He was the son of Rev. George Bealer and Emily Winkler. He was a newspaperman and a Baptist clergyman after he gave up his newspaper career.

From "History of Bethel Association Including Centennial Meeting", by Alexander Lee Miller
Alex W. Bealer, who was a member of the Bethel Association and one of its most distinguished ministers, died at Blakely, Georgia in 1921, ending a most profitable pastorate at the Blakely Baptist Church. The Association said of him at its session in 1921 held with the Bluffton Baptist Church that:
"In the death of Alex W. Bealer, the State of Georgia, loses a sterling citizen, a devoted
minister, a gifted writer, and a man whom multitudes loved. While the last days of his life were spent as pastor at Blakely the entire State claims him as a worker and a friend.
Beginning his ministry in Atlanta, he served successfully at Cartersville, Thomasville, Eastman, Valdosta, and Murfreesboro, Tenn. To one of his cordial nature and liberal spirit, the extensive acquaintance thus gained meant an unusually wide reaching influence, for none who knew him but to feel the kindliness of his life and the potency of his faith. He generously and affectionately labored for Georgia's highest good and his work as District Organizer in the 75,000,000 campaign shows his remarkable worth and power, in the development in that part of the work assigned to him. Twenty nine years of his life was spent in endless and tireless effort in coordinating the activities of his pastorate, to the crowning of Christ as King. The poem below is the last poem that came from his pen and is an expression of what he expected beyond the River:

I wonder if I'll find
Beneath celestial skies,
Where gleaming rivers wind,
The things that please my eyes
And fill my inmost Soul with peace.

I'd like to see the sun
Peep up behind the trees
Where gleaming raindrops run
And where the droning bees
Their minor music never cease.

I'd like to see the sod,
Fresh from an April rain,
And like the breath of God,
I'd like to meet again
The fragrance from the heavens rare.

I'd like to smell the bays
That grow on Southern land
Besides the gleaming ways
Where the honeysuckles stand
To feed the hungry senses there.

Beneath the queenly trees
On which magnolia live
I'd face the heavenly breeze
And there I'd gladly give
My soul to mediation sweet.

I'd like to see the day
Fade out behind the west --
The stars come out to play --
And then, of all the best,
The silver moon I'd like to meet.

And how I'd like to see,
Close to the riverside,
Ten thousand children free
All running far and wide
Across the blooming meadows there.

I'd like to hear them sing,
Led by an angel fair,
The glories of their King
To fill the listening air,
With strains of rythmic music rare.

I'd like to see the light
That shines upon the street,
When children with delight
Their fathers' coming greet
And place their welcome on his face.

Ah! me, I love to dream
That these and even more
Upon my soul shall gleam
When on that heavenly shore
I step at last to take my place.