Thomas Beightol belonged to that rare, brilliant breed of man who could walk into a room full of strangers and leave with three new best friends, next weekend’s fishing plans, and at least one person laughing hard enough to snort coffee. He was effortlessly personable, genuinely witty, endlessly curious, and gifted with a natural charisma that made absolutely everyone feel seen and valued. Whether he was addressing corporate executives, college students, local farmers, or a grocery store cashier, Tom treated everyone like they were the most important person in the room. He possessed the warm, steady gravity of a small-town morning radio voice—the kind that made people slow down, pour another cup, and remember that the world still had some truly good folks in it.

After a stubborn, long-term decline in health following Covid, heart valve replacement surgery, and accumulating enough internal cardiac hardware to make airport security incredibly nervous, Tom suffered a sudden and unrecoverable stroke. He passed away peacefully, surrounded by his partner, children, and grandchildren. It was the exact kind of dignified, love-filled exit a writer like Tom would have scripted for himself: close to family, wrapped in affection, and leaving a lasting impression on the nursing staff, who he undoubtedly charmed until the very end.

Tom was a beloved father, grandfather, brother, partner, teacher, broadcaster, epic storyteller, and world-class conversationalist. He lived by the code that he never met a stranger—only people who hadn't yet been subjected to one of his legendary tales. Whether he was standing in the checkout line at Hy-Vee, casting from a quiet dock, or inspecting the latest bass lures at Scheels, he could strike up a conversation that seamlessly transitioned from current events to deep family histories, unsolicited fishing advice, and a guaranteed punchline.

He is survived by Alma “Mickey” Gleiser, his devoted partner in life, love, and laughter; his oldest daughter, Stacey Bragg, and her husband Kirby of Ankeny, Iowa, along with grandchildren Lindsey Sisco and Thomas Sisco; and his youngest daughter, Rebecca Lynn Bates, and her husband James of Colorado Springs, Colorado, along with grandchildren Cameron Thomas Bates and Carolyn Bates. He is also survived by Mickey's loving family: Larry and Denise Gleiser, Ron Gleiser, Pamela Gleiser, and Rick Gleiser, all of Sioux City, Iowa; his brothers, Garry and Dean Beightol of the Denver area, and their families; along with a sprawling, vibrant constellation of friends, colleagues, former students, fishing buddies, loyal radio listeners, and random passersby who simply found themselves happier after crossing paths with him.

He was reunited in peace with his parents, David Thomas Beightol Jr. and Bonnie Fuller Beightol, and his brother, Larry.

Tom proudly served his country in the United States Navy before building a multifaceted career that brilliantly blurred the lines between broadcasting, public relations, higher education, and plain old visiting with people. He held court as a news anchor at KTIV-TV before moving into corporate communications with Northwestern Bell and later AT&T, where he served with distinction as Iowa’s State Public Relations Manager. He went on to lend his talents to the Iowa Department of Economic Development and the Meredith Corporation, where he spent over a decade training executives, publishers, and managers, generously sharing his unique gift for human connection.

Retirement was a concept Tom fundamentally misunderstood, lasting approximately five minutes. He kept right on writing news stories, mentoring young broadcasters, teaching at Western Iowa Tech Community College, and joyfully entertaining morning commuters as the co-host of “BS in the Morning” on KSCJ radio, proving on a daily basis that a sharp wit and a little common sense could actually improve rush-hour traffic.

During his daughters' school years, Tom served as both a member and the president of the Van Meter Community School District Board. His girls quickly learned that having your father run the school board meant there was absolutely nowhere to hide, but they also witnessed his fierce, lifelong belief in education, mentorship, and helping young people find their own confidence.

Tom was a man equally at home in a tailored suit and tie or a pair of well-worn Carhartt overalls—depending entirely on whether the day’s agenda called for a corporate boardroom presentation or baiting a bass lure. He loved golf, sailing, hunting, fishing, and lending a strong, quiet hand to anyone who needed a lift. He was witty without a drop of cruelty, charismatic without a shred of ego, and boundlessly generous in ways both loud and quiet. A Celebration of Life will be held at a later date.

“To the world you were our dad. To our family, you were the world.”