Cuban Refugee's Grandson Coaches Miami to Title Game

When Mario Campos walked out of Castro's prisons in 1961, he couldn't read a word of English and businesses hung "Cubans Don't Apply" signs in their windows. By 1970, the former Cuban farmer who taught himself a new language while washing dishes had started his own construction company.

His grandson Mario Cristobal will coach the University of Miami in Monday night's national championship game at Hard Rock Stadium. The journey from Cuban prison cells to college football's biggest stage spans just two generations.

Campos spent 26 years with Cuba's national police under the Batista regime before Castro threw him in prison. His son-in-law Luis Cristobal wasn't as lucky, spending two years in captivity where he faced torture and twice stood before firing squads. Both men fled to Florida as soon as they could, arriving with nothing.

Mario's father Luis opened a car battery business and worked on cars in his driveway for neighbors who needed help until the day he died. His mother Clara processed titles at Kendall Toyota until she retired at 79. They saved every penny for their two boys, but nothing came free.

"My dad was a hard-nosed, tough son of a gun," Mario Cristobal told CNN. "He never gifted us anything, made us work for everything. I thank God for that."

The family held tight to Cuban traditions while vowing never to return home until the country gained full independence. Mario's brother Lou still honors that promise years after their parents' deaths. "It's like an ache for something you never had," he said.

Why This Inspires

Mario Cristobal grew up in one of the houses his grandfather built along SW 25th Street in Miami. He learned his grandfather's philosophy early: if anybody can do it, I can do it too.

That mindset carried him from Christopher Columbus High School to playing offensive line for the University of Miami, then climbing the coaching ranks for decades. Now he returns to lead his hometown team on college football's biggest stage, coaching in the same stadium where he once played.

Monday night's championship game represents more than football success. It's proof that the sacrifices of refugees who arrived with nothing, taught themselves new languages, and worked until their bodies gave out can echo forward in ways they never imagined.

The boy who set his shoes out perfectly every night before bed learned his discipline from parents who learned theirs from survival.