What Ever Happened to Joan Boyd?

In the 7th and 8th grades, I was lucky to find myself in Mrs. Boyd's English class in Durham, North Carolina. She was one of those people who profoundly changes your perceptions of life in ways you can't fully understand, but always remember. Actually, it was discussing Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery" the other day in class that triggered the memory of Mrs. Boyd teaching it way back then.

Joan Stapleton Boyd: many of us boys loved her. Not sure how the girls felt, as I was just hitting puberty and had my attentions at school fixed on the "older woman" at the head of the class. Now, she reminds me in hindsight a little of a younger Brenda Chenowith / Rachel Griffiths on Six Feet Under, before she lost her poise over Nate in marriage. We hated Mr. Boyd, by the way -- wanting to supplant him, I suppose, in our unbalanced boy fantasies. My friend Evan Farris adored her, as well -- for her mind, of course. She noted to him that, given one more year, she could have "whipped him into some kind of acceptable human shape." That's from his yearbook, which is where the photo above comes from, too.

Mrs. Boyd was sarcastic and smart as a whip and adorable at the same time. We could see through her, too, or so we thought, at least a little. She was probably improvising the best she could to keep us both engaged and at bay. Her husband hated our elaborate pranks, even though she challenged us to try our best shot. We responded by locking her out on the roof; giving her a novelty pen that wasn't supposed to stain but did; giving her bobble-heads with subtle (or so we imagined)love notes attached; and, thanks to the technical expertise of a Persian American guy named David Paydafar, set up a laser-tripped alarm that went off when she broke the beam. It's a miracle she didn't kill us at times. What a way to show affection!

Mrs. Boyd would call people "spastic" if they didn't shape up, but other than that, was really serious about reading stories and essays, novels and plays -- and getting us to write constantly, with as much precision as we could muster. But what I really basked in was one-to-one conferences with her, where she treated me with respect and like a real person, a rare thing in school at that age (and no wonder).

She left for Falls Church, Virginia, after my cohort finished the eight grade. Where she went from there, nobody seems to know. After all these years, the least I can do is express my gratitude to her for being a fabulous English teacher and role model of sorts.

Ciao!