John Muir Perkins, our humble superhero, passed away in Des Moines, Iowa on February 9, 2026. He was 76 years old.
John lived a life of contentment and subtle exceptionalism. He was a gentleman and a gentle man. His ability to patiently put complex topics into simple terms was shared in his capacity as a lawyer, civic leader, husband, father, brother, son, uncle, and friend.
John had a reputation for integrity that he earned from engaging everyone competently and in good faith. He used his robust vocabulary to interpret as opposed to intimidate. He was the man who spoke with a voice that didn’t need volume to hold attention. He was a natural and capable collaborator while still being nobody’s fool. He would help educate you if you were open to shedding your ignorance when challenging him. If you thought confidence excused your ignorance, then you were in for a lesson.
John routinely made it into his hometown newspaper, initially for being a standout high school student and athlete and later in life for being an exemplary leader and pillar to his community.
He dutifully filled a variety of civic leadership roles, however, his most cherished and primary role was as the patriarch of the Perkins family and husband of Judy Perkins. The proof was in the pudding.
John’s son, John (the younger), navigated coming out as gay back in the 1990’s, when coming out could far too often result in family estrangement or worse. He shared his truth with his mother back then, days before he had the opportunity to tell his father. John the father sat his son down upon learning this and told John the younger how hurt he was and how he felt the weight of having failed as a father. John the father didn’t feel hurt or depressed to have a gay son. Instead, he summed up his pain and sense of shortcoming as “it meant I didn’t make you feel safe enough and loved enough to want to share such an important part of your life with me sooner.”
John the younger spent his entire life knowing and proudly sharing the rare gift of such a loving and supportive father. He tragically passed away to cancer just days before John the father received his own terminal diagnosis. Their deaths are exactly one month apart.
John’s daughter, Jennifer, took after his love of basketball in her grade school years and committed on levels that only elite talents could realize. He made a promise to train her without pressuring her. He vowed to stop the moment it was too much. Countless 5AM mornings of training drills before school helped her become the first person in 30+ years to beat his high school career scoring record at their shared alma mater. John only missed a handful of her college basketball games despite the home games being a four-hour drive away. Many years later, Jennifer relayed to her dad about a doctor’s warning that her knees couldn’t handle her playing one more game of basketball. She told her dad how she would hang it all up after a local game that weekend in Minneapolis. Upon learning this, he drove 3+ hours to show up to watch her play a random rec league 5-on-5. He told her, “I was there for your first game. I wanted to be here for your last.”
John’s youngest son Jeff, after a gap year or few, followed in his father’s footsteps attending the same law school and practicing in the same area of law. John had countless wise tidbits to share along the way and could have shared infinitely more given the opportunity. John never imposed his mentorship, yet he was always available to lend an attentive ear and share his invaluable insight gained from over forty years in the profession. They had a celebratory dinner the day the Bar exam results came out. John knew the anxieties of that entire process well. He again knew the perfect way to assure and affirm his son, “I just want you to know how pleased I am with you getting through all of this. I say pleased because I would be proud of you regardless of any result.”
His sweet nature shone its brightest when it played off the excitement of his grandchildren. Jimmy and Jacklynn would light up and shriek a joyful “Poppa!” whenever they’d see him. This gentle giant would gladly take a little one’s hand as they paraded him around and showed off the day’s latest accomplishments or made up things to talk about. His back rubs and pats were their favorites, and his lap was the best seat in the house for a millionth viewing of a Bluey episode. The mere mention of his name could be the antidote to many a toddler tantrum.
He made the label “in-law” superfluous. Those who have passed before him saw each other as family and those who survive him hold places in their hearts all the same: Jan, Sue, Nicholas, Jimmy, and Marie.
And then, of course, there was his wife, Judy. They met “shortly after the earth cooled” during college. They could recount their meeting and first date as if it was yesterday. Their longest running rivalry may be their only unsettled bit of business: whose story about Jude’s response to his proposal was correct? (hers: “You did it! You really did it!” His: “You did it! You *finally* did it!”)
Fifty-four years of marriage; a consistent home; some varied careers; several active slots on community organizations, community groups, and charities; three children; two grandchildren; and zero secrets later he would still refer to Judy as “my bride.”
He was the fuel to her flair. He was the point to Jude’s exclamation. He’d say she was the picture and he was the frame. He would dance because she was dancing.
He was the beat in her heart.
Everything about him inspired an appeal to be better, which is what attracted everyone toward him. He was a complete net positive—an accomplished, honest, kind, and content man—deserving of recognition at a time when those qualities seem irredeemably lost around all of us.
We will need to carry on and we will. Meanwhile, we will be hosting a celebration of life between 1:00 and 4:00 PM on March 14, 2026 at Allora Cafe, 1459 Grand Ave, Krause Gateway Center, Des Moines, IA 50309.
For the many who have asked what they can do, our ask is to do what you can to leave a positive mark in this world. Integrity, credibility, care for others, and service seem to be in such short supply these days, and nothing would make John happier than for you to make an effort to counteract that trend.
If you are inclined to make a financial contribution to something on his behalf, we ask that you consider a donation to the Sarcoma Foundation of America or to make a blood/platelet donation just as we did on John the younger’s tribute.
Final fun fact: John the father was once a director on the board of the American Red Cross and was in the two gallon blood donor club before they cut him off because of course he was.
Remembering John M. Perkins 