Dennis Lawrence Lusk lived life in a way that was unmistakably his own; patriotic, hardworking, sarcastic, loyal, and just quicky enough to keep everyone on their toes. He passed away on May 22, 2026, in Apache Junction, Arizona, following a tragic fall. Leaving behind a family and community that will deeply miss his steady presence, sharp wit and unforgettable personality.
Dennis proudly served in the United States Army during Vietnam as a drill sergeant and received the Purple Heart for injuries sustained during his service. He loved his country fiercely and carried that patriotism with him throughout his life. He believed the national anthem should be respected properly (and if someone sang it with too much “pizzazz,” there would be a good chance everyone nearby was about to hear his opinion on it.)
After his military service, Dennis built a respected career in law and public service; Serving as both a county attorney and justice of the peace. He believed in hard work, doing things the right way, and showing up for people when it mattered.
But the people who knew Dennis best will remember far more than his titles. They’ll remember the man who could build beautiful furniture with his own hands, who loved Porsche cars, who enjoyed riding quads and side-by-sides with friends, and who never lost his appreciation for craftsmanship, independence, and a good sarcastic comment.
Dennis loved mountain biking and road biking and fully embraced the world of cycling, including joking about “weight weenies” and every ounce shaved off a bike. He enjoyed shooting with friends, loved a good crime or law show, and could always appreciate a well-told courtroom story. And while he had many passions, he never missed an opportunity to brag about Susan’s cooking, which he believed deserved recognition far beyond their own kitchen.
He also had an enormous soft spot for animals. He adored his beloved dog, Halo, rescued numerous cats over the years, and faithfully fed the birds every single day. In true Dennis fashion, when birds built a nest near his front door each year, he would block off the entire entrance to make sure no one disturbed the eggs or the babies after they hatched. It was one of the many quiet ways his showed his kindness… not through grand speeches, but through steady care and protection for the creatures that depended on him.
He was a proud member of the Rotary Club and cared deeply about supporting young people in his community. He became especially known for sponsoring and presenting the Silver Sword Award to local NJROTC students, an honor that reflected the values he respected most: discipline, leadership, and service.
Dennis loved deeply, even if he sometimes expressed through teasing, dry humor, or stubborn advice. His children and grandchildren especially endured his famous habit of “biting cheeks,” a tradition that was equal parts affection and torment (depending on who you asked.) Beneath the sarcasm and playful pestering was unwavering loyalty of a man his family could always count on.
He is survived by his wife, Susan Lusk; his children, Cassandra McLeod, and James Lusk: his grandchildren, Camery McLeod, Carson McLeod, and Zirkander Lusk; and his great-grandson, Graham Richardson.
He leaves behind countless friends, stories, rescued animals, handmade treasures, and memories that will continue to bring laughter long after the tears settle.
And somewhere, we can only assume Dennis is still correcting improper anthem performances, protecting birds from anyone getting too close to the nest, admiring a well-built piece of furniture, debating bike weights, bragging about Susan’s cooking, and keeping a close eye on people-and animals- he loved most.
If it is true that a rolling stone gathers no moss, Dennis lived a remarkably moss-free life. I only knew him for 45 years or so. I say “only” because Dennis kept in touch with high school friends more than 60 years after graduation.
In the years I knew him, we rafted the Grand Canyon and hiked out and climbed to the top of Picacho Peak. We hiked all over Arizona, from Quitobaquito Springs to the Petroglyph Trail to Sabino Canyon. We likewise went target shooting throughout Arizona, from the forest east of Mormon Lake (where we saw a black bear amble across the Forest Service road not but 20 yards in front of his truck) to an area off Queen Valley Road on the way to Rogers Trough–and many points in between. We even drove to Colorado twice for long-range shooting opportunities available through on acquaintance of his. Dennis was hitting steel targets at over 1,000 yards!
He loved to travel. He would regale me with tales about his driving trips with his “Porsche Hooligan” friends, both in the U.S. and Europe on Autobahn Adventures.
My wife and I enjoyed two trips with Dennis and Susan–a “local” trip to the Desert Bar near the Colorado River and a “big” trip to France to visit the D-Day Beaches in Normandy and then on to the 24 Hours of Le Mans car race. He loved seeing the brake discs glowing red at 3:00 a.m. at the Tertre Rouge curve leading to the Mulsanne Straight.
Several things were readily apparent to anyone who spent much time with Dennis: 1) his love for and pride in his family–Susan, James, Cassie, Camery, Carson and Graham; 2) his love for and pride in his country; and 3) his loyalty to his friends.
I miss him already and will miss him for the rest of my life.
Vaya con Dios, mi Amigo!
Bruce Bowers
Yikes! And Zirkander, too! Sorry about that!
A few super powers that dad had; an intense care for others and bringing people together. If you were a part of his orbit, he made you feel like heaven and earth would be moved for you. Sometimes, this
manifested as visiting people frequently in the hospital, managing responsibilities in ways that seemed like he dropped everything for you, or simply being diligent in following up about your concerns. In my experience, his dedication to others was at a level that is almost unreasonable to expect from others.
His ability to organize not only served him well in his career, but made the lives of everyone around him richer. The annual ‘river runs’ never would have happened with out him, the JROTC sleepovers would have far fewer smiles, and there would have been far fewer road trips.
His love of life and deep concern for others will be sorely missed, and I fear, be some so much rarer among society writ large.
I was so saddened to hear about your loss of Dennis. Please know that my thoughts and prayers are with you and your family during this difficult time. No words can truly ease the pain of such a loss, but I hope you find comfort in the love and support of those around you and in the many cherished memories you shared together. Wishing you strength, peace, and comfort in the days ahead. I didn’t know him albeit convinced he was a wonderful man, and I know how much he meant to you. His memory will live on in the lives he touched and in the love you shared. Please don’t hesitate to reach out if there’s anything I can do for you.
Mother sends her love to a very special lifetime friend. We love you.
While remembering my friend Dennis is a pleasant thing for me, the reason for this remembrance is one of the saddest things I’ve ever had to do. We shared some great times riding the quads through the desert in different parts of the state, lots of target shooting, sharing stories and just being good friends. A few years ago, I was gifted a shooting bench, hand made by Dennis. The time and effort he put into it was apparent and I greatly appreciated it. Now it becomes a beautiful remembrance of a special friend.
Susan, our family will keep lifting your family in prayer as you navigate through this sad time.
I was Dennis’s childhood friend. We rode our bikes everywhere- down to Sears to buy hot cashews (we counted out equal half shares) and to Huntington Beach, eating raw corn from the stalks on the way home. I met Cindy and they were also friends. Once i was banned from seeing her and Dennis would drive her to my school so we could continue the romance. Dennis and i ran cross-country together. He was two grades older and was drafted first. He carried an M60 machine gun in Viet-Nam. He was able to visit me at Ft Ord and a sergeant came up behind and started yelling at two privates, causing Dennis to turn around, wearing his Combat Infantryman’s Badge. The sergeant, flustered, said “as you were” and walked away. That was a story we told again and again. Our lives paralleled after that, but in different states. We both became lawyers, had government jobs and loved Porsches. Dennis organized some great driving trips. Dennis was a good friend and a patriot. Our son went to ASU and interacted with him, Cindy and I saw James in Beijing. Rest in peace, friend. Alan and Cindy
Hi Susan, your husband Dennis was my judge back in 2006 at the Apache junction court. I will always remember him as he was passionate not only in his career as a Judge but he also cared about and was very understanding for others such as myself. He was my judge when I was a victim of domestic violence. I will never forget him and I was so sad to see that he passed. Please accept my condolences as you and your family navigate through this difficult process. There will never be a day that I don’t forget about him as he truly cared
Honorable Judge Lusk, I stood before you several times in the court room, as nervous as I was to stand before you I knew you had compassion, truthfulness and integrity in everything you did. It’s been since the early 2000s since I’ve last seen you. Until we meet again, thank you for serving or community. To the Lusk family and friends, please accept my sincere condolences.
I first met Dennis in 1990 while working undercover in the Metropolitan Area Narcotics Interdiction Squad (MANTIS). Dennis was a prosecutor in the Pima County Attorney’s Office who specialized in narcotics cases. We tried case after case together, and somewhere between the witness lists, the many well-intended shenanigans in court, and the late nights, a friendship took hold that would last the rest of his life. Dennis was the quintessential prosecutor: knowledgeable in the law, confident, persuasive, sarcastic, and stubborn, some of the same qualities people tended to pin on me, which is very likely why we got along so well. But unlike many other prosecutors, Dennis was willing to “push the envelope” when appropriate. I’ll never forget the time we went back to his office during a lunch break from trial and photocopied, cut, and banded $1,000,000 in fake, one-sided, black-and-white $20 bills for Dennis to use during his closing arguments. With the bills loaded into a paper grocery bag, we strolled back to court. After the “Defense” finished their closing argument, proffering some lame excuse as to why the defendant committed the crime, Dennis walked up to the jury for his second and last closing argument, paused while gently nodding his head from side to side, then poured out the sack of fake money onto the railing behind which the jury sat. “Greed… this is the only reason why the defendant sold drugs to Agent Azuelo.” Needless to say, the courtroom erupted in chaos, with the defense counsel streaming objections and the judge showing equal disdain. Dennis replied, “Nothing further, Your Honor,” then, as he turned and casually walked back toward our table, he shot me a clever grin, as if to say, “we got this one in the bag,” and of course, we did, because truth never lies. Dennis and I did so many trials together, and in retrospect, I don’t think we ever lost a court case… although there were a couple of sanctions along the way 😉. We became great friends, as did our wives and children. Dennis ultimately moved to Clifton to campaign for Greenlee County Attorney. During his campaign, Linda and I had the privilege of joining them on the campaign trail in Duncan, Arizona. What great memories!
When Linda and I visited Dennis and Sue at their home in Clifton, after he had been elected county attorney for Greenlee County, we got the full Dennis experience. Our young children spent hours playing with Cassie and Jimmy in a treehouse Dennis had built in the backyard, crafted, in typical Dennis fashion, to absolute perfection. We watched Fourth of July fireworks together and went on quad rides treacherous enough that someone almost always got staples, sutures, or casts. In my case, I even left one of those rides (Rattlesnake Canyon) by helicopter, first rescued by a DPS Ranger, our good friend Bobby, then medevac’d from Safford to a trauma center in Tucson. He never let me live it down, and I would not have wanted him to. Then there was the infamous border run, a quad ride from Patagonia to Sierra Vista, passing through Lochiel, Arizona, that just happened to coincide with a period of intense, politically charged border tensions. As best we could tell, a highly inebriated local resident confused us with border vigilantes, which we most certainly were not. He attempted to run us off the dirt road before retrieving a shotgun and opening fire. For our ragtag group of lawyers, judges, combat veterans, and lawmen, it was most certainly the first time in any of our lifetimes that we opted to run from conflict rather than stand our ground. Border fervor was at an all-time high, and we all knew we would only aggravate matters if we engaged, so, as the story goes, “we ran like a bunch of little girls.” By God’s grace, none of us were hit, and the perpetrator went to jail. In the end, all’s well that ends well, I reckon, and another “quad-ride” story was born.
Then there was the Porsche. Linda and I had the privilege of joining Dennis and Sue on a drive through Arizona and New Mexico that I will never forget. I can still hear him yelling at me on the radio to “get off your brakes” as we ran impossibly fast, taking corners harder than I ever had in my life (even as a cop). Using my tires to slow the car was a concept entirely foreign to me until Dennis insisted on teaching me the technique at full speed! That was how he taught most things… directly, fearlessly, and with complete confidence. I definitely learned a new skill that day.
I later visited Dennis in his courtroom after he was elected Justice of the Peace in Apache Junction, and I was not the least bit surprised by what I saw. His staff admired him, and the law enforcement officers who testified before him respected him. But what moved me most was seeing how he meted out justice to the defendants: with fairness, compassion, and a dose of accountability. Dennis embodied what is good and just in our judiciary.
Dennis had a generous streak that he rarely advertised. When Linda and I moved into our newly built home in Corona de Tucson, he arranged for a well-known Navajo weaver to create a rug for us, left intentionally unfinished on an exquisite loom Dennis had carefully crafted. To this day it stands in our home as a prized remembrance. It was a gift only Dennis would think to give: beautiful, deliberate, and full of the respect for craftsmanship that he carried into everything he touched.
Dennis was an avid shooter, and I will miss the days we spent together at the range or on our quad-ride lunch breaks.
We shared more than a friendship. We shared a temperament: incorruptible values and the refusal to back down from what we believed was right. We shared a love of fast cars and faster corners (him more than me), of long days at the range, and of rough country and the machines that carried us through it. Most of all, we shared the conviction that justice matters and that good people have an obligation to stand up against what is unjust. Dennis lived that conviction every day of his life. He was a man of unwavering character, and I will always count it among the great privileges of my life to have called him my friend.
If it is true that a rolling stone gathers no moss, Dennis lived a remarkably moss-free life. I only knew him for 45 years or so. I say “only” because Dennis kept in touch with high school friends more than 60 years after graduation.
In the years I knew him, we rafted the Grand Canyon and hiked out and climbed to the top of Picacho Peak. We hiked all over Arizona, from Quitobaquito Springs to the Petroglyph Trail to Sabino Canyon. We likewise went target shooting throughout Arizona, from the forest east of Mormon Lake (where we saw a black bear amble across the Forest Service road not but 20 yards in front of his truck) to an area off Queen Valley Road on the way to Rogers Trough–and many points in between. We even drove to Colorado twice for long-range shooting opportunities available through on acquaintance of his. Dennis was hitting steel targets at over 1,000 yards!
He loved to travel. He would regale me with tales about his driving trips with his “Porsche Hooligan” friends, both in the U.S. and Europe on Autobahn Adventures.
My wife and I enjoyed two trips with Dennis and Susan–a “local” trip to the Desert Bar near the Colorado River and a “big” trip to France to visit the D-Day Beaches in Normandy and then on to the 24 Hours of Le Mans car race. He loved seeing the brake discs glowing red at 3:00 a.m. at the Tertre Rouge curve leading to the Mulsanne Straight.
Several things were readily apparent to anyone who spent much time with Dennis: 1) his love for and pride in his family–Susan, James, Cassie, Camery, Carson and Graham; 2) his love for and pride in his country; and 3) his loyalty to his friends.
I miss him already and will miss him for the rest of my life.
Vaya con Dios, mi Amigo!
Bruce Bowers
Yikes! And Zirkander, too! Sorry about that!
A few super powers that dad had; an intense care for others and bringing people together. If you were a part of his orbit, he made you feel like heaven and earth would be moved for you. Sometimes, this
manifested as visiting people frequently in the hospital, managing responsibilities in ways that seemed like he dropped everything for you, or simply being diligent in following up about your concerns. In my experience, his dedication to others was at a level that is almost unreasonable to expect from others.
His ability to organize not only served him well in his career, but made the lives of everyone around him richer. The annual ‘river runs’ never would have happened with out him, the JROTC sleepovers would have far fewer smiles, and there would have been far fewer road trips.
His love of life and deep concern for others will be sorely missed, and I fear, be some so much rarer among society writ large.
I was so saddened to hear about your loss of Dennis. Please know that my thoughts and prayers are with you and your family during this difficult time. No words can truly ease the pain of such a loss, but I hope you find comfort in the love and support of those around you and in the many cherished memories you shared together. Wishing you strength, peace, and comfort in the days ahead. I didn’t know him albeit convinced he was a wonderful man, and I know how much he meant to you. His memory will live on in the lives he touched and in the love you shared. Please don’t hesitate to reach out if there’s anything I can do for you.
Mother sends her love to a very special lifetime friend. We love you.
While remembering my friend Dennis is a pleasant thing for me, the reason for this remembrance is one of the saddest things I’ve ever had to do. We shared some great times riding the quads through the desert in different parts of the state, lots of target shooting, sharing stories and just being good friends. A few years ago, I was gifted a shooting bench, hand made by Dennis. The time and effort he put into it was apparent and I greatly appreciated it. Now it becomes a beautiful remembrance of a special friend.
Susan, our family will keep lifting your family in prayer as you navigate through this sad time.
I was Dennis’s childhood friend. We rode our bikes everywhere- down to Sears to buy hot cashews (we counted out equal half shares) and to Huntington Beach, eating raw corn from the stalks on the way home. I met Cindy and they were also friends. Once i was banned from seeing her and Dennis would drive her to my school so we could continue the romance. Dennis and i ran cross-country together. He was two grades older and was drafted first. He carried an M60 machine gun in Viet-Nam. He was able to visit me at Ft Ord and a sergeant came up behind and started yelling at two privates, causing Dennis to turn around, wearing his Combat Infantryman’s Badge. The sergeant, flustered, said “as you were” and walked away. That was a story we told again and again. Our lives paralleled after that, but in different states. We both became lawyers, had government jobs and loved Porsches. Dennis organized some great driving trips. Dennis was a good friend and a patriot. Our son went to ASU and interacted with him, Cindy and I saw James in Beijing. Rest in peace, friend. Alan and Cindy
Hi Susan, your husband Dennis was my judge back in 2006 at the Apache junction court. I will always remember him as he was passionate not only in his career as a Judge but he also cared about and was very understanding for others such as myself. He was my judge when I was a victim of domestic violence. I will never forget him and I was so sad to see that he passed. Please accept my condolences as you and your family navigate through this difficult process. There will never be a day that I don’t forget about him as he truly cared
Honorable Judge Lusk, I stood before you several times in the court room, as nervous as I was to stand before you I knew you had compassion, truthfulness and integrity in everything you did. It’s been since the early 2000s since I’ve last seen you. Until we meet again, thank you for serving or community. To the Lusk family and friends, please accept my sincere condolences.
I first met Dennis in 1990 while working undercover in the Metropolitan Area Narcotics Interdiction Squad (MANTIS). Dennis was a prosecutor in the Pima County Attorney’s Office who specialized in narcotics cases. We tried case after case together, and somewhere between the witness lists, the many well-intended shenanigans in court, and the late nights, a friendship took hold that would last the rest of his life. Dennis was the quintessential prosecutor: knowledgeable in the law, confident, persuasive, sarcastic, and stubborn, some of the same qualities people tended to pin on me, which is very likely why we got along so well. But unlike many other prosecutors, Dennis was willing to “push the envelope” when appropriate. I’ll never forget the time we went back to his office during a lunch break from trial and photocopied, cut, and banded $1,000,000 in fake, one-sided, black-and-white $20 bills for Dennis to use during his closing arguments. With the bills loaded into a paper grocery bag, we strolled back to court. After the “Defense” finished their closing argument, proffering some lame excuse as to why the defendant committed the crime, Dennis walked up to the jury for his second and last closing argument, paused while gently nodding his head from side to side, then poured out the sack of fake money onto the railing behind which the jury sat. “Greed… this is the only reason why the defendant sold drugs to Agent Azuelo.” Needless to say, the courtroom erupted in chaos, with the defense counsel streaming objections and the judge showing equal disdain. Dennis replied, “Nothing further, Your Honor,” then, as he turned and casually walked back toward our table, he shot me a clever grin, as if to say, “we got this one in the bag,” and of course, we did, because truth never lies. Dennis and I did so many trials together, and in retrospect, I don’t think we ever lost a court case… although there were a couple of sanctions along the way 😉. We became great friends, as did our wives and children. Dennis ultimately moved to Clifton to campaign for Greenlee County Attorney. During his campaign, Linda and I had the privilege of joining them on the campaign trail in Duncan, Arizona. What great memories!
When Linda and I visited Dennis and Sue at their home in Clifton, after he had been elected county attorney for Greenlee County, we got the full Dennis experience. Our young children spent hours playing with Cassie and Jimmy in a treehouse Dennis had built in the backyard, crafted, in typical Dennis fashion, to absolute perfection. We watched Fourth of July fireworks together and went on quad rides treacherous enough that someone almost always got staples, sutures, or casts. In my case, I even left one of those rides (Rattlesnake Canyon) by helicopter, first rescued by a DPS Ranger, our good friend Bobby, then medevac’d from Safford to a trauma center in Tucson. He never let me live it down, and I would not have wanted him to. Then there was the infamous border run, a quad ride from Patagonia to Sierra Vista, passing through Lochiel, Arizona, that just happened to coincide with a period of intense, politically charged border tensions. As best we could tell, a highly inebriated local resident confused us with border vigilantes, which we most certainly were not. He attempted to run us off the dirt road before retrieving a shotgun and opening fire. For our ragtag group of lawyers, judges, combat veterans, and lawmen, it was most certainly the first time in any of our lifetimes that we opted to run from conflict rather than stand our ground. Border fervor was at an all-time high, and we all knew we would only aggravate matters if we engaged, so, as the story goes, “we ran like a bunch of little girls.” By God’s grace, none of us were hit, and the perpetrator went to jail. In the end, all’s well that ends well, I reckon, and another “quad-ride” story was born.
Then there was the Porsche. Linda and I had the privilege of joining Dennis and Sue on a drive through Arizona and New Mexico that I will never forget. I can still hear him yelling at me on the radio to “get off your brakes” as we ran impossibly fast, taking corners harder than I ever had in my life (even as a cop). Using my tires to slow the car was a concept entirely foreign to me until Dennis insisted on teaching me the technique at full speed! That was how he taught most things… directly, fearlessly, and with complete confidence. I definitely learned a new skill that day.
I later visited Dennis in his courtroom after he was elected Justice of the Peace in Apache Junction, and I was not the least bit surprised by what I saw. His staff admired him, and the law enforcement officers who testified before him respected him. But what moved me most was seeing how he meted out justice to the defendants: with fairness, compassion, and a dose of accountability. Dennis embodied what is good and just in our judiciary.
Dennis had a generous streak that he rarely advertised. When Linda and I moved into our newly built home in Corona de Tucson, he arranged for a well-known Navajo weaver to create a rug for us, left intentionally unfinished on an exquisite loom Dennis had carefully crafted. To this day it stands in our home as a prized remembrance. It was a gift only Dennis would think to give: beautiful, deliberate, and full of the respect for craftsmanship that he carried into everything he touched.
Dennis was an avid shooter, and I will miss the days we spent together at the range or on our quad-ride lunch breaks.
We shared more than a friendship. We shared a temperament: incorruptible values and the refusal to back down from what we believed was right. We shared a love of fast cars and faster corners (him more than me), of long days at the range, and of rough country and the machines that carried us through it. Most of all, we shared the conviction that justice matters and that good people have an obligation to stand up against what is unjust. Dennis lived that conviction every day of his life. He was a man of unwavering character, and I will always count it among the great privileges of my life to have called him my friend.