As a boy growing up in North Philadelphia, Tyrell Beatty was obsessed with professional wrestling and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
He watched his human idols on television with his grandmother, Cleo Bagwell. She rooted for The Undertaker and he cheered for The Ultimate Warrior, fidgeting as if he were tag teaming with the WWE legend.
Tyrell named his pet turtle Michelangelo (after the cartoon character), and attempted to get the reticent reptile to stand on his back legs and perform karate chops.
“I don’t think the turtle enjoyed it much, but in [Tyrell’s] mind this is what the turtle is supposed to do,” recalled Tyrell’s aunt, Rasheeda Bagwell.
Soft-spoken yet headstrong, Tyrell refused to back down even if he knew he was wrong. At an early age, he rejected the idea of calling Rasheeda his aunt, since she was only six years older than him and they shared a bedroom. The two behaved more like brother and sister, swapping secrets and stealing cookies that were supposed to be off limits.
Unapologetic, Tyrell would accept his punishment without ratting out Rasheeda.
“He was the first baby I ever held, the first baby I ever smelled,” Rasheeda remembered. “He was my playmate, my best friend before I knew what a best friend was.”
On August 23, 2021, Tyrell was fatally shot on the 1700 block of West Juniata Street. No arrests have been made.
It was the third time he had been shot at in less than four years — all within the same vicinity. Tyrell was shot seven times in 2017 and four times just before New Year’s Eve in 2020. In both situations, he defied the odds, but was left with a metal rod in his leg and a permanent limp. Rasheeda believes that he was targeted each time.
Following the 2020 shooting, Tyrell woke up in the hospital and began to cry (a rarity). He was simply stunned to be alive, Rasheeda recalled.
Tyrell enjoyed a close, protective relationship with his mother, Crystal Beatty, and his father, Leonard Cunningham. He had three younger sisters and a brother on his father’s side, and three of his own children (Saniyyah, 17; Tyanna, 3; and Tyliah, 2).
Growing up, Tyrell had double birthday cake because both sets of his grandparents lived on the same block on Rush Street in the Glenwood section of the city.
His grandfather, a former lifeguard, taught him how to swim. Tyrell pushed through the water at warp speed, racking up trophies. He was able to hold his breath underwater for nearly two minutes, Rasheeda recalled. She credits that lung capacity with helping him survive for more than four hours after he was shot in August.
He had a commanding presence, his broad shoulders back, his head never hung low. Tyrell ran track and played football at Roxborough High School. Shortly after he graduated, his eldest daughter was born.
“They grew up together,” Rasheeda said, explaining that Tyrell learned over time how to be a father. Eventually, he earned a certificate as an assistant electrician, but left the field. He served prison time for non-violent crimes, according to his family, but regrets did not burden him.
“Scarface” was one of his favorite movies, Rasheeda said, “because Scarface was okay being alone and being his own man, despite the choices he made in his life.”
“He got to the point in his life when he wanted to get away from his past,” she added, “and his past wouldn’t let him get away from it.”
Rasheeda and Tyrell, or “Roc,” as he was called, confided in each other without judgement. When they were both in their twenties, Rasheeda witnessed Tyrell getting jumped by several men. She rushed in to defend him, but Tyrell had it under control. He refused to cower or fall to the ground.
Tyrell cared about how he presented himself. “If he asked to go to the mall with you, you weren’t coming out anytime soon,” Rasheeda said.
He went up and down, up and down the same store aisles, meticulously planning each outfit to complement his pristine sneakers. He had so many sneakers that some of them never made it into the rotation.
Tyrell played the lottery every day and asked his Nana for lucky numbers. Occasionally, he even won.
Cleo often accompanied him to the casino. Tyrell made a beeline for the poker table and she would play the slots nearby to make sure that he didn’t blow too much cash.
A month before Tyrell was killed, Cleo knew something was wrong, but her eldest grandson kept his stoic poker face.
“I’m just so sick and tired of this,” she said recently, “the restlessness out here.”
The night before Tyrell’s death, he spoke to Rasheeda on the phone for more than three hours. After they hung up, he called her back.
He wasn’t frightened, Rasheeda recalled. “He was preparing.”
All of his close friends had preceded him in death; Tyrell knew that he was a sitting target.
He discussed his long-term plans, moving away from the city to a place where nobody knew him, where his children could play outside without fear.
He wanted a job that aligned with his interests, such as working in the casino industry, selling personalized T-shirts or investing in real estate.
At the time, he was living with his two youngest children and their mother in the Tioga neighborhood and was looking forward to buying his eldest, Saniyyah, her first car, as long as it was safe. For himself, Tyrell preferred fast cars, such as his prized Mercedes-Benz coupe.
He referred to all his children as “my babies.” The youngest two called their father “bae,” because that’s what mommy called him.
Tyrell is buried in Chelten Hills Cemetery. He and Rasheeda are featured in the “Faces of Resilience” exhibition currently on display at the Barnes Foundation. Rasheeda is pictured looking up at an image of her nephew on a projector.
A devout Muslim, Tyrell believed that one day he would have to answer for his life choices. But he wanted his good deeds to outweigh the bad, Rasheeda noted.
“Everything he went through was a part of who he was and I respected that,” she said.
His legacy is a straight-A student since kindergarten who has a tattoo of her father’s name on her arm. Saniyyah is now applying to college to become a doctor.
A reward of up to $20,000 if available to anyone that comes forward with information that leads to the arrest and conviction of the person responsible for Tyrell Beatty’s murder. Anonymous calls can be submitted by calling the Citizens Crime Commission at 215-546-TIPS. Information can also be submitted to the Philadelphia Police Department online or by calling 215-686-TIPS.
Resources are available for people and communities that have endured gun violence in Philadelphia. Click here for more information.
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