Shreveport City Councilman Grayson Boucher with wife, Heather

Grayson Boucher fulfills a need for public service

Periodically, 318 Forum’s Tony Taglavore takes a local person to lunch — someone who is well-known, successful, and/or influential — and asks, “What’s Your Story?”

It was 4:30 on a late February afternoon. Class was over, and the high school senior was working as a volunteer at Caddo Parish Fire District 5.

“They ran over the railroad tracks, hit another car head on, and (the crash) killed the driver instantly.”

The 18-year-old responded to the scene. “She was still alive, but she was trapped,” he said of the passenger. “It was an S-10 Blazer. The fuel injector was shooting gas on her. Then, it ignited and burned them both up. She was still alive.”

But he didn’t recognize her, even though he had been at school with her a few hours earlier.

“I could tell it was a white female because she had Keds on, and everyone wore Keds. I could tell she was white because her socks were pushed down, and she didn’t burn where the socks were. She was totally black.”

Before going to sleep that night, he learned Fifty-four-year-old Grayson Boucher, who has worn — and continues to wear — many hats but is likely best known as a Shreveport city councilman serving his second term, told me that excruciating story – and his story – during lunch at a place he chose: Monjuni’s Italian Café and Grocery on Louisiana Avenue. Grayson had half of a Porkie’s po-boy (he requested it be toasted crisp), a house salad (with an extra side of dressing) and unsweet tea. I enjoyed the turkey light salad and water with lemon.

“I remember lying in bed thinking their faces kept coming back to me — do I really want to do this? Do I have it in me to do this? I made that conscious decision to do it, and I did it up to 2011.

Grayson spent more than 20 years with both the Shreveport Fire Department and the Caddo Parish fire districts, fulfilling a childhood dream.

“I always wanted to be something in public safety. I didn’t know quite what — this sounds real nerdy, and I still do it to this day, but not as much — I listen to the scanner. Growing up, I knew all the cops. When I moved to Shreveport, I listened to the scanner but couldn’t understand what the Shreveport police were doing, so I migrated over to the fire department.” their names. The girl was a schoolmate, and the boy was a former schoolmate.

Grayson spent his first 12 years in Springhill, “I didn’t know until the news announced it La., doing things kids do in a small town. He later that night, because they were so burned.” rode motorcycles, went mud riding, played sports (“But I never enjoyed it.

Everybody thought since I was a big, tall guy, I would be really good at it. But I wasn’t.”), and was The Tin Man in the community theater’s production of “The Wizard of Oz.”

“Springhill to me was kind of Utopia, almost Mayberryish, but a little bit bigger.”

The town thrived as the home of International Paper Company’s paper mill. But in 1978, the plant closed, and just like that, 2,400 jobs were gone. Grayson saw people’s lives change. His father, a Realtor, helped executives sell their homes and move away.

“It gave me a little bit of an understanding as to how quickly your economy can switch.”

When Grayson’s parents divorced, he and his mom moved to Shreveport. Grayson loved Springhill and wasn’t interested in replacing that love.

“The move was traumatic. I didn’t want to leave. I had my whole family there.”

In fact, one day while at Youree Drive Middle School, Grayson decided he had had enough.

“I knew there was a pay phone across the street at the Texaco. I brought some quarters with me, and I was going to call my grandmother – my mom’s mom – to pick me up.”

But before Grayson could escape, the school’s assistant principal (Ollie Tyler, who later became Shreveport’s mayor) intervened.

“She took me in her office. She started telling me things to get involved with. How to make friends. She started introducing me to people. It just meant a lot to me. I remember how warm her hands were, taking my hand and telling me what I needed to do if I wanted to acclimate. It really helped.”

Grayson played in the school’s band (trumpet), as he did at Captain Shreve, where he was drum major his senior year. After graduating, Grayson went to LSU Shreveport off and on for a couple of years, but his heart was at the fire station.

“To me, conjugated nouns and all that other stuff just wasn’t as important to me as learning how to extricate somebody from a car or how to be an EMT.”

At 30, Grayson became chief of Fire District 5, building two fire stations and starting an ambulance transport service. At the same time, he was doing real estate and appraising. Grayson’s business had grown so big that he had to make a decision. That decision was based, in part, on something Grayson learned in a leadership class.

“Once you get to the point where you go to work and you don’t know what you’re going to do, it’s probably time to leave. I had done everything I wanted to do at Fire District 5. I wanted to stay around for my friends, but I didn’t want to stay around for the job anymore.”

But he still had the need for public service.

Grayson ran for Justice of the Peace and won. He ran for city council and, to his surprise, won. If not for the urging of Heather, Grayson’s wife of 31 years, he would not have been a candidate.

“I (told her), ‘I won’t win. I don’t have a college degree.’”

Grayson also didn’t have the connections he assumed he needed.

“I thought at the time, somebody like me couldn’t be friends with a doctor or lawyer, because I wasn’t as educated as them. I ended up becoming friends with a lot of doctors and lawyers. ... It just made me realize that no matter where you are in life, or what you do in life, it can always turn around if you have the ambition to do something.”

The father of two daughters has since won reelection. But it’s not so much putting out council-related fires in his district, but rather all those years putting out real fires and responding to life-and-death situations, that helped mold him into who he is today.

“There was an activist at a (city council) meeting one day who didn’t like what I was saying about something and called me a racist. After the meeting, I politely went up to him and said, ‘Look, I know a lot of what you’re doing is for show, and that’s fine. But I spent 24-25 years of my life as a fireman. I can honestly tell you I never pulled up to a scene, saw a black man laying there, and said, “I’m not going to treat you.”

The fact is, when your blood is running out on the street, and my blood is running out on the street, they are both red, and I’m going to try and save them.’”

In fact, in 2014, Grayson took that a step further. He saw his wife, who was a Centenary College police detective, shoot a man when, according to Grayson, the man pointed a gun at his wife’s police officer partner.

“I did CPR until the fire department got there.

He had a sucking chest wound. I covered it with my hand – my bare hands – and I did CPR for what seemed like forever, probably 10 minutes.”

The man died. “It’s a horrible thing to go through. (Heather) has a lot of emotion from that.”

Knowing how busy Grayson is with council business and real estate, I asked my final question. As always, what has he learned throughout life that could be helpful to others?

“When you’re going through life, you think things are screwed up. Nothing really makes sense. ... But when you go back and chronicle everything, God gives you a well-written novel. It’s just at the time, when you get bits and pieces, it doesn’t make sense. ... I just tell younger people that you may be lost, you may be confused. I’m still lost and confused on stuff. But if you look back at your life and what’s gone on, it chronicles pretty well. The hard times, the bad times, the good times. Usually, it ends up good.”

And God is still chronicling Grayson’s story.

Tony Taglavore is a freelance writer with 40 years of media experience. A former television news and sports anchor, he owns Sweet Lou Media, a full-service advertising agency.