by TOM KELLY
Editor and Publisher

In the standard 1950s political science textbook, "Southern Politics," by V.O. Key, Jr., the chapter on Louisiana is titled, "The Seamy Side of Democracy."

Key writes, "The southerner regards himself . . . as a hell-of-a-fellow. The hell-of-a-fellow complex has captured the lesser rural peoples more completely than the planter or town class. And, by this fact, the Populist-like candidate, with an earthy, sometimes profane, rip-roaring appeal, colored by disrespect if not ridicule of the nicer people, enjoys great advantage on the hustings in wooing the vote in the uplands, at the forks of the creek, and along the bayous . .

He continues: "Louisiana is not unique as a case in the pathology of democracy. Louisiana's afflictions have been only more acute than those of other states of the South . . . Venality occurs in many contexts, and the context of Louisiana irregularities must be kept in mind to identify a crucial problem in Louisiana politics, and perhaps in lesser degree, or some other Southern states. That problem . . . is that the common people have to rely for leadership on spectacular personages who, even if their own characters are spotless, are often aided by lieutenants with no clear realization of what belongs to them and what belongs to the state."

Of course, living in Winn Parish, ground-zero for the politics of Louisiana Longism, we have heard all this all our lives, and have come to whatever rationalization about it that we are able to live with, depending upon whether we are, or would have been "Long," or "Anti-Long."

Key writes: "Of Huey Long, most interpretations are too simple. They range from the theory that he and his crowd were ordinary boodlers to the notion that here was a native fascism. Boodling there was, to be sure. Fascism? Huey was innocent of any ideology other than the sort of indigenous indignation against the abuses of wealth current in the epoch of William Jennings Bryan. The Long phenomenon must be explained in terms of the pathological situation in which he arose, in terms of traditional anti-corporationism, plus the genius of the man himself in political manipulation and organization."

And so now in our time we have Edwin Edwards . . .

Consider: He's been shot at and missed by federal prosecutors several times for an astonishing variety of alleged schemes. (Maybe I am missing something, but I do not recall any state enforcement or prosecutorial jurisdictions intrepid enough to have collared him.) Some stray fire has ricocheted and caused casualties in the ranks. Charles Roemer. Clyde Vidrine. Others who took bullets.

In his personal life, he put former next-door-neighbor governor Bill Clinton to shame for in-your-eye brazenness, and was snickered at. Remember his public statement, "The only way I'll be criticized is if I'm caught in bed with live boy or a dead girl." He was elected Governor four times - count 'em - not to mention city council, state legislature, and U.S. Congress, and the possibility of impeachment never came up. Moral? Don't lie to cover up your sins.

During the Long/Anti-Long era, casino-type gambling and other nasty sports flourished more-or-less openly in several well-known spots in Louisiana, illegally but obviously hand-in-hand with a benevolent government and a forgiving citizenry. If systematic skirt-chasing was his personal avocation, Edwin Edwards' everlasting political legacy will be the saddling of Louisiana with the legalized gambling industry - all in the name of tourist dollars, money for school teachers, and civic improvement. Who'd a' thunk that conservative old Shreveport-Bossier, that traditional bastion of anti-Long incipient Republicanism, would have been so seduced by the slots and slicks and tracks as their civic and economic salvation, and that their boast would now be, "We're only behind Las Vegas and Atlantic City as a gambling destination"?

This is now the "new State order," after gambling had been constitutionally banned for nearly a century - a lesson learned from the 1880s Louisiana Lottery which utterly corrupted government and much of commerce in the State. Once was not enough.

By now everyone knows that Edwards finally got tagged with a ten-year sentence in federal court in Baton Rouge, on extortion charges involving issuing of gambling licenses. He's appealing to the U.S. Fifth Circuit. His son Stephen and four others involved in the extortion schemes face jail time. In unrelated federal cases, State Insurance Commissioner James Brown and former Commissioner of Elections Jerry Fowler face jail time for infractions while in office during the Edwards years.

Edwards denies he did anything wrong. In a statement on the court house steps following sentencing, the always-cool former Governor said he hoped God would strike him dead on the spot if he knew anything about $100,000 wads of cash allegedly being placed monthly in dumpsters to be funneled to him. He walked away without visible divine wrath - proof - or not - of something.

How about the future? At age 73, facing up to ten years in jail, are there nine lives? More? He mentioned a Natchitoches poll indicating 65 percent thought he should not spend more than two years in prison, and 53 percent thought he did such a good job as Governor that they would vote for him again.

" I may give them that chance," he reportedly said. If Missouri could elect a dead man for Congress, why not?

Edwin Edwards didn't invent venality and corruption, nor single-handedly spin the wheels that turn the tables that rake the money that goes to . . . to wherever it is that money goes when it is "spent" for gambling. He took the lead to make it legal, and seem like good, clean, Christian fun. A hell of a fellow!

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