by John Glatt
At eighteen, King Turpin Jr. moved to Knoxville, Tennessee, where he found work in a cotton mill. In August 1921, he married Nellie Griggs, who soon bore him a daughter, Agnes. King Jr. moved his new family to Lynch, Kentucky, and became a coal miner. Soon afterward, baby Agnes died after accidentally swallowing calcium carbide, which her father used to light his miner’s helmet lamp.
* * *
Family legend has it that King Turpin Jr. was miraculously converted to the Pentecostal religion at a prayer meeting in Lynch, Kentucky. He suddenly heard a loud voice from the heavens shout, “It’s a-comin’! It’s a-comin’! It’s a-comin!”
“At that moment,” wrote his grandson Randy, “the power of the Holy Ghost rushed from the top of his head down to his feet, and he began to speak in tongues.”
After his epiphany, King Jr. became a lay preacher, going down into the mines with his banjo and Nellie at his side, spreading the Pentecostal gospel message.
They had two more children, James Jackson and Robert, in quick succession. In 1927, Nellie bore King’s fourth child, Willie, who died a year later of gastroenteritis. On the baby’s death certificate, a doctor noted, “The family never gave any medication; they believe in divine healing.”
King Jr. moved his growing family to Arizona, where he became a minister of the Church of God, a radical Pentecostal sect that believes the Bible is the direct word of God. Founded in 1886, Church of God followers believe in baptism with the Holy Ghost, which is manifested by speaking in tongues. King Jr. would often speak in tongues during his services as the Holy Ghost took over his spirit.
“The gift of tongues and the gift of interpretation were frequently manifested,” wrote Randy, an ordained bishop in the Church of God.
In his book, Randy recounts an early church service where his grandfather spoke in tongues in one language before moving on to a completely different one and then interpreting in both. A multilingual member of the congregation stood up, announcing the Reverend Turpin had been speaking in perfect Spanish and Greek, neither of which he knew.
In 1932, the Reverend King Turpin Jr. moved his growing family two thousand miles east to Rock House Mountain in southern West Virginia. Soon after they arrived, Nellie died during childbirth, and Turpin immediately married sixteen-year-old Bertha Lee Church.
Thirteen months later, she bore him a son, James “Jim” Randolph Turpin—David and Randy Turpin’s father.
Over the next few years, King Jr. moved his family around West Virginia, preaching in various Pentecostal churches and working as a coal miner. He also built a home church onto his house in McDowell, West Virginia, inviting the whole neighborhood to his daily prayer meetings.
“Everyone knelt to pray,” wrote Randy in his biography. “Frequently in these times together, King and Bertha would speak in tongues, interpret tongues and prophesy … demonstrations of God’s power were part of their everyday life.”
Jim Turpin grew up in the strict Pentecostal religion, which he practices to this day.
“As far back as I can remember,” he recalled, “I always loved Jesus.”
All through his childhood, Jim attended services led by his parents. At the age of twenty, he witnessed his father delivering a message in tongues. It was followed by an interpretation with a special message to Jim: “Soon you will see mighty works of God performed.”
Soon afterward, a Church of God evangelist held a series of tent revival meetings in the neighborhood. King and Bertha brought Jim to one of them.
“The altar call was given,” wrote his son Randy, “and Jim went forward in response. He felt the spirit of God come upon him. He knew, in that moment, he had been saved. It was King and Bertha’s prayer that all of their children be saved.”
* * *
In June 1955, Jim married seventeen-year-old Betty Jean Rose, settling down in a modest house on New Hope Road in Princeton, West Virginia. Set deep in the heart of rural Appalachia, the small town, with a population of just 6,400, is known as the “Jewel of the South.” In the late nineteenth century, coal mining and the newly built railroads combined to create a lucrative new industry and make Princeton rich.
“Princeton was built on the coal industry and the railroads through here,” explained Bluefield Daily Telegraph reporter Greg Jordan. “This is the area where a lot of the coal industry got started in the United States in a big way.”
In May 1958, Jim and Betty Jean had a baby boy they named James Randolph, whom they called Randy. Three years later, on October 17, 1961, they were blessed with their second and last child, David Allen.
Every summer, David and Randy would visit their grandparents in Ohio, where they were now living. The Reverend King Turpin Jr. would play an important role in David’s and Randy’s childhoods, instilling in them a love of the Pentecostal church and its teachings.
“King did more than just play with [us],” recalled Randy. “He took time to impart spiritual treasures into [our] lives. At times … his eyes would glisten with tears, his face would become radiant, and he would start speaking in tongues.”
During long summer nights, the aging preacher sang them songs he’d learned in the 1920s, strumming along on his banjo. One of David’s favorites was “Long Boy.”
“I remember he used to call me ‘Long tall grandson,’” said David. “I have very, very fond memories of Grandpa.”
One summer, his grandparents moved into their Princeton house while Bertha had two hip replacements in a nearby hospital. During their extended stay, King Jr. would make his two young grandsons memorize some of his favorite scriptures from the Bible and then recite them in front of him.
Every Sunday, the Turpin family attended the Princeton Church of God on Oliver Avenue, where they became close friends with Allen “Wayne” Robinette, his wife, Phyllis, and their three daughters, Louise, Elizabeth, and Teresa.
“We were a big church family,” said Teresa. “My dad was a preacher, [and] David’s family grew up with our family … so Louise and David have known each other all their lives.”
2
“HE’S SO CREEPY”
Louise Robinette’s family had lived in Princeton, West Virginia, for more than a century. Her maternal grandfather, John Thomas Taylor, was a highly decorated World War II veteran who served in Europe and Africa. A first class gunner in the U.S. Army, Third Armored Division, he received a Silver Star, five Bronze Stars, a Purple Heart, and a Good Conduct Medal.
In December 1945, the handsome twenty-one-year-old returned to Princeton a war hero. He became a coal miner but was ambitious and didn’t intend to stay down in the mines for long. Taylor was a member of the Church of God and served as its chaplain for military funerals. It was through the church that he met and soon married Mary Louise Harmon, the daughter of a Pentecostal minister. They went on to have four children: Eugene, Glenn, Phyllis, and James.
But John Taylor’s broad, toothy smile concealed a ruthless ambition. Utilizing his heroic war record, he soon became a powerful player in Princeton politics as an American Legion lobbyist. He made his fortune helping real estate developers overturn the newly set up Veterans’ Emergency Housing Program.
In 1945, the United States faced a severe housing shortage due to a drastic cut in the number of homes being built. Returning veterans were hit the hardest, and it was impossible to buy new homes.
To solve the problem, President Harry S. Truman appointed Wilson W. Wyatt, the former mayor of Louisville, Kentucky, to the newly created federal post of housing expediter. The goal was to provide affordable housing for all, and Wyatt planned to give returning war veterans preferential treatment so they could get back on their feet.
“We cannot [welcome] our veterans [home] with a half-hearted housing program,” Wyatt explained. “[There] is nothing but confusion and blasted hopes for the homeless veterans.”
But the sweeping new plan was bitterly opposed by the real estate industry, as it cut into their profits. In Mercer County, John Taylor would fight it tooth a
nd nail, as his loyalty now lay with the real estate tycoons.
In late January 1949, he made headlines in the Bluefield Daily Telegraph for forcibly ejecting a Veteran of Foreign Wars representative from an American Legion meeting at the Statler Hotel in Bluefield.
“All veterans organizations are supposed to be interested in housing,” read the article. “But an interesting tip-off on the American Legion’s position occurred the other day when Legion lobbyist John Thomas Taylor kicked a Veteran of Foreign Wars (VFW) housing officer out of the meeting.”
During the meeting, Taylor became incensed as the VFW representative stood up to talk about the new federal housing policy to benefit veterans.
“John Thomas Taylor was pointing in his direction and sputtering furiously,” stated the article. “‘Get him out of here!’ he shouted.”
Another Legion official tried to calm him down.
“‘I don’t care,’ he yelled. ‘I’m running this meeting and I want him out of here,’” the article continued.
The VFW representative duly left, and the meeting continued behind closed doors, with some powerful real estate lobbyists, including the vice president of the National Association of Home Builders, in attendance.
“The Legion long has been accused of playing hand-in-glove with the real estate boys,” read the article, “especially when it comes to sabotaging Wilson Wyatt’s far-sighted housing program.”
A few months later, the powerful real estate lobby forced the suspension of housing price controls, and Wilson Wyatt resigned.
* * *
Over the next few years, John Taylor built houses and car lots all over the Princeton area. He opened the first Shell gas station in Mercer County, which was a big success.
“He was very wealthy,” said his granddaughter Elizabeth Robinette Flores. “He built, with his own hands, [his] home and a Shell gas station.”
His Shell station on Athens Road became a well-known local landmark, the only place to gas up for miles around. And Taylor took great pride in serving his customers personally.
“It was a thriving business,” remembered Lois Miller, who as a little girl used to buy gas there with her mother and aunt. “When you pulled in, John Taylor cleaned your windscreen and checked your oil while he pumped your gas. And I remember gas being nineteen cents a gallon.”
But it was common knowledge that Taylor was lecherous.
“He was very creepy,” recalled Miller, who now runs the Mercer County Historical Society, “and he’d play with your hand when you handed him money. He would just rub your hand and look at you kind of goofy-like while you’re trying to get away from him.”
Whenever they went to the Shell station, Miller’s mother would keep the window up, handing her daughter the gas money for Taylor.
“The same thing happened to my aunt when she bought gas,” said Miller, “but they had to get gas there, as there was nowhere else.”
A few years later, a friend of Lois’s took a summer job at Taylor’s Shell station.
“She told me he had molested her when she worked for him,” said Miller. “She said, ‘I don’t even want to discuss him. He’s so creepy!’”
* * *
On Monday, January 3, 1966, Joseph Maxfield was unloading gasoline at the Shell gas station when it caught fire, turning him into a human fireball. The thirty-eight-year-old tank truck driver suffered first-, second-, and third-degree burns over 85 percent of his body. He was rushed to Princeton Memorial Hospital in critical condition.
The story made the front page of the Bluefield Daily Telegraph, and John Taylor, now forty-two, told the reporter that the deliveryman had been unloading gasoline for about twenty minutes when he took a break, possibly to smoke a cigarette.
“Taylor reported the flames shot 20 to 30 feet into the air from an open hole leading to the underground gasoline storage tanks,” read the story. “He could offer no explanation for the fire, but theorized that fumes around the truck ignited.”
Taylor explained that neither he nor his employees smoked cigarettes but the tank driver did.
A few days later, Joseph Maxfield, who was married with four children, died in Princeton Memorial Hospital of his burn injuries.
* * *
To the outside world, John Taylor was a good churchgoing pillar of the Princeton community. But behind closed doors, he was molesting his own daughter, Phyllis. It was a dark family secret that would remain hidden for the next sixty-five years.
All through her childhood, Phyllis Taylor had been sexually abused by her father, unable to tell anyone. Her mother had no idea what was going on. The young girl felt trapped in the family home and was desperately looking for a way out.
At the age of seventeen, Phyllis started dating Allen “Wayne” Robinette, a skinny nineteen-year-old who had recently graduated from Princeton High School. Studious with a gift for figures, Robinette, who had grown up in the Green Valley trailer park and worked as a lay preacher, sported a crew cut and wore a pair of fashionable horn-rimmed glasses. It was a whirlwind romance. When he proposed marriage, Phyllis immediately accepted.
On July 20, 1967, the young couple applied for a marriage license at the Mercer County Courthouse. Nine days later, they married in a traditional double-ring ceremony at the Princeton Church of God, which they regularly attended and where Allen occasionally preached.
John Taylor proudly walked his daughter down the aisle. The attractive brown-haired bride wore a floor-length white silk gown, with delicate lace decorations on the bodice and train. She had a matching white floral headpiece with a cascading veil and carried a Killen daisy nosegay bouquet. The groom wore a smart black suit and striped tie with a white rosebud boutonniere.
After the ceremony, the guests went back to John Taylor’s house for the reception, featuring a three-tiered wedding cake topped with wedding couple dolls for good luck. A report of the nuptials of the wealthy man’s only daughter made the society wedding page of the Bluefield Daily Telegraph.
Exactly nine months later, on May 24, 1968, Phyllis and Allen had a baby girl, whom they named Louise Ann, after her grandmother. The cherubic baby was christened at the Church of God.
3
THE HONOR STUDENT
In 1974, thirteen-year-old David Turpin started at Glenwood Junior High School, just a few miles from his home. Mike Gilbert was in David’s class, and they would spend the next five years as friends.
“Our junior high was really small,” said Gilbert, “so of course you knew everybody. David was very intelligent but kind of quiet and kept to himself. He was nerdy and always did well at school with good grades.”
Even as a young teenager, David stood out from the other boys. Almost six feet tall, he towered over most of his classmates and always dressed very conservatively.
“He had really short hair and wore dress clothes most of the time in junior high,” recalled Gilbert. “He even wore a bow tie on occasions as a fashion statement. We’re talking about the 1970s, when everybody else had long hair and bell-bottom pants. David wasn’t like that.”
The two ninth graders soon bonded over chess, which David was obsessed with. He taught Gilbert how to play during gym class, when the teacher wasn’t looking.
Said Gilbert, “He already knew how to play chess, and he beat me one time in three moves. But he taught me something, and nobody has ever beaten me in three moves since then.”
* * *
On November 27, 1977, the Reverend King Turpin Jr. died in a Fremont, Ohio, hospital at the age of seventy-four. He had been in the hospital for a few weeks due to failing health; all his years down the mines had caught up with him.
“Tubes were running into Grandpa Turpin’s body,” wrote Randy, who visited him a few days before he died, “including oxygen tubes in his nostrils. Grandpa was fighting for every breath.”
David later penned a tribute to his grandfather for his brother’s biography.
“I mostly remember him as smiling, joking around, laughing
, carrying on … really just a lot of fun to be around,” he wrote. “We all really lost a lot when he died.”
* * *
In 1976, David followed Randy to Princeton High School, where he and Mike Gilbert began to grow apart.
“He had his own group of friends,” said Gilbert. “When we moved on to high school, he got a little wild and started wearing blue jeans.”
The Princeton High School yearbooks contain many photos of David’s achievements in various clubs over the years. A group picture from a Bible club picnic in the fall of 1976 shows fifteen-year-old David with a new Prince Valiant fringe, staring at the camera with a wry smile.
By the following year, David was the club’s treasurer and sits in front of the other members in the yearbook photo. Underneath is its mission statement: “The purpose of the Bible Club is to encourage Christian Fellowship during and after school. Along with fellowship comes the frolicking fun that Bible Club members enjoy in each other’s company.”
Bible club activities included bell-ringing for the Salvation Army, hosting a Thanksgiving dinner for an underprivileged family, and organizing a Christmas party.
Bluefield Daily Telegraph reporter Greg Jordan, who has covered the Princeton area for more than twenty years, said Bible study plays a vital role in Mercer County schools.
“It’s been said you can’t throw a rock around here without hitting a church,” he explained. “It’s a very churchgoing community, and the local schools study the Bible as literature.”
David also regularly made the school’s “B or Better” honor roll and was cocaptain of the five-member Princeton High School chess team, which competed against schools all over West Virginia.
