Kingsport's Merry Prankster

 

Turf 

1948-2022

RIP

If you didn’t know him, you might wonder about that name. Was he named for a piece of sod? Turf? Why was he called Turf?

Turf was actually a term of endearment, a shortened version of his last name, McInturff. His full name was James Calvin McInturff.

But if you knew him, he was just Turf.

Of course, he wasn’t always Turf. When I first met him, in junior high when we played on the same City League basketball team, he was Jimmy.

But it wasn’t long until the Legend of Turf began.

Some remember it beginning the day he rode a minibike through Study Hall at Dobyns-Bennett wearing a Santa Claus suit and yelling “Ho, ho, ho.” Others recall the day he squirted a shaving cream beard on his face and ran shirtless down the main corridor of the school, shouting “Merry Christmas” as he passed each classroom.

Or maybe it was both. At the same time. Memories conflate and transform so maybe it was a motorbike in the main hall or a shirtless sprint through Study Hall.

The Legend of Turf was cemented early in his senior year when he located an ancient Cadillac hearse on a car lot in Bristol. He took up a collection from his merry band of pranksters, who called themselves The Trolls, and plunked $200 down on the used car dealer’s desk and drove off.

Soon The Hearse, as it became known, was completely associated with Turf and was making appearances all over town.

Anytime a yard got toilet-papered, there were always Hearse sightings reported nearby.

 When Dobyns-Bennett played Tennessee High, the Hearse led a Viking Funeral down Broad Street, with the Kingsport Police Department lending a hand for traffic control. Turf had talked the KPD into helping even though it probably wasn’t necessary. The Hearse was the parade.

The most famous appearance of The Hearse was when Turf sneaked it into the 1966 Fourth of July Parade, crashing the procession from a side street, anticipating “Animal House” by a decade. There’s a famous picture of that ride but it can’t be printed because the newspaper would have to black out a few hand gestures, quite a few, and then you wouldn’t be able to see Turf or The Hearse.

Despite all his antics Turf maintained perfect attendance through all twelve grades of Kingsport city schools: never sick, never ditched, never expelled.

Turf was the glue who held together The Trolls, a makeshift D-B gang that was all about fun. Even as the group spread out all over the country, and the world, after graduation – to Knoxville, Johnson City, Memphis, Birmingham, Vietnam – Turf kept everyone connected with frequent phone calls and letters. And as they moved into adulthood and fatherhood he kept the group together with road trips, to Tennessee bowl games and the Kentucky Derby.

Turf had gone to four different colleges, leaving each for a different – always hilarious – reason and finally getting a law degree at a YMCA law school in Nashville. No surprise to those who knew Turf; his dad was legendary Kingsport trial attorney Burkett McInturff. Turf may have been the son of a legend but he created his own legend.

He eventually set up his law practice, trial law, of course, just like dad, and his life in Birmingham, Alabama.

So when word reached Tennessee a couple of weeks ago that Turf had passed away, phone lines and email servers threatened to crash as Turf’s friends spread the news, each remembering a different story: the Daytona Beach trip culminating with Turf riding a jackass, the Orange Bowl journey that almost ended before it began when The Hearse conked out shortly after departing Kingsport.

That's Turf in the middle, riding the, uh, burro. 

The one story they all laughed about was The Night of the Half Moon when Turf and The Trolls, under cover of darkness, hoisted an outhouse to the top of the brand-new D-B Dome. The next day the Kingsport Times published a front-page photo, submitted anonymously, of the moonlit silhouette of the outhouse and a shadowy figure. It can now be revealed that that shadowy figure was Turf admiring his work.

Turf may be gone but Turf Tales live on.

Those who knew him can’t finish one story without telling another, all told with a big smile and an even bigger laugh, which is exactly what Turf brought to the daily lives of his friends.

No one tells a Turf story in the past tense. It’s like he’s still around, ready to create another memorable adventure.

Turf leaves behind three children, exactly the combination you would expect, a reflection of him: a lawyer (who is married to a lawyer), a recent law school grad, and, naturally, a wild child.

The wild child remembers her dad the way he would want to be remembered: “He wore his passion and uniqueness proudly. He was a wonderful father, the kind who told you every day that the sun didn’t rise until you opened your eyes. He never hesitated to be goofy and glowed when making those he loved laugh. He appreciated flowers and fine whiskey and spoke endlessly of his respect for his parents and friends. He lived an incredible fearless life full of legendary moments.”

This was originally published in the Kingsport Times News on Thursday March 17, 2022.

Still "Turf" - 2020

  

 The Original Legendary McInturff, Turf's Dad

Burkett McInturff, standing center

 

 Turf's dad, Kingsport lawyer Burkett McInturff, was every bit as much a legend as the son. 

When he died in 2012, I wrote this tribute to the father:

Burkett McInturf’s obituary said he was 94. It didn’t say if that was self-reported or from some other source.

You see Burkett had a thing about his age.

A half dozen or so years ago, I saw his son Jim at Wallace News. I asked Jim what brought him to town. Jim is an attorney in Alabama. He said his dad was in the hospital. Then he told me the story of when he first arrived at his dad’s bedside. “The nurse took me aside. She said, ‘Your dad sure is in good shape for an 85-year-old man.’ I started laughing. I told her, ‘Ma’am, he’s still lying about his age. He’s 87.’”

Burkett McInturf was a legend in Kingsport. And not just because of his legal skills, which were legendary enough. Burkett was a character, one of the last of his breed.

For almost half a century he was Kingsport’s go-to defense attorney. His reputation was so legendary that once another local defense attorney, in his summation to the jury, said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I can assure you that my client is innocent. If he were guilty, I wouldn’t be standing before you. He would have hired Burkett McInturf as his attorney.”

A few years back my buddy Jim Beck was testifying in a robbery trial – Jim is a pharmacist and he had been robbed. Burkett was defending the accused. Jim told me Burkett said, “Dr. Beck, do you see the man that you allege robbed you in this courtroom?”

Jim said, “I said, ‘I can’t see him but I think he’s sitting right behind you.’”

Burkett refused to move and Jim had to climb down from the witness stand to identify the defendant.

More recently former judge Roger Thayer told me he was downtown and noticed the door to Burkett’s office was open. “I was early for my appointment so I decided I’d go up and see how Burkett was doing.” He found Burkett on the floor with papers and law books spread out all around him. “I said, ‘Burkett, are you still handling cases?’ He said, ‘I am. I had two last week. I couldn’t hear a word they said in either one and I won them both.’”

When they installed the new roundabout at the intersection of Broad and Market, Sharon and Perry at nearby Central Barbershop decided to take bets on who would be the first person to drive through the circle. But they quit the pool because everyone took Burkett. Sure enough, two days after the roundabout was installed, Burkett plowed his Cadillac right through the center.

Burkett was a regular for breakfast and lunch at the Jan Mar restaurant, which was just a few steps from his office. He would shamble down the sidewalk. In his later years Burkett walked about as well as he drove.

He was there last Thursday in his customary spot in a booth against the wall, his napkin tied around his neck like a bib.

The next day at 12:51 p.m., about the time he usually paid his bill and began his walk back to work, he died. He was 94. Or 92, depending on who was doing the telling.