Dear John. He was such a blithe spirit. Happy-go-lucky and
carefree seemed to be his natural state, and seem, now, to be his
most authentic adjectives. He wore khakis relentlessly, shared his
quick smile graciously and was possessed of such zest for life that
his absence seems almost an insult to nature.

He sometimes wore a cheesy green jacket that smacked,
vaguely, of long-past PGA tournaments; his ‘Aw, shucks’ grin was a
constant companion; and his hair was often askew, as was his sense
of humor. His pleasure in eccentricity, persiflage and word play
was infectious. And our pleasure in his company, his society and
his wit endures.

We feel his absence keenly; we wish his family solace; and
we, his friends, will keep in mind, dear John … 33 forever. -The
University News

If you were to venture up into the University News office you’d
find an industrial-strength shelf, about six feet high and three or
four feet wide, holding nearly every edition of the paper ever
created.

Each shelf has enough strength to bear a few hundred pounds
worth of pressure–and we certainly use it all.

Some of the volumes are in better condition than others. The
skinnier ones–from the early days in the 1920s, when the paper was
called The Varsity Breeze–are almost worn to tatters.

We try not to open them too much; the pages usually crumble if
we move them.

Down on the bottom shelf the tomes look a little healthier.

The books are taller, their blue spines still bold, their covers
still glossy and smooth. On the whole, these more recently-made
volumes seem to be a piece of personal history rather than their
more distant, archival predecessors.

And that’s where we find John.

John E. Castasus, originally from West County, was a member of
the class of 1993, a Phi Delta Theta fraternity brother and a
University News stalwart remembered for his optimism, humor and
dedication to his colleagues and friends.

John died about two weeks ago at his home in Lake Wood, Colo.,
of what has been called an “undiagnosed heart anomaly.” He was
33.

At Saint Louis University he studied business and communications
and headed to Colorado with the intention of working at an
advertising and public relations firm.

Eventually, though, through his own choice, he ended up working
at a gun shop in Lake Wood (a town half way between Denver and
Golden) so he could spend the winters skiing in the mountains and
the warmer months fly fishing–and, he always noted, it was a nice
9 to 5, with no homework.

Packed into that bottom shelf of the U. News archives is Volume
72, and on Page 5 of its last issue, on April 30, 1993, is a
literal sliver in a wall of newsprint.

This single page of the farewell columns of that year’s editors
carry as much weight as the shelves they rest upon.

Trish Cummins, then the paper’s Editor in Chief, writes, “John
Castasus is one of the last of the really great guys.”

Chief Copy Editor Jennie Critchlow notes, “John: The Renaissance
Man! You mastered everything in this office and you did it by
getting in everyone’s face. If eagerness means anything in this
world, you’ll go far, my friend.”

And Castasus himself, who was editor of special supplements but
also took photographs and wrote news, sports, arts and
entertainment and opinion pieces:

“Over four years, my fondest memories revolve around my
classmates, my fraternity and the paper. You are what I will
remember best about SLU–and you have been the most precious part
of my four years here.”

“That’s still true,” Cummins said earlier this week, after
looking back on her column. “He’s really a great guy. He was always
positive, and he truly loved being on the U. News–that’s
definitely where his comfort zone was.”

In fact, Castasus stuck around the U. News on production nights
into the fall after he graduated, where he met Holly Berretto, then
a graduate student writing arts and entertainment reviews for the
paper.

“He was the best, and I loved him,” said Berretto, who dated
Castusus off and on after they met.

“There was nobody else like him,” she said. “He loved telling
jokes. He loved the absurdity of life. He was a warm, warm person.
He was my very dear friend.”

His U. News colleagues also remember Castasus as a man who was
proud of who he was but never let his beliefs hamper his
friendships.

“He was unabashedly preppy–it was pretty strange for 10 years
ago,” said Critchlow. “He was so unashamed of it. He wasn’t going
to change.”

She said an outside observer would think Castasus would clash
with other U. Newsers, especially Cummins, who was far more
politically liberal than he.

“But they respected each other because of how hard they worked,”
Critchlow said. “He took a lot of flak around the office for being
a frat boy and being a young Republican. But he was so enthusiastic
about production. He was one of the ones who didn’t need to be
there but he wanted to be there.”

“He didn’t necessarily fit in but he wanted to be around us. He
was so hard-nosed. And we wanted to be around him,” Critchlow said.
“His enthusiasm became infectious.”

Cummins recalled Castasus as a loyal editor and friend who
always escorted female staffers home on production nights before
returning to his work.

But, she said, he always lamented that women saw him as too good
of a friend to go with him. “He could never get a date,” she said
with a warm chuckle.

“He was just truly the best guy, and I truly think he is leaving
this world without an enemy,” Cummins said.

“If you heard of anybody passing away, the last guy you would
guess (it would be) would be John,” Critchlow said. “He was such a
constant. He was all things to all people.”

Berretto’s brief account of her 11 years of friendship with
Castasus evidences clearly that John lived and died doing what made
him happy.

“The night I met him,” she recalled, “he was in the U. News
office, this little Filipino guy telling really terrible
jokes–stuff you know is not funny, that you shouldn’t laugh
at.”

“But he always made me laugh,” she said. “He loved life.”

At the time of his death, Berreto said, he was living in
Colorado because it allowed him an intimacy with nature, with the
mountains and the rivers he loved.

A memorial service is planned for next Friday, Sept. 3, at 2
p.m., at St. Anselm’s Catholic Church at 530 S. Mason Road. For
further information Contact St. Anselm’s by phone at 878-2120.