In his role as wholesale manager at Minneapolis-based Coastal Seafoods, Brian Nelson arrived at work at 4 each morning and usually found messages from 25 to 40 restaurants in the Twin Cities waiting for him.

"Brian had the ear of all the chefs. He played a very important role," said Brenda Langton, owner of Spoonriver restaurant in Minneapolis. "He helped Coastal to be the best purveyor of fish in the Twin Cities."

Nelson, 57, died of congestive heart failure on Nov. 6. He started out in Coastal's retail store 28 years ago, learned to be one of the best fish cutters in the business, and then moved to the wholesale business where he talked every day to chefs in area restaurants.

"He was the face of Coastal Seafoods," said owner Suzanne Weinstein. "Everyone asked for him."

Coastal general manager Tim Lauer said that Nelson routinely juggled the needs of dozens of clients, leaping from a complaint about the day's tuna to suggestions about what a chef should serve for an important dinner to advice about where someone in the business could find a new job.

His warm, wickedly funny personality was loved by co-workers and friends, but Nelson could seem an intimidating figure to those who didn't know him. His arms were covered in tattoos, the first reputed to be of Jimmy Page from Led Zeppelin. Pink and blue shades of hair color came and went, along with short spikes and long and stringy locks.

"He was always fashion conscious in an outsider kind of way," said Bob Burns, his roommate and bandmate in the '80s. He put on different personas of his favorite musicians: Dave Gahan of Depeche Mode, Freddy Mercury of Queen, Alice Cooper.

Nelson played in bands from high school on, including Bop Cats, Quadrant and Mood School. "His '80s cover band, A Fixx of Seagulls, showed what an excellent emulator he was," Burns said.

Nelson had a purple VW Golf for about five years and when it quit working, he parked it behind his apartment and never drove again. He took a cab to work after that, Lauer said.

He didn't use credit cards. He asked Weinstein for her credit card when he found a dog online and needed one to make the purchase.

The dog, a miniature dachshund named Jolie, became the muse to channel his sense of humor. After Nelson bought her, Weinstein gave him a "365 days of dachshunds" calendar. Nelson wrote a caption for each picture every day to share.

Chef Lenny Russo of Heartland restaurant in St. Paul, a friend and customer of Coastal, shared Nelson's sense of humor. He told Nelson that having a miniature dachshund named Jolie seemed a bit effeminate. Nelson's response? "Good."

Nelson then encouraged Russo's English cocker spaniel male to mate with his dachshund. "We'll have cock-a-weenies. We'll be in-laws," Nelson said.

To his friends and co-workers, he was socially savvy, engaging and easy to get along with, but he grew selective about the people he spent time with. Helen Miller of Minneapolis, a former chef and former girlfriend, described Nelson as having a dual personality. "He had his public self where he talked to chefs and vendors all over the world but at the end of the day he shut off the public side," she said.

On Sundays, his relatives in North Dakota would get a text or phone call, said his brother, Bruce Nelson, of Portland, N.D. "We all knew a text from Brian would make us laugh," he said. "But we also knew we'd better open it privately."

Nelson is survived by his parents, Earl and Wilma, brothers Bruce and Joel, all of Portland, N.D., and his sister Jill Carlucci of Puyallup, Wash. A memorial celebration will be held at Sea Salt restaurant in Minneapolis from noon to 2 p.m. Sunday.