Steve Castleton doesn’t measure his life by the illnesses he’s survived or the narrow escapes that should have ended it. He measures it by purpose.
“I firmly believe I was kept here for a reason,” Castleton says. “And that reason is to help other people.”
It’s a belief that has guided him through paralysis, cancer, a life-threatening heart condition, and countless moments where the outcome could have gone the other way. As the holidays approach, Castleton’s story reads less like a medical timeline and more like a testimony—rooted in faith, service, and a sense that his life was meant to be poured back into others.
“I’m not the most religious guy in the world,” he said. “But I’m very spiritual. Things happen for a reason. You may not understand it at the time, but eventually you do.”
That outlook was tested during the early months of the COVID pandemic. As hospitals and first responders scrambled for supplies, Castleton spent more than 30 days helping coordinate and deliver desperately needed Personal Protective Equipment from Stony Brook University Hospital’s Lang Center to veterans homes, the VA, and first responder organizations across Suffolk County. He initially dismissed lingering aches as nothing more than age catching up with him—until one morning when he tried to get out of bed and collapsed. Twice.
“My leg had less strength than spaghetti from,” he joked.
Firefighters rushed him to the hospital, where doctors ran test after test. He spent nearly a month hospitalized, paralyzed from the waist down, eventually diagnosed with neurosarcoidosis—a rare inflammatory condition involving a tumor on the spine. For much of that time, he was on a morphine drip, which led to one of his favorite stories.
“You should never have internet access while on morphine,” Castleton laughed. “I thought I was hitting ‘like’ on Amazon. Turns out I was hitting ‘buy now.’ I ended up with boxes of stuff—including gnomes. I’ve never owned gnomes in my life.”
Even from his hospital bed, Castleton kept working. While paralyzed, he secured thousands of Department of Defense–approved PPE kits for West Point ahead of a presidential graduation visit—at no cost. “The general said that’s why he called me,” Castleton recalled. “He didn’t know how I’d get it done. He just knew I would.”
After 29 days in the hospital, Castleton went home using a walker, then a cane. Friends, including Suffolk County Police Sgt. Tommy Joy, became his legs—driving him to military bases, West Point, and events across New York City. He continued his work as a civilian aide to the Secretary of the Army, helped establish JROTC cyber programs in New York City schools, and never slowed down.
Then came prostate cancer. Instead of fear, Castleton chose faith—and a long-planned trip to Italy with his son. At the Vatican, after washing his hands and drinking from a fountain he wasn’t supposed to touch, he felt something unmistakable.
“I looked at my son and said, ‘I’m going to be cured of cancer,’” he said. “I didn’t just think it. I felt it.” He was right. Castleton is now more than a year and a half cancer-free.
Earlier this year, doctors discovered another silent threat: a “widowmaker” heart blockage, with one artery 71 percent blocked. Castleton met the news with humor. “I told the doctor it couldn’t be a widowmaker,” he said. “I’m divorced.” After surgery, his energy returned stronger than it had been in decades.
Castleton has long dedicated that energy to service. He has supported the Tunnel to Towers foundation since its earliest days, helped VetDogs, funded Long Island Cares’ veterans program for years, and organized military and first responder initiatives for the New York Jets for more than 15 years—all pro bono. He previously ran similar programs for the Mets and works closely with the Suffolk County Police Department.
A pioneer in email fundraising and founder of The Political Insider, Castleton once raised more than $3 million online for a U.S. Senate campaign. Two years ago, he organized a historic moment at the New York Stock Exchange—ringing the opening bell during the Exchange’s first-ever live military enlistment ceremony on the trading floor.
Family remains central to his mission. Though he never served himself, his two sons and daughter-in-law represent a combined 54 years of Army service. “That’s why I do what I do,” he said.
As Christmas approaches, Castleton doesn’t dwell on what he survived—but on what he’s been given. “My doctors tell me I’ve got about 30 more years,” he said. “And that’s 30 more years of doing good.”