Church couldn’t hold crowd for J.J. Nicastro

Richard Gaines, Staff writer

July 17, 2007 01:03 am

— In a 12-year life of stardom, J.J. Nicastro, his quiver filled with athletic talent, a charismatic personality and a will to win, could always draw a crowd.
Yesterday was no different.
For his funeral Mass yesterday morning — four days after he lost a three-week battle with a virus that attacked his heart — it was elbow to elbow, standing room only and then some at St. Ann Catholic Church, which seats 800.
Another 400 people, by police Lt. Joseph Aiello’s estimate, stood and sat in chairs outside, connected to the service by loudspeakers.
By the end of the two-hour service, all were transformed from mourners in the pews to a boisterous crowd in the bleachers and beyond.
The largest crowd Aiello said he could recall — including the 1991 Mass at Our Lady of Good Voyage Church for the crew of the Andrea Gail, which was lost in the no-name nor’easter — first cried tears of loss and sang praises for J.J.’s short, magnetic life.
He was described by family as a natural-born ham with an impish streak who formed bonds easily and had bonds of equals with his grandfather and father before fighting a losing battle that unified his city.
The heart infection took J.J. first to Addison Gilbert Hospital on Saturday, June 23, then by helicopter to Boston Children’s Hospital the next day, where he lay on life support through most of the last three weeks.
On Tuesday, June 26, hundreds of community members descended on Boudreau Field for a vigil. It was evident that J.J. was an amazing child who had touched the lives of so many in the community.
Candles flickered in the warm summer’s night, each flame a sign of hope and prayer. People signed cards and donated money, all of which was sent to J.J. and his family in the hospital.
Children opened up lemonade stands on the side of the road, raising money for any medical bills their classmate incurred.
The timing of his infection eerily coincided with the onset of the 80th St. Peter’s Fiesta, allowing medical updates from the outdoor altar at St. Peter’s Square and infusing the five-day event with a special tension and poignance.
The climax of yesterday’s two-hour service was an eruption of ballpark cheers that surpassed any he soaked in for his plentiful winning hits, hockey goals and touchdowns and must have marked a first for the venerable church on Pleasant Street.
It started with a chant of “J.J., J.J., J.J.” In seconds, it broadened into applause, whoops and even whistles that resounded off the high walls decorated with scenes of saints.
“I never whistled in church before,” said Patty Martin from a middle pew where she sat with her husband, Jeff, their children, Drew and Ellie, between them. Drew was a grade ahead of J.J., Ellie a grade behind him.
J.J.’s father, John-John Nicastro, urged and led the ovation.
First Nicastro read a letter he wrote to his son after the medical team, beaten by the virus, conceded and removed J.J. from life support on Thursday.
In it, he thanked his son for helping him “through every second of every minute of every day.”
He recounted their glorious times together, from fishing to paintball, and praised his son for his power to bring people together.
“You single-handedly united a world in two and half weeks,” the duration of J.J.’s fight with the virus here and at Children’s Hospital in Boston, Nicastro said.
He smiled when he recalled that “J.J. loved crowds. This is probably the biggest crowd this church has ever seen,” he added, before becoming a cheerleader to a willing group that seemed relieved to move from tears to cheers.
The Rev. Ronald Gariboldi, co-pastor of St. Ann, who presided, and family members — J.J.’s grandfather John Nicastro and uncles Marc and David Nicastro — found J.J.’s fundamental legacy to be the unification of community and families.
“The community of Gloucester, all different faiths, all different ages united over concern for this boy,” Gariboldi said. “Perhaps he gave his life so we could see living in the right perspective.”
Grandfather Nicastro described a trusting relationship.
“J.J. Nicastro would tell me things. ‘You wouldn’t squeal on me, would you Grandpa?’” he recalled. Of course, he said, he never did.
On behalf of the extended family, J.J.’s uncle Marc Nicastro pledged to J.J.’s father, John-John, and his wife, Angie, and J.J.’s mother, Tammy Silveira, and her husband, Gene Silveira, that “we will walk and crawl every step of the way with you” through the “painful, grieving process.”
Marc Nicastro said he had faith that after their lives are done, “J.J. will kiss you on the cheek, take you by the hand and walk you through the gates of heaven.”
“Squeeze your kids a little harder tonight,” grandfather Nicastro urged.
The audience was heavy with youth. J.J.’s Little League teammates were there in their Pirates uniforms, his classmates came in together, in tears from the intimation of mortality most of them were experiencing for the first time.
In the pew, Patty Martin whispered that she will forever remember her introduction to mortality when she was about the age of her son Drew, who wiped tears from his eyes while bucking himself up.
“Her name was Ellen Schweizer and she was hit by a car,” Martin said.
“They’ll remember J.J. for different reasons, but who can forget their first funeral?” she said.
She said she was on the beach Thursday when word of mouth told her that J.J. had died.
“I was not believing, you know how rumors can be,” Martin said.
With the rumor made fact, she said, came an immediate change in her husband.
“Jeff never goes in cold water — until Saturday. Now he goes in all the time, He doesn’t want to miss a second with the kids,” she said.
The child was buried at Calvary Cemetery. Afterward many gathered at Captain Carlo’s, where J.J.’s stepfather, Gene Silveira, married to J.J.’s mother Tammy, is a bartender.

Mike Dean/Staff photo
J.J. Nicastro’s Little League teammates lined the stairs before the entrance to St. Ann Church of Holy Family Parish before the funeral Mass for J.J. The 12-year-old died Thursday night at Boston Children’s Hospital after a three-week struggle with a virus that attacked his heart.

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