David
In Memory
By his sister, Helen, with family edits
In Memory
By his sister, Helen, with family edits
David Lowell Turner (3/24/1933 - 7/21/1994 at age 61)
Wife Patricia, sons Dave, Joe, daughter Beth
Family Branch: Parents, Artie and Esther (Goss) Turner
David was born to Art and Esther (Goss) Turner in that “little house by the railroad tracks” west of Poplar.
He was a sweet, gentle little boy with soft, light brown curls. He came west with the family to Kalispell and Lakeside MT, Gem and Burke ID, and finally Portland OR. While clerking at Kienow’s East Burnside grocery store in Portland, a pretty girl named Patricia Jensen came through his check lane, and paid for her purchases with a check on which she wrote her address and phone number (for ID, of course). We’re glad to report that David was smart enough to follow up on that.
He and Pat married September 27, 1959, after she graduated as a Registered Nurse (in her mother’s footsteps, also an RN).
When David was born, I’ll never forget how horrified I was when told I had new baby brother and they named him David! You see, one of my second-grade classmates was a very smelly, very backward, fourteen(?)-year-old. To me, the name David
only conjured up visions of that boy. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could pin such a name on a tiny, defenseless baby.
The years changed my view of course, and I grew to consider David a beautiful name.
David wasn’t named after anyone, but his first son and first grandson were named after him, David Lowell.
Sadly, he didn’t live to see that grandson.
After David’s and Pat’s first son, David Lowell (Dave), next came little Arthur Gail who died in infancy, then Michael Joseph (Joe), and Elizabeth Holly (Beth). Dave is Chief (civilian) of the Force Protection Detachment with the Regional Security Office, U.S. Embassy in Bangkok, Thailand, where he lives with wife Rebecca and their three little boys, Davie, Zachary, and Johnathan. Dave participated in rescue efforts in Phuket after the recent Tsunami. He was recently granted diplomat status by Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice. Joe and wife Lynnette are both attorneys, Joe in land use and as Municipal Hearings Officer, and Lynnette is an Administrative Law Judge who conducts child support and unemployment hearings. They have Kathleen (Katie), Madeline (Maddie) and Jackson. Beth married Randall David Durand. He not only has her Dad’s name as a middle name, but his birth date is the same as our David’s, 3/24. Beth is a Music Therapist for several Portland hospitals.
For years, David had a unique way of “sharing” food at the dinner table. For instance, there would be a serving of peas left. David would tip the bowl over his plate, spoon poised ready to scoop the peas onto his plate, and ask, “Anybody else want any peas?” Then he’d quickly scoop them all onto his plate. Well, at least he asked.
Like most kids, David participated in various activities in high school, including playing cello and wrestling (not at the same time). Our favorite was the time we went to see him play the milkman in “Our Town,” the play where the props are mostly imaginary. David drove an imaginary milk wagon pulled by an imaginary horse named ….. BESSIE! At intervals, David’s long frame ambled across the stage as he flipped imaginary reins and urged his horse along with, “Come on Bessie,” “Giddy up Bessie,” “Whoa Bessie.” Others in the audience hadn’t a clue why a row of Turners was laughing so hard.
He was always bringing home stray animals. I should have known better when he drove up to the house and said,
“Hold out your arms. I have something to show you.” He laid a sick piglet in my arms.
He served with the Army during and after the Korean War, and was a Police Officer in Portland for many years. His police motorcycle ended that career when the front tire came off at 60 mph on the Freeway. He returned to work, but his injuries ultimately forced a disability retirement. He went back to school and that led to his last job as Director of Facilities Management at Providence Hospital in Portland.
While a Police Officer, David was always telling stories on himself. He was initially assigned to a police car. This was about the time seat belts made their appearance. Like many of us, it took him a while to get used to them. He stopped his vehicle, opened the door, moved for a fast exit, and the top of his long frame nearly hit the pavement because the rest of him was still secured by the seat belt.
Later on cycle duty, he came upon a drunk who was staggering back and forth from sidewalk to street and beyond.
Several times David told the drunk to stop, that he wanted to talk to him. The drunk kept going. All the while David was struggling with a malfunctioning kick stand on his cycle which finally tipped and dumped David on the pavement. Now he was really agitated and yelled at the drunk, “Hey! I told you I want to talk to you!” To which the drunk responded,
"Well, you’re the one who fell off hish bishicle.”
The last years of David’s life, the family lived near Estacada in an 1865 house they refurbished. While there they joined the Christian Church. Wonderful, but somewhat worrisome! That church baptizes by immersion. The minister there was considerably smaller than David, his 6’1” daughter, and his 6’5”+ sons. The congregation was holding its collective breath as the diminutive minister struggled to dunk those long people without drowning himself.
David had a great sense of humor, but at times it was just a little perverse. For example, he would say, “Helen, I have something I want you to hear.” Then from deep inside long David rolled this loud BUR-R-R-R-R-R-P. When he was overseas during the Korean War, I went with a date to a Spike Jones show. Spike is/was a great musician, but his shows were also side-splitting three-ring circuses. At one point, he announced there was a lady in the audience who had won a chance to come up and meet him on stage. A portly lady in a bright red dress rose and came down the aisle and up on the stage.
This was all an act, but done very realistically. Spike asked her if she could have one wish granted, what would it be.
Her wish: She wanted to sing with his band and, conveniently, she just happened to have some sheet music which she pulled from her purse. Spike gulped, hesitated, then agreed to grant her wish. The band played and she sang “Indian Love Call” in an amazingly beautiful voice. Toward the end she opened her mouth wide for a high note, and out came a familiar sound. A very loud BUR-R-R-R-R-R-R-RP! She clapped her music and hands over her face in embarrassment, which also muffled the burp, temporarily. Spike tried to comfort her and encourage her to finish her song. Finally she recovered enough to open her mouth to finish the high note. Instead out came the rest of the burp. In my mind, I saw David up on that stage. There I was, missing my “little” brother and hearing this reminder of him. Of course, everyone laughed. But I was in hysterics. Through the end of the show and beyond, I just couldn’t stop laughing and giggling at this hilarious re-enactment of this memory of David. I don’t know what my date thought, or people around us for that matter. At least my date got an explanation later.
Over the years, David’s family took several exchange students into their home and one violist from a touring European youth orchestra. The Portland Youth Symphony performed a joint concert with the European group. Beth, a bassist in the Portland group, was privileged to perform with the combined orchestras. Son Dave (in Thailand) is a linguist. The family traveled to a number of foreign countries. Pat and Joe just returned (Jan. 05) from a trip to Thailand, post Tsunami, but the big attraction for her we suspect was three little grandsons.
David left us too soon. He missed his daughter’s beautiful wedding, and all but one (Katie) of his dear little grand-kids.
We miss you, David!
(April 2005)