Brendan Stern

I was, and still am, heartbroken when I learned that John Perry, affectionately known as “Bird” to many of us, had passed away after several months in a coma. He was a generous husband and devoted father who loved his family dearly. He was also a basketball aficionado who loved the game as deeply as anybody I have ever met. 

I met him for the first time when I participated in the Gallaudet basketball camp in the mid-1990s as a middle schooler. He was Coach Bird.

I got to know him when I played basketball at Gallaudet from 2001 to 2006. He was Coach Bird.

I got to know him better when I started playing club basketball in the late 2000s. He was Coach Bird.

I got to know him even better when I coached with him at Gallaudet several years ago. He was Coach Bird.

And he had continued to coach until last fall when he fell at his son’s football practice.

The truth is, Bird will always be ‘Coach’ to those of us fortunate enough to have played under or coached with him.

Several memories of Coach Bird will stay with me as long as I am able. One is that he would invariably write “PRIDE” on the whiteboard before, at halftime, and after the game. If we won? “PRIDE.” If we lost? “PRIDE.” If we played hard or soft? “PRIDE.” If the opposing team excelled at shooting 3’s? “PRIDE.” If they were good at scoring in the low post? “PRIDE.” Sometimes, he would mumble something about having “fire in your eyes” for effect. But that was it. Nothing else. No fluff or excuses or tangents or fancy stuff about how to execute a hard show on pick and rolls.

I remember getting rather tired of it when I played in college, thinking he was repetitious and missing what it took to win games.

But guess what?

Looking back, Bird nailed it on the head because pride matters. Devising and executing good strategy or telling inspiring stories is nice but secondary because pride is the horse pulling the wagon. Not the wrong kind of pride featured in the seven deadly sins but the good kind that represents dignity and sacrifice. The type of steadfast belief that there are many things out there far more important than ourselves and that which makes us take less than we need and give more than we want. It drives players to sprint back on defense, dive for loose balls, and cheer for teammates from the bench. 

Another memory that sticks in my head is right after we won the United States Association for Deaf Basketball (USADB) championship in Minnesota, we were shaking hands with our opponents in a line, as is the custom in basketball. Before I knew it, however, an opponent with whom we had recently shook hands punched me in the head from behind. Bird was right behind me in the line and saw it all. He immediately rushed to my rescue, but this is not why I remember the episode. 

Instead, what is still vivid is that Bird was in tears. Literally. His eyes were puffy red, and he was wiping away sodium water for the next ten minutes. He was so bothered by what happened, so peeved that comrades in competition would act dishonorably. Although the knot in the back of my head went away shortly after the incident, the heartfelt depth of his loyalty and, yes, pride about what we should represent as athletes has stayed with me to this day.

As Robert Goodrich put it, goodness is the only thing that matters in life and is “our soul’s wallet,” leaving behind the sole remnants in life for which we will be remembered. Bird may be gone today, but he belongs to the ages. He was an unforgettable human being whose soul will live through so many of our memories. Not because he was fancy (he would have been the first to admit that he was as plain as 2 + 2 = 4) but because of his goodness. In a day and age when voluntarism and virtue are in short supply, he is an inspiration worthy of emulating. 

I once thought the world of basketball because it is a lot of fun. But now, it is not what will immediately come to mind when I think of the game.

Instead, it is the goodness that Bird stood for. His habit of volunteering anytime he was needed, his arms waving us off, his head tilted back softly and mouth slightly agape, showing off that dead front tooth caused by diving for a loose ball and coming up missing vital nerves, whenever we apologized for imposing or thanked him for his help. 

More games to scout in person? Gratitude for having our backs? Working with post players on their drop step after practice late into the night? Dropping off players who lived quite far away? We were always told that it would be “no problem.”

When we tell others about Coach John “Bird” Perry, we should start with his goodness. May we honor him by serving others and being proud.

Rest in peace. We will miss you.