James David Lambert
It is Christmas Eve 2013. A nice
little fire crackles in our fireplace and my Lady, Ruth
Ann Lambert, is tidying up after a marathon session of
Christmas Eve shopping. Preparing for the day tomorrow,
but, am compelled to write a short note about a dear
Uncle I lost this year. The story may tend to ramble a
bit but then again, I am not a professional writer
either and am constructing this collection of stories
passed along. Once writing, further details re-emerge
from the remote corners of the memory. Actually never
got to spend a Christmas with him except for a phone
call he would always make on Christmas day back to Mom
and Dad’s house in Pacolet
to speak to the family, especially his Mother,
Mallie “Mama” Turner and his sister Phoebe, my dear
departed Mother. Well, here goes…
As a child growing up in Pacolet, SC, my Uncle Jim, James Hasselton Turner,
would come to visit once in a while. He lived in
California; a place I never knew and had only had heard
of from his stories about it as well as those from my
dear Mother, Phoebe T. Lambert, may GOD rest her soul.
My dear Father, James R. Lambert, Jr. still is alive and
I do love him so.
Uncle Jim was a Renegade and Southern Gentleman in the
same breath. One of four children born from my
Grandparents, Lannes C. Turner, and Mallie T.”Mama”
Turner of Pacolet,
Daughter-In-Law of the “Railroad Man,” Captain James H.
Turner of Pacolet,
SC, Section Boss for the then virgin Southern Railroad in Pacolet, SC,
ca. 1880. The original house he paid for in cash still
stands to this day and will be preserved. His little
writing table is safe in our den in Glendale now, well
protected, still bearing the under-side scribblings of
his and a few ink stains on the surface from his
prolific writing tendencies. A poem of his on the back
of a post card dated ca. 1908 is still in my possession
and hidden away well guarded in a gun safe. His fiddle
is still safely guarded by other family members, yet has
been silent for decades, although I can hear the sounds
of it ‘as heard in my mind’s ear’ from a distance on
some quiet spring night adrift on some warm little
nuance of a breeze.
A nice descript of my Great Grandfather, “Captain
Turner” was penned by in 1962, a former Pacolet resident, Joseph
M. McLaughlin, wrote his memories of when he and his
family lived in Pacolet not long after the turn
of the century. The current address is now 350 West Main
Street, Pacolet, SC. In Joseph McLaughlin’s words are
written,
“Sitting back
from the road, secluded and snug behind a nice little
orchard, came Capt. James H. Turner residence. Capt.
Turner was a retired railroad man and a farmer and was
a widower. His children, all grown, were: Pearl, Ben
(Benjamin), Annie, Grace and Lannes. Percy and Agnes
McMahan, grandchildren, lived with him. The Captain
was known for honesty and square-dealing. He wrote a
bold, beautiful hand, with lots of curlicues and
shadings.”
James H. ‘Capt.’ Turner moved to Pacolet somewhere
around 1870-1880 from Horry County, SC according to the
census records. He was the child of Hillary Aaron
Turner, a member of “C” Company South Carolina Coastal
Infantry in the Confederate army and discharged around
1865 ‘if’ my records are correct. Can’t track him back
up into North Carolina further before that. James
Hasselton took his first residence in a little boarding
house that used to stand about 25 feet from the railroad
tracks in Pacolet, a
short stone’s throw from where the original depot
building stood. That boarding house burned down in the
early to mid 70’s and the depot was relocated to a spot
about a half mile away. As a child I saw these events
with my own eyes but cannot testify as to the exact
dates and times the events occurred any closer.
Uncle Jim was reported to have repeatedly taken down
rabbits ‘on the fly’ with head-shots with a bolt action
22 caliber rifle. “Have heard that verbatim from his
mouth years ago.” After a session of shooting paper
targets with him, as well as, watching him light stove
matches at something near 25 yards with the same rifle,
I will call this Gospel from here out. A now humorous
story came from Mom, recounting how her brother Jim,
fresh from training for military service accidentally
discharged a 1911 Colt 45 into the walls of the living
room of Mama Turner’s house one afternoon. I presume the
original hole in the wall still exists buried behind
years of paint and paneling. Still chuckling on that
story I must say. As a prelude to this “pre-Kodak
moment,” Uncle Jim and some partner(s) in crime were
also beating a steady path after hours to the mortar
range at Camp Croft to
find a few souvenirs, especially unexploded duds. Well,
Jim got the bright idea to dismantle one and for some
reason(s) I still cannot ‘figure’ proceeded to beat the
fuze with a hammer on the railroad tracks. Let’s just
say a “Higher Authority” was looking out for him that
day and he got away with some shredded flesh and a metal
fragment or two in one hand to carry with him the rest
of his journey.
He had some how held on to his 45 after Naval Aviation
service in WWII, as I watched him break it down and wrap
it into several pieces that were shipped back to his
home in California at different pre-determined times
during one of his visits back East. Obviously I went
with him down into the wood line behind the house while
he fired off 20-30 rounds from it spending up some old
stock of ammunition that he had stored with it many
years before somewhere in our house before cleaning it
and breaking it down for piecemeal shipment while I
watched. He handed me a few odd ball pieces of small
arms ammunition to hold on to for some unknown reason
and they are still safe in a basement fireproof ammo
locker to this day as proof positive of a crystal clear
memory.
He once told me when I prodded a little about his
service in the Pacific during the WWII, he would only state
that he ‘flamed 4-5 Zeroes to the bottom, and left it at
that, as a tail gunner with twin 0.50’s” As a just
freshly commissioned 2 Lt. in1984, I never asked another
question beyond that to him on that subject, sensing he
did not really want to discuss the topic.” Respect
earned…..
This short narrative is only a tip of an iceberg that is
going to be written down as time permits of snap shots
from small town South Carolina. Much more to come
covering topics such as:
1. The time I ran from Mama Turner.
2. Whenever I heard “Aunt Mattie” proclaim Sweet Jesus.
3. An upside down pony ride on Windy Foot to the apple
tree.
4. Chasing foul balls when Pacolet High School Trojans
played baseball.
5. My first shot gun and PeeWee missing a fox at less
than 15 yards.
6. My pet crow and the surrounding controversy of his
loss.
7. Working the Mini-Shift at Pacolet
Mill.
8. …and many more to come.
This web site has
been started as a public service to share the story of
Pacolet.