Brian John Wright
September 20, 1960-July 29, 2003
Photos courtesy Stephanee Grosscup
Brian Wright took up figure skating after watching Peggy Fleming's performance at the 1968 Winter Olympic Games on television and finding a coupon in his local newspaper for ten free lessons. At his very first competition, the Spring Ice Skating Festival in Portland, Oregon in 1973, Brian Wright took home the gold medal in the sub-juvenile boys event. Five years later when Portland played host to the U.S. Championships, he won the free skate and the silver medal in the novice men's event. Retiring from competition in 1981, he went on to tour with the Ice Capades and perform in "A Chorus Line" on Broadway. He became one of the sport's most respected choreographers, working with Michelle Kwan, Kristi Yamaguchi, Anita Hartshorn and Frank Sweiding, Scott Williams, Michael Weiss, Scott Davis, Rory Flack Burghart, Jeri Campbell, Craig Heath and countless others. He was the artistic director of the Indiana/World Skating Academy and the 1994 recipient of the Paul McGrath Award for Choreography given by the USFSA Coaches Committee. He passed away at the age of forty-two, leaving behind some of the most underappreciated choreography in figure skating.
Brian's obituary: "Brian John Wright, beloved son, brother, sister, husband, friend and teacher, died on July 29, 2003 with courage and dignity. He leaves a legacy of art and of love that he shared with people around the country and internationally. Born in Seattle on September 10, 1960 to Dale and Virginia Wright, Brian was drawn to beauty and artistic expression from the time he was a little boy - first music, then ice skating and later dance. His talent helped him become a successful national competitor in ice skating, and to later skate professionally. His career as an ice skating choreographer brought him national and international recognition, including the 1994 U.S. Figure Skating Association Choreographer of the Year award. Brian's creativity spilled into all areas of his life, including the writing of wonderful letters and the enhancement of the every day. He loved beautiful flowers, a well-laid dinner table, good food and sunlight through tree leaves. Brian shared his sense of humor, creativity and love of life with his family and an amazing number of close friends across the country. We enjoyed his deep laugh, his wit and ability to see humor in all situations - including his own. Nothing, basically, was sacred. He wouldn't have it. As with everything, Brian owned his experience with HIV and AIDS and made it meaningful. He shared frank details of his illness with school kids and never let up his insistence that we not become complacent with this disease. He accommodated his illness only as much as he had to - he worked hard to keep creating, sharing with friends and staying open to life. Many know Brian as an accomplished artist. But, he also was an accomplished man. He embraced life - in light and darkness - with an insistence that it be full of good things. He also was able to keep his sense of humor despite his sorrow - a rare ability. But perhaps the biggest gift he provided was love - he loved so many people dearly, and was loved dearly in return. Sleep well, Brian. We miss you."
Photo courtesy Jenny Hall
Jenny Hall's memories of Brian: "I consider myself very lucky that I got to spend considerable time with Brian Wright even though we only skated in one, short ice show together. It was in 1987, with a tiny cast of thirteen performing in 'American Super Dream' (yes, that’s really the title) in Atami, Japan. It was a dinner-theater show in a snazzy hotel in a coastal town on the Pacific ocean. Atami was famous for hot springs, scantily-clad Vegas-style reviews, and the Japanese mafia, known as the Yakuza. In the late eighties, performers were only allowed to stay in Japan for six months tops. That's a blip for any skater seeking beneficial employment, but our visas were lumped into the same category as hostesses, geisha and call girls. Why, you ask? The Japanese mafia. So it was because of this exotic location and amazingly light schedule that I got to know Brian. I’m forever grateful. All these years later, anytime I hear Mannheim Steamroller's song, 'Silent Night', I stop whatever I’m doing and picture the last time I saw Brian skate. Many skaters knew him from Ice Capades. He was a part of that show for many years. He was a fluid, dynamic skater who made everything look easy and elegant and he defied the odds becoming an even better choreographer. Still his resume ran deep: he danced with the Pacific Northwest Ballet, performed in 'Chorus Line' on Broadway, and later became an outspoken advocate for the importance of safe sex. He may be most famous for working with the coach Audrey Weisiger and choreographing a freestyle program for Michael Weiss to the oddly-choiced 'Santana'. At that time, skaters stuck to classical, Broadway or movie soundtracks. So this program was as groundbreaking as it was refreshing, which was also a very good way to describe Brian. He went on to be a sought after choreographer working with dozens of the best skaters, including Kristi Yamaguchi and Michelle Kwan. Getting to know the full personality of Brian was easy in Japan because we only skated two or three hours a day. We had a lot of time on our hands and not so much money, thus creativity was key. There was no birthday, holiday, baby-shower, tax refund or long distance breakup that didn’t go without a party. Brian came up with several ideas himself and turned what could have been a long, boring six months into an enjoyable, never-ending off-ice festival. With all of our sightseeing throughout Japan, I learned Brian was as smart as he was a talented skater. He wrote so well. He wrote a lot. Some of his letters are works of art (partly because he also drew pictures in them.) I'm so glad he got to travel the world, some of it through competitive skating and choreography, and some through personal vacations, which added to his vast knowledge of history and geography before passing at forty-two. One of my favorite memories with Brian took place after we left the show. He had gone home to Seattle to start his path on choreography and I was coming to visit. He said he would pick me up at the airport (yes, friends did that in the days before Uber.) He warned me his car had been in an accident and he wasn't sure how we'd get around. As we exited the airport he finished his totally fabricated story as he led me to the limo he had rented for the night. He never had a car. We spent the next twelve hours going to all of his favorite bars and restaurants in Seattle. We hit up a dozen places (no showgirl weigh-in that day) and he enjoyed himself as much as I did. That is a tour-guide extraordinaire. One of my favorite skating memories of Brian was a number he was asked to skate for our last show on or around December 28. Even in Japan, Christmas was on everyone's mind. As mentioned earlier, he skated to Mannheim Steamroller's 'Silent Night'. They built a special set for him and he skated the best I'd ever seen him skate. He was already sick at the time, but told almost no one. After our show in Atami, I believe he switched completely to choreography. He went on to work with several amazing skaters, all while his health was declining. The last time I saw him was around 2002. It was both jarring and heartbreaking to discover those legs that once could stroke, kick and jump in the most masterful way, were frail, weak and hiding under baggy sweatpants. No doubt a cruel aspect of this dreadful disease was how it transformed anyone strong, graceful, or elegant to a shell of their former selves. So I like to remember Brian in his glory days. Sadly, last September, he would have turned sixty. He would still have been glorious."
*Source for inclusion: Obituaries, "Skating" magazine, October 2003
