The first 25 years of my life, beginning in 1921, were closely enmeshed with the Reverend Wilmer S. Poynor, rector of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Florence, SC. Known universally throughout the greater Florence community as “Parson” Poynor, he was familiar with and respected and loved by all strata of the community—whites and blacks, young and old, Episcopalians and other.
Mr. Poynor endeared himself to all by frequent visits to parishioners’ homes and to neighborhoods of other citizens. And he always made his rounds on foot, regardless of the weather, the season, or the distance involved.
I recall his visits to my home where he always had an enthusiastic greeting for us. The only downside of his visits was his habit of sharply pinching my cheeks and those of my two sisters and intoning a bit of mumbo-jumbo as he did so. But we recognized that it was his method of expressing love for the young ones in his flock. (Nonetheless, my face would hurt for the next hour after his greeting!)
Mr. Poynor was not an effective preacher, but he epitomized the classic pastor in demeanor, appearance, and in word and deed. He truly lived his profession and set a high standard for all members of the clergy in Florence.
Parson Poynor baptized me, participated in my Confirmation service, and assisted in my wedding to Jessie Lawson, a Presbyterian. He then assisted in Jessie’s Confirmation and her entry into t he Episcopal Church and St. John’s, Florence.
I don’t know how saints are selected or by whom. I truly believe, however, that the Reverend Wilmer Poynor is among God’s saints in heaven—and deservedly so. Thanks be to God for him and others like him!
~ James A. Grimsley, Jr.
Mr. Poynor was the only rector of St. John’s for the first 21 years of my life. He was here when I was born, baptized me, presented me for confirmation and retired the spring that I graduated from college. What do I remember most?I remember, like most of my generation, the cheek pinching when we were children. It was an affectionate (sometimes painful) gesture where he grasped each cheek between his thumb and forefinger, squeezed and shook them to the accompaniment of the nonsensical, somewhat magical words “chinkum-a-pinkum-a-winkum.”
When I had been teaching a number of years, I took my girls ensemble, the Keynotes, to sing Christmas carols for the Poynors. Mr. Poynor was well into his 80’s and nearly blind. On the way, I told the girls the “chinkum-a-winkum” story. We were not expected that night - we just rang the doorbell and began to sing. It being a cold December night, Mrs. Poynor invited us into the living room to continue our carols. When we finished and began to call out “Merry Christmas,” Mr. Poynor said, “Is that the sweet voice of Miss Betty-Ann Darby I hear?” I replied, “Yes sir, it is.” With that, to the utter delight of a flock of teen-age girls, he made his way through the group, grasped my cheeks firmly and said, “Well, chinkum-a-winkum-a-pinkum!”I remember that he was not a particularly good preacher. But what a wonderful “pray-er” he was! When he prayed it seemed to me that he had a direct line to God. I remember the prayer he offered when I was preparing to leave on my first trip to Europe. He prayed for me, my traveling companion, those we would meet on the way, for the ship’s captain and crew — he literally prayed me across the Atlantic, through Europe and back home. A letter home from that trip recounts our audience (public) with Pope Pious. In it I say, “I couldn’t understand him for sometime because he prayed in four different languages. But when he came to the last - English - he sounded just like Mr. Poynor.
I think that the word that best describes Mr. Poynor is “minister,” for he ministered to the needs not only of his flock at St. John’s but to those of the entire city of Florence. I’ve never known anyone with greater Christian love, agape, and concern for his fellow man - freely given without regard for age, race, or creed. And in return he was loved and respected by all.
~ Betty-Ann Darby
Remembering Rev. Louis Haskell
When Doug and I moved to Florence in the spring of 1949, we rented a house on Palmetto Street across the street from the Maxwell home. It is no longer there—Sherwin-Williams Paint Store is near the site.
We had lived many places in the eight years we had been married … Charleston, Raleigh, Pensacola, Corpus Christi, and Wilmington. Doug spent part of that time on an aircraft carrier in the Pacific. He had promised me that when the war was over and his surgical residency finished, and we were settled where we were going to live, then he would consider joining the Episcopal Church. It was a big decision for him, having grown up in a small country Baptist church.
We had only been in Florence a few days when Rev. Louis Haskell rode up to our front steps on his bicycle. His warm smile and down-to-earth personality won both of us over. Doug decided right then that his conception of the Episcopal Church as “cold and formal” must not be right. If the minister could ride a bicycle to visit, that said a lot. That fall, Doug was in the adult confirmation class at St. John’s. We have been loyal members since 1949.
~ Martha Ellis
P.S. We have remained close friends with our first St. John’s neighbors, the Maxwell family.
Rev. Joseph Horn
The Reverend Joseph Horn, but to my family and friends, Joe Horn.
As a teenager, I called Joe ‘Mr. Horn’. Joe was always smoking those awful cigarettes, and I know that the camellia bushes that lined the sidewalk to the parish hall were taller than he.
Joe was dedicated to St. John’s and to the parishioners. Joe was always present at the hospitals or at the homes whenever someone was sick or having a baby. His support to the men and women of Alcoholics Anonymous was sincere and endless. They held their weekly meeting at St. John’s.
Joe had lots of children. I have often wondered where they all landed.
Joe was a simple person, and he always had a twinkle in his eyes, and so much everlasting love.
~ Barrie Baker Bozard
