DENVER (AP) -Calvin Natt delicately clutched the body of 4-year-old Aeliyah French against his chest, dipping her tiny hand into plaster as he prepared her for burial.
A former NBA forward who now owns a funeral home, Natt had become accustomed to death.
The passing of a child, though, choked him up, tears cascading down as he made a mold for French’s parents to remember their little girl after she was killed in a car accident just a few days before Christmas two years ago.
He then took care of all the funeral arrangements, complete with a release of doves and balloons.
With a little girl’s death, a noble gesture began.
Natt launched a foundation when he handled the arrangements for Aeliyah French, creating a way to remove the financial burden of a funeral for parents who lose a child. The “All For One-One For All” nonprofit organization pays for a casket, embalming or cremation, a limousine, flowers, programs, thank-you cards and a service so parents can concentrate on just one thing – mourning.
For that, French’s mother, Crystal Mangusso, was truly appreciative.
idn’t know me or my family or my daughter and he was still willing to help out,” said Mangusso, who keeps the mold of her daughter’s hand on her dresser. “I’m thankful for what he did. If I had every dime to give him back I would – just so he could help someone else.”
Natt has often seen the devastation a child’s death has on a parent – burying and cremating kids who’ve died of cancer, SIDS and AIDS, as well as children who’ve perished in fires and car accidents.
So far, he has assisted in laying to rest nine children through the foundation, plus another 25 kids out of his own pocket. Each funeral costs close to $7,000.
His goal is to start a similar foundation for grieving parents in every NBA city, even reaching out to players to get them to help, often showing up at the Pepsi Center to deliver his pitch for his program in person. So far, Nuggets forward Kenyon Martin and ex-New York Knick Patrick Ewing have contributed to his cause.
“People are refinancing their homes two and three times to have money for medical expenses, mothers are selling their wedding rings – they’re totally in debt,” said Natt, who will turn 52 in January. “Then, boom, reality sets in, and their kid dies. You think, ‘Where do I go? My kid is dead, they’re pressing me for funeral arrangements, we don’t have any money, what do we do?’ That’s where we come in, taking the financial burden off.”
inister, Natt grew up playing basketball on the family’s property in Bastrop, La. The hoop was an old bicycle rim stapled to a piece of plywood. He and his younger brother, Kenny, who was recently named the interim coach of the Sacramento Kings, used to have some epic tussles on the dirt court near the hog pen.
His older brother, Columbus, made him tough, though, backing him down and hitting him in the nose before putting up a shot.
“I used to cry to my mom. She’d always say, ‘Then don’t play,”’ Natt said.
Not an option.
He was enraptured by basketball, earning a scholarship to Northeast Louisiana University (now Louisiana at Monroe), before becoming the eighth pick by the New Jersey Nets in 1979, the same draft in which Magic Johnson went No. 1 overall.
Natt was known as a bruiser throughout his 11-year career, a hulking 6-foot-6, 230-pound presence who badgered and bumped around some of the league’s best. Julius Erving used to kid Natt about going easy on him – only “Dr. J” wasn’t jesting.
But being physical was what kept him around.
Natt played for New Jersey, Portland, Denver, San Antonio and Indianapolis, even making the All-Star team in 1985, before creaky knees forced his retirement in 1991.
His aggressive play earned him the nickname “Pit Bull” from Nuggets teammates Alex English and Wayne Cooper.
“I wasn’t very big, but I was mean,” he said.
‘s showing his softer, tender side – helping grieving parents.
The mysteries of death have always intrigued Natt.
Even as a kid, he was curious about caskets. He’d sit on the outside seat of the pew during funerals at his father’s church, just so he could reach out and touch the casket on its way down the aisle. He’s not sure why, he just instinctively did so.
“Most kids used to chase fire trucks and police cars,” said Natt, who became a Baptist minister three years ago. “I chased hearses.”
In his playing days, Natt’s teammates used to invite him out. He’d decline their offers in favor of touring funeral homes, marveling at the parlors and their handling of the deceased.
When his playing career ended, Natt thought about opening a bar or restaurant, but followed his fascination and went into the funeral home business.
He took embalming classes, along with anatomy, physiology and biology, quickly learning the tricks of his new trade, transforming from a fierce competitor on the court to a funeral director known for his compassion.
“I love doing what I’m doing,” said Natt, who’s been in the mortuary business for 16 years. “But you take in so much of other people’s grief, consoling them and trying to make their life better. It does wear on you.”
Especially the kids.
him.
“A baby who never is going to have a chance to be married, never have a chance to see their Sweet Sixteen or drive a car, never date, never have kids of their own,” he said. “That affects you. That bothers you.”
Natt remembers the day his daughter, Ashley, was born. He was so elated, the second of four children.
Soon after, she contracted spinal meningitis, and was lying in the intensive care unit, curled up with tubes in her nose.
He peered through the window, tears flowing, wondering if she’d be all right.
Natt, playing for the Nuggets at the time, had a game at the old McNichols Arena later that night, and then coach Doug Moe told him to take the evening off.
But he suited up anyway. To this day, he has no idea how he played or who won. His mind was back at the hospital.
“I wasn’t my usual self, because you’re not sure whether your child is going to make it or not,” he said.
Ashley did, and is now a healthy 24-year-old.
But Natt can’t forget the anguish he felt.
That, along with seeing distraught parents with ailing kids while doing radio remotes at Children’s Hospital, led him to help others.
r.
Natt and the foundation stepped in, taking over the funeral arrangements, which are scheduled for after the holiday.
“We wouldn’t have been able to afford anything – it would’ve been Calvin Natt or a common grave,” said Hendee, a 22-year-old aspiring writer who wept as she talked about her sons. “Now, we will always have a place to go to lay flowers at their graves.”
Contributions trickle in. Just the other day, a man approached Natt at the gym and handed over a check for $500, then sauntered away.
In the mail, Natt recently received four quarters taped to a piece of paper, a gift from a 7-year-old boy who wanted to show his support.
Natt could do funeral services for less, but he refuses to skimp. He believes the families deserve the finest.
Those eligible for the program are based on need. The foundation has an application process and a six-person board that reviews each request.
Natt wishes the foundation could provide a funeral for every parent who loses a child. But it can’t.
And that gnaws at him.
He used to mow lawns and pick up bottles to buy basketball shoes when he was a kid. He’s thinking about revisiting those days to raise money – or even more drastic measures.
“If I have to sit out on Interstate 25 in my Daisy Duke basketball shorts to draw attention, I will,” he said, grinning. “I’ve had so many dreams about how great this foundation can be.”
For French’s funeral, Natt displayed pictures all around the room, like a photo of the 4-year-old sitting on a tricycle, her smile radiating.
He can’t shake the image.
“I’m thinking of this little girl and how beautiful she was,” Natt said. “I’ve buried a lot of beautiful babies, kids that never got a chance to live a long life.”
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On the Web:
http://www.afoofa.org
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