In a quiet West Brighton home on Cary Avenue, what began as an ordinary Monday afternoon spiraled into one of the most gruesome crimes Staten Island has seen in years. Anthony Casalaspro, a 45-year-old retired city sanitation worker, was found decapitated in a bathtub, allegedly at the hands of his girlfriend’s 19-year-old son, Damien Hurstel. The shocking discovery, made by Hurstel’s 16-year-old sister upon returning from school, has left the close-knit community reeling and prompted an outpouring of tributes for the victim, whom his ex-wife described as “one of the greats.”

Police responded to the Cary Avenue residence around 4:30 p.m. on October 6, 2025, after receiving a frantic 911 call. Sources say officers arrived to a horrific scene: Casalaspro’s body, partially submerged in the tub, bore multiple stab wounds to the head and neck. The decapitation was so severe that the knife used in the attack remained embedded in the victim’s body. Hurstel, covered in blood, was taken into custody at the scene without resistance. “I did something bad,” he reportedly confessed to his sister, instructing her to stay in her room before emergency services arrived.By Tuesday, the young man—wheeled out of the NYPD’s 120th Precinct stationhouse in a Tyvek suit, his face still smeared with dried blood—was charged with second-degree murder and criminal possession of a weapon. He was transported to a hospital for evaluation ahead of his arraignment in Staten Island Criminal Court.

The motive, pieced together from family statements and police sources, appears rooted in deep-seated family tensions. Casalaspro, who had been dating Hurstel’s mother for several years, was planning to relocate the family to Florida upon his recent retirement from the Department of Sanitation. Suffering from progressive vision loss that forced him to step away from his job as a mechanic, he envisioned a fresh start in the Sunshine State—a place for relaxation, golf, and rebuilding his life. “He had very big plans,” his ex-wife, Valerie Casalaspro, told the Daily News in an emotional interview just days after the slaying. But Hurstel, a recent high school graduate with strong ties to his Staten Island friends, reportedly resisted the move vehemently. “He didn’t want to leave his life here behind,” Valerie recounted, echoing what her ex had confided in her during a conversation mere weeks before his death.

The relationship between Casalaspro and Hurstel wasn’t always fraught. Valerie noted that Anthony had attended the teen’s high school graduation earlier this year, a gesture of support amid what she described as the young man’s behavioral challenges. “He was literally just at the kid’s graduation,” she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. Yet, underlying resentments simmered. Casalaspro had reportedly shared with his ex that Hurstel was “hard to handle,” prone to defiance and unwilling to respect the older man’s authority in the household. Police records reveal a troubling history at the Cary Avenue address: at least five domestic incident reports involving Casalaspro over the years, many linked to arguments fueled by his struggles with alcohol. Valerie pushed back against suggestions of violence from her former husband, insisting, “He was never violent in our 12 years together The couple had amicably divorced in 2019, maintaining a cordial relationship centered on co-parenting their two children.

For those who knew him, Casalaspro was the epitome of Staten Island grit and generosity—a man whose loss reverberates through the borough’s sanitation crews, local bars, and family barbecues. Born and raised on the island, he spent over two decades with the Department of Sanitation, rising from garbage collector to skilled mechanic, maintaining the fleet of trucks that keep the city clean. Colleagues remember him as a mentor, always ready with a joke or a helping hand during long shifts. “Tony was one of the greats,” Valerie said, her words capturing the affection he inspired. “He loved his kids, his work, and making people laugh. This is horrendous.

Friends and family have flooded a GoFundMe page set up to cover funeral costs and support Casalaspro’s children, raising over $25,000 in the first 48 hours. Donations poured in from fellow sanitation workers, who shared stories of his unwavering reliability. “He fixed my truck in the pouring rain once, wouldn’t let me pay him a dime,” one anonymous donor wrote. Others recalled his passion for classic cars, a hobby he tinkered with in his garage on weekends. Even in retirement, he dreamed of restoring a vintage Mustang, a project he teased about with Valerie during their last call. “I literally talked to him two weeks ago. He was doing good,” she reflected, the pain evident in her pause.

The tragedy has cast a shadow over West Brighton, a neighborhood known for its resilient, working-class spirit. Neighbors described the Cary Avenue home as unassuming—a modest two-story where kids played stickball in the street and barbecues filled summer air with the scent of grilled sausages. The crime scene tape fluttered in the October breeze on Tuesday as detectives from the NYPD’s 120th Precinct and the Richmond County District Attorney’s Office combed for evidence. Bloodstained linens and a hacksaw—allegedly the tool used to complete the decapitation—were among the items removed from the residence. Hurstel’s mother, whose identity has not been released, was reportedly out running errands when the attack occurred, returning to a nightmare she could scarcely comprehend.

As the investigation unfolds, questions swirl about warning signs missed and systemic failures in addressing domestic unrest. Staten Island has grappled with rising incidents of family violence in recent years, with the NYPD reporting a 15% uptick in domestic calls borough-wide since 2020. Experts like Dr. Maria Rossi, a forensic psychologist at Richmond University Medical Center, point to the volatility of blended families under stress. “When authority figures enter established dynamics, especially with young adults navigating identity and change, resentment can fester into something explosive,” she explained. “Add alcohol or relocation pressures, and it’s a powder keg. In Hurstel’s case, his recent graduation masked deeper struggles; sources hint at undiagnosed mental health issues, though formal evaluations are pending.

Community leaders are responding swiftly. The Rev. Johnathan Gibbs of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in West Brighton announced grief counseling sessions starting this weekend, open to all affected by the slaying. “Anthony was a fixture here—coached little league, shoveled sidewalks for the elderly,” Gibbs said. “His light went out too soon, but we’ll honor it by supporting one another. Local officials, including Borough President Vito Fossella, called for enhanced resources for domestic violence prevention, including mandatory mental health screenings in high-risk households. “This isn’t just a crime; it’s a failure to protect the vulnerable,” Fossella stated at a press conference on Wednesday.

Hurstel’s path through the justice system will be arduous. Charged as an adult, he faces up to 25 years if convicted of murder. His attorney, a public defender assigned Tuesday, has not commented, but legal observers anticipate a not-guilty plea, potentially citing temporary insanity or family strife as mitigating factors. The District Attorney’s Office, led by Michael McMahon, vows a thorough prosecution: “We’ll seek justice for Anthony and his loved ones, leaving no stone unturned.

Amid the legal machinations, Valerie Casalaspro clings to memories of the man she knew—not the headlines, but the heart. Their divorce was amicable, a mutual decision after 12 years of marriage that produced two children now grappling with dual losses: a father gone and a family fractured. “He was a good dad, always put them first,” she said. “Even after we split, he’d take them fishing, teach them to change a tire. That’s the Tony I want people to remember. The children, ages 10 and 13, are staying with relatives as the family plans a memorial service for October 12 at a local funeral home.

Staten Island’s sanitation community, no stranger to loss from on-the-job hazards, has rallied with quiet resolve. A procession of DSNY trucks lined Cary Avenue on Wednesday, drivers paying silent homage with horns and headlights. “He was our brother,” said union rep Carlos Mendoza. “Fixed what others couldn’t, laughed through the grime. We’ll miss him every route.

As autumn leaves swirl outside the taped-off home, the neighborhood whispers of what might have been: barbecues in Florida, grandkids on the green. Instead, Casalaspro’s story ends in a tub of blood, a cautionary tale of unchecked tensions. Valerie’s tribute endures: “One of the greats.” In a borough built on blue-collar bonds, those words etch his legacy, a beacon against the darkness that claimed him.

Yet, for the Hurstel family, the aftermath is a labyrinth of shame and sorrow. The mother, shielded from media, seeks solace in therapy, while her daughter—the unwitting discoverer—undergoes counseling to process the trauma. “Go to your room,” were the last words from her brother before sirens wailed. Now, silence reigns, broken only by the echo of what was lost.

This slaying, unfolding in the unlikeliest of settings, underscores the fragility of home. Staten Island, with its ferries and forget-me-nots, confronts a monster within its walls. As detectives pore over forensics and families mend shattered pieces, one truth lingers: behind every door, vigilance is the only lock that holds.