Built in 1925, the John L. Early home in downtown Sarasota’s Laurel Park is linked to circus magnate John Ringling and his famed Ca’ d’Zan. The front steps and hearth are laid with the same terracotta and signature blue tile, gifted to Early by Ringling himself. If you’ve ever strolled through this walkable neighborhood, it’s likely that you’ve stopped to admire the oaks and flowers that precede its two-story, proud Dutch colonial facade. 

These days, the  home belongs to Jason Turner, 52, who is only the property’s fourth owner in almost a century. Before moving from Alabama into the almost-2,000-square-foot home at 1841 Oak St., Turner, who isn’t an interior designer but could be, had a strict gardening rule: white and green only. But pink and yellow blooms bursting toward the sidewalk show a change of heart.

“With this house, I made the conscious decision that I needed color and change in my life, so I wanted to make it look like Disney threw up,” he says with a laugh. In Birmingham, he was a church organist and choirmaster and, for 17 years, the director of a day school. He was also married to his partner, Robert, for 21 years, before he lost him to suicide. Moving to Sarasota, where he’s now a realtor with Michael Saunders & Company, gave Turner a fresh start, but he still honors his past, as he does the home’s.

Its first owner, Early, moved to town during the land boom in 1924 and opened a law firm. He was elected to the Florida Legislature in 1933 and served three terms. He also served as Sarasota’s mayor and first municipal judge. Among his clients: John Ringling and Edith Ringling, John’s sister-in-law.

In 1934, allegedly as pay for services rendered, the home was moved down the bay by barge, then hauled up Oak Street from its original address in north Sarasota. Early sold the home in 1996 and died three years later, at age 102. Turner bought it in 2019 for $718,600 and, over the course of a year, poured roughly $350,000 into cosmetic updates.

The kitchen now has all the latest appliances, with a large apron sink, white Shaker cupboards and lots of Carrara marble and counter space. The walk-in pantry looks like a secret speakeasy. Its door is cut in half horizontally (it’s what’s called a Dutch door), letting the top part, which has a cutout stretched with chicken wire, swing open while the bottom stays shut. Inside is a stocked bar, a sink, and everything you’d need to mix a Manhattan. On a wall are three original Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus posters, sold to Turner by the owner of the Waffle Stop after Turner asked more than a couple times.

The bathrooms are also decked out with Carrara marble. One has a walk-in shower enclosed in glass, while the other has a deep white tub. Surrounded by antiques, the home’s Nest and Lutron systems are a discreet reminder of the 21st century. Another update is a new roof that’s so sloped that three roofing companies refused the job. It cost Turner $50,000. He also added what he calls a “glorified hot tub” outside that is encircled by Chicago brick.

The art and furniture speak to Turner’s good taste. In the sitting room, there are two organs he plays, an original wood pew from his church in Birmingham and painted portraits of his and Robert’s mothers. A photo of Turner with Edith Windsor and Jim Obergefell, who fought to make gay marriage the law of the land, juts out from a bookcase. In a TV room outfitted with large leather furniture is a painting of the Supreme Court he and Robert commissioned when they wed there a year before it became a federal right.

“Robert was a pilot and owner of a large steel mill,” says Turner, who has a small tattoo inside each wrist—one a semicolon, the emblem for suicide prevention, the other an equal sign for LGBTQ+ rights. “When he died, the benefit of the pension was that I could get a lump or a monthly sum and I was able to invest it. If we had not been married, that money would have been gone. To think that someone’s life savings would have dissipated without marriage equality.”

Turner still plays the organ at a small Presbyterian church in Bradenton where the senior pastor is a woman. After nine years in real estate, “I found the spiritual side of it,” he says. “It’s helping the first-time home buyer, holding the hand of a 95-year-old who ran out of money, or helping a divorcée whose husband is addicted to drugs start over.”

Guests tell Turner his home speaks of who he is. “That’s the greatest compliment there is,” he says.