, the city's consumer advocate, who deals every day with the fallout of people believing they will get something for a lot less than they ought to be paying.
"People read about the Mark Zuckerbergs of the world," he says, referring to Facebook's young billionaire founder, "and they develop these unrealistic expectations of what's possible for them, financially. Scam artists play on that."
People think paying full fare makes them look like a schmuck, he says. Or, in Castro's case, settling for a measly annual 4 to 6 percent return on your investments makes you just another working schmoe. People want to be more special than that.
Actually, says Haver, "It's greed."
In Castro's case, Haver is troubled that the FBI went after a man who was feeling financially desperate, who, prior to the sting, wasn't being investigated for any criminal activity.
"We used taxpayer dollars to go after someone who was really vulnerable," he says. "I have problems with that. And I'd rather not see him in jail, where he'll use up taxpayer dollars. I'd rather see him work for five years with Sister Mary [Scullion, of Project HOME]. Locking him up won't do anyone any good."
I like Haver immensely, and I usually agree with his opinion. But not this time. Castro sullied his badge. Instead of taking matters into his own hands, I wish he'd taken them to Haver.
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