This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2010, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
He flips burgers, butchers syntax and drives a muscle car around his beloved west side.
But boxing Van Turner into some stale stereotype obscures his successes and cloaks the reality. And it cannot possibly explain the popularity or endearing charm of the simple kid from Glendale, who has become a faithful and frank fixture in both his corner stores and as the second-longest-serving member of the Salt Lake City Council.
With twinkling blue eyes and a gray flannel wardrobe, Turner looks like a throwback salesman from a Dickens tale. But rather than peddling politics or some fancy new product, Turner sells the 1950s — the era that imbued him with the small-business ethic he counts on as a guidepost.
If he had his way, the council would return to basics built on trust and resist temptations to "overdo things."
Jovial, with jet-black hair and a ready joke, the youthful 63-year-old will be favored next fall to win a fourth four-year term at City Hall. It marks quite a journey for the unlikely politician who never left the street he grew up on.
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Home is where his heart is • Turner was reared in the back of his parents' cinder-block mom-and-pop grocery on the corner of Navajo Street and California Avenue in Glendale. Built by his grandfather, the store became a dependable destination and the motivation for Turner's career.
It was there he witnessed his dad's hustle, the handshake deals and handwritten ledger that became the family bible. And it was perched on the edge of open fields where Turner watched horses gallop alongside Germantown, where many of the family's customers lived.
Helen Black, a 76-year-old neighbor who has known Turner since he was a child, remembers the playpen rigged from old bunk-bed springs in front of the store. Fast-forwarding six decades, she says the adult Turner takes strides to befriend Glendale's diverse blend, "and he's done a lot for the neighborhood."
"He's always very courteous — he speaks to everybody," she adds. "He may be a little tightfisted, but that isn't bad."
As a principle, frugality seems as firm as Turner's greased locks. He left business school at the University of Utah a hair early to start his own business: the Hook & Ladder burger joint that has become a nearly 40-year staple just steps from his parents' grocery. Turner also owns the adjacent Fire House Floral shop — another of his parents' long-standing stores — and more recently reacquired the corner shop that is now a salon.
"Van bought the shop just to keep us going," smiles Maren Perez, who has cut hair at the former family home for 31 years. "His mother would have killed him if she didn't have a place to get her hair done."
Walking up California Avenue in his jeans, tennis shoes and red apron, the blue-collar businessman notes his work hours are 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. every day. And his office — with no appointment necessary — is the picnic table out front.
"My whole life is kind of right here," he smiles. "I never got off the street. People say, 'Why do you spend so much time at work?' It seems like home."
Turner's current house, where he and his wife, Wendy, reared seven kids and he now serves in the LDS bishopric, is just a few blocks south — on Navajo Street.
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Life on a shelf • The sights and smells inside the floral shop would make an antique lover drool.
Slot machines, vintage bicycles and ancient stoves share space with derbies in display cases, World War II footlockers, century-old radios and a showcase room lined with old records ranging from Bing Crosby to silent movies to German polkas. Menus memorialize $1.70 cartons of Chesterfield cigarettes near bottles of Fisher beer, which Turner delivered through the neighborhood as a young man.
Inside a trunk, "The story of Van Blair's life" is penciled by his mother in an old loose-leaf exam book — a diary he calls his "baby book."
Propped against a work bench on the concrete floor of the storage room sits half a dozen "Turner City Council" yard signs — to be recycled, of course.
"Here's campaign headquarters," he says, not really joking.
Friends say Turner never discards anything and takes pride in reusing stuff. That applies to his classic car collection and Model A firetruck that the council uses for parades.
Turner and his sons rehab old Corvettes and keep an eye peeled for old British sports cars, especially Austin-Healeys. But his banana-yellow 1965 El Ranchero is his staple. "It was my high school car. That's all I've ever known," he says. "People see that car, they know it's me."
But his nostalgia revs up inside the old grocery.
"Them days, everybody brought you a little gift at Christmastime," Turner says, flipping through mid-century art prints given to his father as gifts by the Fisher Brewery family. "I'm going to get those framed."
The store is a living museum of the family's legacy — and Turner is not about to put it in a box.
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Crime and blame • When gangs began to hijack Glendale's mellow melting pot in the 1980s, Turner took umbrage. He parlayed neighborhood council stints into a seat on the City Council in 1999, determined to rebuild the area's schools along with its failing streets, lights and pipes. Most of that happened during the past decade.
Turner cites a new water main and removal of both the tire plant and 900 South trains as key accomplishments. Despite a spate of headline-grabbing murders, he says overall violent crime, drive-by shootings and even petty offenses are down. "We're almost half of what we used to be at our peak."
That sunny optimism feels more like a whitewash, says Michael Clara, who has lost to Turner in consecutive council races.
"He acts like he's selling real estate over there," says Clara, who plans to run against Turner again next fall. "I can't believe he would come out and say we don't have a gang problem."
Clara says west-side voters reward Turner because they know him. But he questions why Turner agreed to hand over the Sorenson Multi-Cultural Center to Salt Lake County, why he didn't fight harder for speed bumps and whether his voice is sufficiently strong.
Turner defends the progress made harder by the council's east-side advantage of five members to two. And he refuses to blame his district's problems on its heavy blend of immigrants.
Ailine Lao, who works at Glendale Middle School, credits Turner for his hands-on help — from getting Tongan kids into tennis lessons to delivering meals to seniors to hosting the annual Night Out Against Crime.
"Glendale is a place where you can find people from all over the world," Lao says. "He brings people together."
Fellow west-side Councilman Carlton Christensen, who points to the diversity of Turner's employees, notes the same dynamic existed at a family wedding.
"The room was full of every cross section of Glendale," Christensen recalls. "They all looked at home there, and they all considered Van and Wendy their best friends. That's when I realized this was clearly a community that accepted Van for who he was and has respect for him. Van's not one to stick his face in front of the camera or to do stuff for a political reason. Sometimes people may underestimate his understanding of an issue. He doesn't misunderstand anything."
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A simple man • When he's not hanging with family or camping at his Kamas spot, Turner loves to get dressed up for the Marine Corps ball downtown. "His wife is really patriotic," says John Saldivar, a 30-year neighbor and retired Marine who arranges the double dates. "They're really impressed with the Marine Corps."
At church functions, Scout meetings and in his work as a Latino adviser for the city, Saldivar has watched Turner's straightforward style win over people. "He speaks from the heart."
But his politics are cloudier, according to Councilwoman Jill Remington Love. "I have no idea what his political party is," she says. "He's a very independent thinker, and he surprises us."
That may be because Turner is an independent. He consistently votes for library funding and more cops and firefighters, but also supports gay-rights measures. He often refuses campaign dollars, preferring one-on-one conversations to contributions. "He's really the most positive person I've ever met," Love says. "He has no temper or anger in him."
Turner says his public service is just that.
"I deal in the world of trust," he shrugs. "City Hall needs that. If you have that, you have a good city. I try to keep it simple."
About Van Turner
Age • 63
Family • Married to Wendy, has four girls, three boys and 12 grandchildren. Lifelong Glendale resident.
Career • Owns Hook & Ladder restaurant, Fire House Floral shop and a Glendale salon.
Education • Spent four years in business program at the University of Utah.
Surprising fact • Likes the Beach Boys and loves to "get in the waves and get roughed up" body surfing at an Oceanside, Calif., beach.