John McNab Beattie

It was a hot summer night in Arnprior, Ontario. As children played outside past their bedtimes, 10-year-old John Beattie was buried under a blanket, shining a flashlight across the pages of an encyclopedia. His teachers at school thought he might have a learning disability, always staring out the window during class as he did. But when Mrs. Trunchbull, as John affectionately called her, asked him for the capital city of France, he named it. And then proceeded to name the capital city of virtually every country around the globe.

John Beattie needed answers. All of them.

As a youngster, John taught himself to speak French by watching the only French channel on TV. At 12, he was writing scripts for a CBC puppet show. And by 17, he’d found his way into the local CTV newsroom in Ottawa, tapping out 100 words per minute, his father sending notes to the high school that read, “I’m sorry, John will be absent from school today. He’s at work.” That work, that yearning for answers, became a career.

John’s enormous talent for storytelling landed him producing jobs in major Canadian and American network news outlets, covering the most important stories of the day: The fall of the Berlin Wall, the famine in Ethiopia, the end of the Cold War. For more than a decade, John served as Producer for the late Peter Jennings on ABC World News Tonight. The Rwandan genocide, the death of Princess Diana, 9/11 — he was celebrated for his coverage of them all. Three Emmys, eight Peabody awards, countless Geminis and RTNDAs. He never did pick up that Emmy for the 9/11 coverage. The soot and ashes that covered his face, hair and clothing from that horrific day was reminder enough, he would say.

There’s an old saying that journalists run toward danger when everyone else is running away. John did this in spades, running toward some of the worst of the worst. This job, it took a lot; it required a lot of sacrifice.

But no matter where the story took John, he always found a plane, a train, whatever it took to get home to his three boys, Michael, Christopher and Scott, with whom he shared with his first wife Carolyn. Weekends and summer holidays were spent at home in the Valley, where John and the boys bobbed along the Ottawa River, crossing to the Quebec side at Pontiac Bay, before meeting up with friends at the Sandbar. John would spend hours crafting the perfect wake with his boat, the kind of wake that was sure to flip one of his delighted kids off their tube. The days were capped off with a sunburn, a bonfire, and memories that brought him back to the Valley year after year. John loved the river and often referenced it in his writing: We’ve all sat there on the shore and wondered where the river would take us if we would only let it.

John’s river (and work) eventually took him to Toronto, where he met and married his soul (and sparring) mate, Zuraidah, and life began to slow down. Turned out, a new baby girl looking up and asking for cuddles could soften even the hardest, most curmudgeonly newsman. John adored Mackenzie. Partners in crime they were. And when he left the newsroom and began juggling assignments as an independent consultant, John happily took on many of the most essential parenting responsibilities: Johnny’s Diner he called it… serving up ice cream for after-school snacks, sneaking a tiny handprint into the freshly poured concrete of a repaired neighbourhood sidewalk (it’s still there, right in front of the house), and awakening little Mackenzie in the middle of the night to witness a once-in-a-hundred-years meteor shower from their backyard. He also taught his young protégé the art of sarcasm, the quick comeback, dry humour, and of course, not to suffer fools gladly. We pity the boy who tries to pull one over on John’s little girl one day.

Stepping away from the news business meant John needed to find new outlets for all his worldly knowledge. He furiously scribbled and flipped through pages of crosswords as if he were writing his memoir, and spat out the questions for Jeopardy before Zuraidah even had a chance to consider the answer. Sharing a birthday with Zuraidah, he also prided himself on celebrating his wife as any gentleman would — by dining out on all the free birthday breakfasts he could find. If there was a restaurant offering free birthday meals on his side of the 416, John and Zuraidah were giggling their way there, little Mackenzie in tow.

From his childhood days until his final days, John Beattie was a fact gatherer and storyteller. He had an endless supply of hilarious and animated tales, and generously shared the wisdom he gathered over all those years in all those places with all those people with anyone who could benefit from it. And many of us did.

While there is a lot to celebrate in this remarkable man, and much to be missed by his family and small circle of lifelong friends, to whom he had unwavering loyalty, John was not the funeral type. The organ playing, the people crying, the filing past the lifeless remains — they just weren’t his cup of tea. “If, by some complete lapse in judgment, you do give me a funeral,” he said, “I want to be naked. Make it an open casket — just the bottom half.”

We will spare you that.

And so, we’re skipping the ceremony. Instead, one day this Spring, when the weather is warm and the skies are clear and the ice is melted, we will bid our beloved John a proper farewell in a place that brought him so much joy. As John’s father, Mac Beattie, wrote in The Log Driver’s Song, “For that valley I yearn; someday I’ll return, where the Ottawa River flows swiftly along.”

John is survived by his wife Zuraidah; children Michael, Christopher, Scott, and Mackenzie; siblings Rodger (Sharon), Bonnie (Robert), and Peter (Paula); and several nieces and nephews. He is predeceased by his parents, John McNab “Mac” Beattie (1982) and Marie (nee MacMunn) Beattie (2007).

In lieu of flowers, the family is asking that you take a few minutes from your busy day to consider something John may have written or said to you in the past that put a smile on your face. Feel the warmth of that feeling. Hold onto it.

-30-

My dad and I always had a good time

Well Dad this wasn’t exactly the idea of a good time we always had planned.

You’ll really never meet a person quite like my father and I want him to be remembered that way.

Not by dwelling on the unfortunate ending and circumstances but how he was unique and clever and full of wisdom and one of a kind.

One of those people that sometimes are viewed as odd but you can either love or hate them for it, that’s just who they are.

He alway had a story or a lesson to share and God I wish I appreciated it more.

The version of him I got to meet, behind the laidback brilliant mastermind, was the devoted loving father to a daughter that he’d give up forever for.

He was my rock and my cheerleader in everything I did.

When he couldn’t give me the world the way he wanted to, he gave me the last piece of cake.

He always gave me reasons to smile when I was sad whether it was cracking a joke or letting me skip a day of school to hang out at home.

He filled our house with games, movies, treats and so much joy.

He gave me our adventures when we would go for walks up the bridge at the local beach to play on the playground.

He gave me night walks with the dog he pretended not to love so much and he gave me his humour and sarcasm (my mom rolls her eyes and says he’s still alive inside me).

He gave me his strength and courage so that I can defeat any obstacle that arises.

He always shared his knowledge, his insights. He really had a lot to say and a lot to teach.

He’s really the best teacher I ever had who taught me to believe in myself the way he believes in me.

Yup, Dad and I always had a good time. Life when I was young with my dad was a dream I wish I never had to wake up from.

About 14 years ago he was the first person to ever look into my eyes and a few days ago, I was the last person to look into his.

Rest easy Dad. You’ll be missed. I look forward to another adventure with you, one day.

Love, Mackenzie