Obituary
Brian Beatty

Brian Michael Beatty
1970-2025

Brian Michael Beatty, writer, comedian, and musician, died on October 2, 2025, at the age of 55. He has left us to figure out the world without him, and it’s a dimmer, drearier, far less comprehensible place without his warmth and clarifying wit.

Born January 7, 1970, to Paul Michael (Mike) and Nancy Ann Beatty in Brazil, Indiana, Brian was a bright and curious kid, very close to his maternal grandparents, Robert and Anna (Granny Fro) Froderman; in their memory he would later begin writing his second collection of poetry, named for his birthplace. From the age of four, it was pretty much Brian and his mom against the world, and he never, ever forgot that. If he sometimes chafed, as all sons must do against their mothers, he never wavered in his loyalty to Nancy. They stayed in close, often daily contact throughout the years after college that took him far from home.

Brian attended Terre Haute South High School, where he played saxophone in the marching band, wrote poems, crushed hard on girls, and ultimately graduated with the class of ’88. At Indiana State University, he was in the Honors program in English and Literature. At ISU orientation he first met his muse, Rebecca Hathaway—more on her later. A plaid flannel pioneer, Brian played in garage bands and committed performance art around campus that may have violated a few local ordinances. He published his first short story, in Seventeen magazine, his junior year. ISU was also the birthplace of Brian’s beard, which sprouted in the wake of a break-up and never fully left his face again.

Brian earned a Master of Fine Arts degree in fiction at Bowling Green State University in Ohio from 1992 to 1994, after which he quit writing for nearly a year. When he resumed, he took up poetry again and never stopped. “I’ve never found a creative outlet that feels as natural to me,” he told a reporter from The Monitor in Minneapolis. He ultimately published five poetry collections: Magpies and Crows; Borrowed Trouble; Dust and Stars: Miniatures; Brazil, Indiana: A Folk Poem; and Coyotes I Couldn’t See.

“Brian was gifted at seeing beyond the surface of landscapes and objects into the humanity that gave them, and his life, meaning,” observed his friend and most trusted reader Grant Clauser, who was often the first to receive a draft of his latest work. “His love of words and music was instrumental in turning the mundane into magic.”

Coming out of graduate school, Brian managed Barnes & Noble bookstores in Kirksville, Missouri, and Chicago. You can catch a rare glimpse of him wearing a tie in Michael Moore’s 1997 film The Big One documenting Moore’s book tour, which includes an appearance in Brian’s store. For the bulk of his working life, he earned his keep as an agency creative, writing copy and producing audio, video, and digital campaigns. He spent the last eight years with the Minneapolis-based agency Curious Plot, where his small-town farming roots helped him develop a strong rapport with agricultural clients.

Brian took a class in improvisational comedy with the notion of pitching an article about it and soon found himself hooked on performance. He became a familiar figure in the Twin Cities’ robust comedy and spoken word scene, honing his material on stages including the Bedlam Theatre, Brave New Workshop, and MPR’s Fitzgerald Theater, and appearing at Minnesota Fringe Festivals. He won the Literary Death Match in 2011, opened for comic Louie Anderson’s New Year’s Eve show in 2013, and appeared regularly at Barbaric Yawp, a monthly reading series at Underground Music Café.

In 2021 Brian released Hobo Radio, a spoken-word album featuring banjo and guitar improvisations by Minnesota musician and folk icon Charlie Parr. Brian was a huge fan of Charlie and deeply honored by his collaboration, and the admiration was mutual. Of Brian’s book Coyotes I Couldn’t See, Charlie wrote, “Brian Beatty’s poems conjure complete lives—houses, yards, people, ghosts, dogs, squirrels and invisible coyotes—out of just a few stanzas. This collection reads like music, creating worlds that look like everyday life complete with the terrible uncertainty, the delicate and wavering balance, the long, long drop into the bottomless.”

Brian is survived by his mother, Nancy Beatty, his father and stepmother, Mike and Judy Beatty, his brother and sister-in-law Neil and Autumn Beatty, his nephew and niece, Olivia and Joel Beatty. And he is survived by Rebecca Hathaway, the love of his life.

Brian had recently moved back to Indiana (Carmel in 2023, then Indianapolis in 2024). Rebecca joined him there at last in May of 2025. Their lives had taken them on different adventures in the years since college, but they’d remained in touch, and neither had forgotten that initial spark. When both were finally free at the same time, they found their way back to each other, and it was the easiest thing in the world to rekindle. Brian was adamant to friends that he had found his person. He seemed poised to accept all the love and happiness he so richly deserved but had never been quite ready to fully claim.

Brian and Rebecca were visiting friends in North Carolina when he had a brainstem stroke. He spent a hopeful few days in the ICU recovering, then suddenly deteriorated when the vessel ruptured beyond repair. Brian and Kiyomi Ownbey and June Spence, who had known Brian since their days in Bowling Green, stood vigil with Rebecca. It was both shattering and the greatest privilege for them to be with him at the end.

Because every word mattered to Brian, he should provide the final ones here. This poem appeared in Stone Poetry Quarterly in May:

Minor Miracles

The red leather chair
in the middle of the room
where I write

floats a little
when poems arrive

like birds called to their feeder.