Home: Authors: Dr. Lucas G. "Luke" Boyd
Retired Principal

Status: Member since August 30, 2008
Location: United States of America
Articles: 40 Active Articles, resulting in 6677 views
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TRCB - Member Profile - Dr. Lucas G.

Dr. Lucas G. (Luke) Boyd is the retired principal of Battle Ground Academy. Dr. Lucas G. "Luke" Boyd first saw the light of day in a three-room shotgun house on Jabe Dunaway's place near Anguilla, Mississippi. It was the depths of the Depression. His father had lost everything and had returned to the land to feed his family. However, within a few years he was managing one of those sprawling, 2,000-plus acre cotton plantations the Delta was know for. This plantation culture of his early years left an indelible mark on young Luke.

A stroke of good fortune and a good scholarship allowed him to attend The University of Mississippi, where he earned a B.S. degree. During his career he attended a total of five universities, three of which saw fit to grant him degrees: Middle Tennessee State University (M.S.), The University of Tennessee (Ph.D. in English History). Stints at The University of North Carolina and The University of Chattanooga were for special study in Economics and Far Eastern History, respectively.

He entered the Army through the ROTC program and served for two years as a lst Lt. in an armored unit. After leaving the service, he began a career in education which spanned 43 years both at the secondary and college levels. He retired after serving for 19 years as Principal of Battle Ground Academy, a private, college preparatory school in Franklin, Tennessee.

His publishing credits include: two books, Coon Dogs and Outhouses, Vol. I, Don't Call Me Hero (ghost writer) the story of a WW II bomber pilot; 9 short stores; l article in The Tennessee Encyclopedia of History and Culture. He currently writes regular columns for a local newspaper, The Williamson Herald, and for Mature Lifestyles magazine.
He and his wife, Sara, have been married for 53 years and have two children and two grandchildren. They live in Franklin, Tennessee.

He was the first dog I ever knew. The first memories I have of anything or anybody--the house, the yard, my parents--include him. He was as much a part of my family and my early existence as were my parents and younger brother and I loved him greatly.
My father loved to tell stories and tall tales. Some were true. Others had some elements of truth in them--maybe just enough to make the listener think they could be true, at least until toward the end of the tale. He had a way of making an observation or turning a phrase that would catch your attention and make it easy to remember. I recall one such phase at one of our Fourth of July fish fries.
My father was a great talker and storyteller. I suppose he acquired a good bit of this skill during the time he was a traveling salesman. He had several tall tales that he told on a regular basis, but what I liked best were the stories that were swapped when my uncles came to visit.
I turned fifty in 1982. For my birthday, my daughter gave me a copy of Eudora Welty's One Time, One Place. The book is a collection of photographs taken by Miss Welty during the early 1930s when she traveled over the state of Mississippi for the WPA. I grew up in Mississippi. Kimberly had recently moved there and begun a new job in Jackson. She was in the process of discovering a Mississippi that she never knew existed.
Back in the mid-fifties, Morton worked for a large company which had offices in several foreign countries. His job took him to England every month or so and he loved these "business" trips. Through his business connections, Morton became acquainted with several people who ranked fairly high on Britain's social ladder.
Now-a-days it is a joke to refer to a house as having "four rooms and a path." However, it was no joke in the 1930s in Mississippi. Most houses had a "path." This often-traveled thoroughfare usually led out behind the garden or smokehouse around a screen of elderberry bushes to the outdoor toilet. Some of the more cultured referred to it as the "privy" or "outhouse," but my family used the more earthy term "toilet."
In some ways he was just another country doctor. Of course, it was hard to find any other kind in the Mississippi Delta in the 1920s and '30s. With there being hospitals only in the larger towns like Vicksburg and Greenville, the country doctor was always the first, and in most cases the last, medical person anyone would see when illness or injury struck. It would be hard to overrate their importance.
There is documentary evidence from as far back as the ancient Egyptians and Sumerians of letters written by fathers giving advice and counsel to their children in all manner of life's situations. A few years ago, such an opportunity presented itself to me.
Robert taught fifth grade at a small elementary school located in a rural section of the county. Most of his students seldom traveled very far from home. Many had never been to Nashville even though it was only thirty miles away. For that reason he had planned a field trip to that city for them to see the Parthenon, the State Capitol, and several other interesting and educational things.
The land was flat. And to a girl who had lived her whole life in the mountains of north Georgia, almost scary flat like it had somehow gotten out of its assigned place somewhere in Kansas or Nebraska and wandered off, and not being able to find its way home, established itself in the northwestern part of Mississippi.