Leslie C. Costello

Leslie C. Costello, PhD, spent 60 years of his life unraveling the mysteries of cancer... mostly prostate cancer. Seven years ago, he developed a treatment protocol which was prescribed for a patient with terminal, late-stage prostate cancer. The treatment cured the patient of his cancer… it had never been done before. His case was published in the country's leading medical journals. The man is still cancer-free. After that, Dr. Costello's treatment saved the lives of three more men stricken with terminal cancer.

But let me rewind.

Dr. Costello is my father. As a kid, I never understood what his profession was. When I asked him to explain it to me, he said the same thing every time: "Terri Anne, it's too hard to explain." But I realized much later that wasn't why he didn't want to talk about being a professor and a research scientist. The real reason was actually easy to explain: when he walked through the kitchen door every evening, he stopped being Leslie C. Costello, PhD. He became Dad. That's the role he cherished.

Born on May 11th, 1930, he was a stick-ball-playing kid from Brooklyn who, (with his mom, dad, and two sisters), moved to Baltimore when he was 11. He was drafted into major league baseball as a left-handed pitcher, but he opted instead to get a PhD in physiology and biochemistry from the University of Maryland. He married Anne Louise (Hill), whom he met at the "Milk Bar" when he was 21 years old and she was… not. He said he was sure she was "the one" the moment he saw her. That was news to mom since it took him six years to propose. She left a career in advertising to stay home in Ellicott City and raise their two children (me and my brother, David). Mom organized us, the household and its finances (she was a savant at math), chaperoned our field trips, attended all our sporting events, volunteered at school, helped us with homework, carted us and our pals everywhere, kept the candy drawer fully stocked for our neighborhood friends, hosted kids parties and Forest Hill family nights… she made my brother fried bologna sandwiches for his school lunch and she let me wear the same ratty robe… in public, every day, when I was 12 until I was 16. Because of her, each birthday and holiday felt like the most special one ever. She did everything with tons of love and ZERO fanfare.

Mom and Dad decided to move after David and I were grown. They purchased waterfront property on the Severn River in Severna Park. Without any experience, Mom became the project manager on the construction of their (Dad's) dream home where they lived the rest of their lives. A much bigger dream came to life one morning in November of 1997 when David's wife, Barbara gave birth to their twins, Nicholas and Carly Costello, who filled my parents' hearts and home with joy. Mom spent countless happy days and years with Nico and Carly. She devoted her life to her family. We loved her so much. Mom and Dad were married for 58 years until her death 18 months ago. His heart was broken. Nothing has been the same without her.

Mom was a world-traveler. Dad stayed put. Our annual summer vacation was an overnight trip to Ocean City. We didn't actually STAY in Ocean City. We got a room in a motel on Route 50 outside of Ocean City and then drove to and from the beach. Mom was quick-witted and a ton of fun. Dad was a scientist who never said an amusing thing in his entire life. (But he laughed easily and often.) Mom was a fashion-plate. Dad had simple (no) taste. He'd go to a restaurant wearing a t-shirt that featured a large drawing of a dachshund with the caption "Have You Seen My Wiener?" He was blissfully unaware that this was a crude play-on-words. He just adored dachshunds, especially our three: Snoopy, Porter, and Tucker.

He was a do-it-yourself guy (AKA "a cheapskate") who courted disaster with every project. Dad cut-off the tip of his pointer finger while fixing a lawnmower. (He spent the summer getting skin grafts.) He crushed his wrist and needed multiple surgeries when he fell off of a ladder while repairing a roof. And after he changed my flat tire, it flew 100 feet into the air as I was driving down Route 29… he forgot to tighten the lug nuts.

Dad was not really a "hobbies" guy, although he was obsessed with his lawn. He mixed special grass seeds together. He tilled, fertilized, mowed, mulched, and watered. He used every pesticide that has since been banned by the EPA. His tractor was his favorite vehicle. But Dad's one true passion was fishing. He took his "jon boat" out on the river every day, stocked with rods, reels, bait, and optimism. He rarely caught anything… but he was happy. He DID catch lots of crabs in the traps he set-up from his pier. His success was sabotaged by… (me), who released the crabs into the river before he could steam them... but he was still happy. And this last year he discovered Uno. He was ruthless in pursuit of his many victories. Dad's opponents (his cherished friends Josue, Reina, Guisella, his niece Karen, and I) never stood a chance. He was SO happy. "Thank you" (I think) to my partner, Rene', who taught him to play the only board game he ever enjoyed.

Dad lived a life of purpose, filled with hope, humility, and humanity.

A related story: I was in 5th grade. My brother was in 4th. Every Thursday was "father/son" basketball night at Northfield Elementary School. I really wanted to go. But – no daughters allowed. Dad, without hesitation, took my brother AND me to play each session. It wasn't an act of defiance. It just didn't occur to him that I shouldn't go. He truly never saw color, or status, or gender. He only saw the good in people. He believed everyone should be welcomed everywhere. And he acted on that belief. One example – as a department head at the Howard University College of Medicine in the 1970s, (where the students voted him Outstanding Professor on each occasion of evaluation), he formally challenged the government to fund graduate school scholarships for underrepresented minority scientists.

He challenged himself, too. Dad taught himself German in graduate school. He secretly took ballroom dance lessons to prepare for my brother's wedding. (I only know because my mom told me.) He willed himself to walk after being paralyzed, even though the doctors warned him and us it would never happen. Dad believed everything was possible. And he proved it. He was recognized as one of the top 2% of scientists in the world, he was awarded research grants 50 years in-a-row (unheard of!), he was named Distinguished Professor at the University of Maryland at Baltimore's inaugural Faculty Convocation in 2022, and, with the help of his research partner, Dr. Renty Franklin, (whom Dad mentored at Howard Univ.), he discovered a cure for cancer. Remarkable. But all of dad's individual achievements were, in his eyes, insignificant compared to the ones he and my mom created: My brother and me. From the beginning of our lives until the end of his, he was first, foremost, and forever our father.

Dad died at home on September 30th. If he had the chance, he would tell you he was truly, deeply grateful to God for his family, his work, and for every single day of his 95+ years. We are truly, deeply grateful that he was our Dad. He did everything with us, for us, because of us. We loved him so much. Nothing will be the same without him.

We invite you to celebrate Dad at the Merriweather Lakehouse Hotel on November 7th at 7:00pm for an IHOP-inspired dinner. We'll raise our cans of orange Fanta in his honor. Oh, Dad would be delighted if you think of him and drop a few quarters in the Salvation Army bucket when Christmas comes 'round.