In Loving Memory of Frederick Grasso

Frederick (Fred) Grasso moved through life like a well-worn trail in the woods – humble, steady, and quietly dependable, leaving a clear path for others to follow. If something needed doing, he showed up with quiet resolve. If you needed help, he was already on his way. He built with care, gave without question, and carried a presence as calm as the early morning sea.

On May 9, 2025, Fred passed away peacefully at home, surrounded by family – full of the love gathered in a life well-lived.

Fred was born in Waterbury, CT on March 3, 1952, the son of Francis Grasso and Margaret (Gilbert) Grasso. He grew up in Watertown, CT with his brother Raymond Packard, sisters Judith (Grasso) Frodermann and Meg (Grasso) Magnarella. He spent his days riding his beloved horse, exploring the woods behind his home, and swimming Echo Lake end-to-end every morning, where he later worked as a lifeguard.

He attended Watertown High School, where he met the love of his life, Catherine (Cathy) (Stanziano) Grasso, to whom he was married for over 52 years.

Cathy and Fred’s love was storybook; she was his partner, his peace, and his greatest joy. Throughout their journeys together – building a life, raising a family, or simply sitting side-by-side with morning coffee – nothing made him happier than being with her. The way he would look at her, with a quiet, contented smile even when she wasn’t looking, spoke more than words ever could.

After high school, Fred proudly served his country with the U.S. Navy, 1969–1975, achieving the rank of Petty Officer Third Class (E-5).

This time was well known to his loved ones through the many stories he would tell – of saving a shipmate from going overboard into circling sharks below; of standing on deck watching sheets of rain meet clear sunny skies in a visible line only sailors ever really see; of the vast blackness of night at sea; and of curious fish kissing his goggles as he snorkeled off Aruba in crystal-clear waters he always recalled in awe as “like being inside a fishbowl.”

Following his time in the Navy, Fred continued his focus on service. He worked for over 20 years as a mental health care worker, a role he described with quiet pride. He served for a decade as an Auxiliary Officer with the Watertown Police Department.

He frequently volunteered, with Unico and American Legion, as well as coaching his daughters’ sports teams and leading his son’s Cub Scout pack.

To know Fred was to know a man who found beauty in simplicity and never needed much to be fulfilled. Give him Cathy by his side, a hot cup of coffee, an ice-cold glass of water, and a place to sit outside, and he was content.

He once said he’d be happy living in a house the size of his shed – and he meant it. Yet, like Fred himself, even that shed held more than met the eye: it was built with his own hands and filled with the tools, treasures, and marks of a lifetime spent creating and fixing.

Fred had a remarkable ability to do just about anything. He could build, repair, and create with a natural instinct. Whether doing leatherwork – making belts, wallets, spirit shields, and traditional Native American-style dresses – or woodwork and carpentry – building the front deck of his house, or the shed in the backyard – there were touches of his craftsmanship everywhere you looked.

Fred was a collector who also had a deep knowledge of firearms, especially antiques – he could break them down, rebuild them, and bring them back to life, often restoring pieces others had long given up on.

One of his prized creations was his swivel cannon which he fired every year on the 4th of July. 

He was a woodsman and a mountain man at heart.  Fred loved the outdoors with every part of his being. From primitive camping, to fishing, to spending time in nature, he took pride in passing on his knowledge and experiences to his children and grandchildren.

He looked forward each year to the Northeastern Primitive Rendezvous, where he stepped back in time, gathered with friends and family, and enjoyed rising with the sun, building the morning fire, and watching the camp wake up while enjoying his coffee.

It was a time he cherished deeply – living simply, surrounded by the quiet comforts of the natural world and those who shared his love for it. He always came home with stories to share and a smile saved just for Cathy.

Fred also had a deep respect for Native American culture and felt drawn to traditions that honored the land and embraced an intentional way of life. He wasn’t one for modern technology – he saw little need to learn to text or navigate the internet.

He preferred stories told by firelight, passed down from memory, often full of mischief and always rich with meaning.

And, oh, the stories! Anyone who knew him would tell you that Fred was a storyteller. He gathered them like sea glass; each one weathered, unique, and gleaming with hidden history. 

He told of hitching a last-minute ride home on a Navy mail plane to make it back in time for his wedding. He told of striking up a conversation with nuns half way around the world only to find out they were from a church in Waterbury, CT.

He told of early mornings fishing on the river and the long, patient work of bringing in a 25-pound salmon from the waters of upstate New York. And he told of spending the last dollars he had in Spain to get his one and only tattoo, “Cathy” written on his upper arm.  

He was a man who stayed up late just to check that you made it home, who picked up the phone whenever you needed to talk, and was always there for anyone who needed him. He listened, he guided, and he passed down wisdom in even the most ordinary of moments. 

He was a man from another time. And we were lucky to have had him in ours.

Fred is survived by the love of his life, Cathy Grasso; their children, Crista Grasso and her husband Jeremy Pollack, Kara Grasso, and Jeffrey Grasso and his wife Courtney Grasso; and their grandchildren, Kaya Grasso, Jacob Grasso, and Emily Grasso.

Each of them carries forward his spirit – his warmth, his wisdom, and his unshakable belief that life’s greatest joys are often the simplest ones.

More Photos of Fred

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