The Nation : The Last Populist: Ed Edwards’ Graceful Goodby to Louisiana Politics

At the end of a long day working the Strawberry Festival in the 1991 Louisiana governor’s race, Edwin W. Edwards paused outside the little house he shared with his girlfriend and reflected on his political destiny: “Probably the best thing that can happen to me is to get elected and to die the next day.”

It took a bit longer, but that’s about what happened as, last week, Edwards told a shocked Legislature he would not seek a fifth term. In 1995, for the first time in a quarter century, Louisianians will go to the polls without Edwards on the ballot or in the wings, pulling strings.

To many, Edwards was acknowledging the reality that he could not win again and that it’s best to go out a non-loser. The voters, wracked by hard times and bad government, had grown tired and angry with the high-rolling Edwards act. The interesting part is that it’s been that way for the past 10 years. Edwards only died this time after coming back from the dead, and cutting the last great deal that he wants to be remembered for.

Edwards’ reputation was made in the ‘70s, basking in popularity despite his open disdain for middle-class morality. He dressed loudly, gambled heavily, made flagrant passes at women and regularly flirted with scandal. He approached adultery like sales, saying, “Two out of 10 women will go to bed with you, but you’ve got to ask the other eight.” He seemed reckless but was ever cautious of not stepping over that line between legal and illegal. Right and wrong was someone else’s hang-up.

Edwards once bragged in an election he could only be beaten, “if I get caught in bed with a dead girl or a live boy.” He was right--and reelected. Not just because he was entertaining and reflected the casual mores of his constituents, but also because he maintained a something-for-nothing contract with the people that kept populism alive in Louisiana long after it had died out everywhere else.

The secret was spending “Other People’s Money”--not his people’s. Gov. Huey P. Long wrote the script by levying the first big tax on the oil companies to build roads and bridges where only dirt lanes and ferries had gone before.

Edwards took oil populism to a new level, changing the severance tax from pennies on the barrel to a percentage, just before the Arab embargo and the quadrupling of oil prices. The money flowed in--and right back out again, into highways, hospitals, contracts for friends and many, many new state employees.

As California was going through a tax revolt, Louisiana was choking in dough--but not from the people’s pockets. Property taxes were, and remain, among the nation’s lowest--90% of Louisiana homeowners pay none. Government was not something people invested in and expected a return from; it was a sideshow they weren’t paying for and could laugh at.

The laughing, with the oil boom, stopped in the early ‘80s--just as Edwards completed his first comeback for a third term. He promised the good times would roll again, but with oil revenues diving, he had to ask the people to pay for it. And they got surly.

Then there was that problem of the line of the law. A U.S. attorney charged that Edwards had stepped over it in making a million dollars dealing in hospital permits as a private citizen. On trial, the governor kept up a brave, funny front. He arrived one day in a horse-drawn carriage, to make a point about the pace of the government’s case. He even made a pass at a young woman in the courtroom, only to learn she was the judge’s daughter.

The testimony was not as funny. A Las Vegas casino official testified that he collected hundreds of thousands of dollars in gambling debts from Edwards, once going to the governor’s mansion to receive a suitcase stuffed with cash. It didn’t go down well in a state with double-digit unemployment and 25% of its citizens below the poverty line.

Edwards’ popularity plummeted. His one grand scheme to bring back Other People’s Money--to build a giant casino in New Orleans--was buried in the distrust and disgust of an electorate turned against him. Counter to his own better judgment, he ran for a fourth term, but dropped out when he trailed angry reformer Charles E. (Buddy) Roemer in the 1987 open primary. In a political obituary, one writer concluded that Edwards could never be elected again, “unless he runs against Adolf Hitler.”

David Duke, a far-right extremist, would do. The 1991 election had little to do with Edwards, but he was the beneficiary of a conservative jihad between Roemer and Duke, which Duke won, only to be crushed by Edwards in the runoff. It’s not like the people had much choice. Edwards even joked about the one-armed man who said he would not vote because he could not pull the lever and hold his nose at the same time.

Louisiana made a mistake in not listening to Edwards the first time--when he wanted to build the big casino in New Orleans in 1986. Had it done so, the state would have a well-developed gaming industry; would be past the first wave of indictments and trials, and Biloxi would not be the booming new mecca of chance. But that’s what second, or fourth, chances are all about. Edwards spent his last political capital, and then some, to push through a casino bill in 1992. He had brought back Other People’s Money to help close the budget deficit and create the service jobs his base constituents would gladly fill.

Victory was bittersweet. Voters, once they figured it out, were incensed that they could not vote on the casino. His negative ratings shot back to the high 50s and froze there. His children were investigated for promoting business deals with riverboat casinos. Though they were cleared, for Edwards it was absurd that his no-good friends could make legal millions from gambling licenses but his son couldn’t sell a juice dispenser to a riverboat. Yet, with no indictments and a healthy, diversified economy, his fourth term has not been a bad one, graded on the curve. But he stayed too long, and then came back and stayed some more.

Perhaps the real turning point came early this year, when he fell from his horse and suffered a broken bone in his back. Recuperation was long, causing the 66-year-old to reflect on how life was short. The first shoe fell in May, when he married his 29-year-old girlfriend, Candy, in an unannounced ceremony. Fresh from his honeymoon, he dropped the bomb--he would not run again.

In his last 18 months in office, he can point to a record of renewed populism, of using Other People’s Money to take care of his own--especially his friends. His world’s largest casino will be built, and likely will be a winner long after legalized gambling spreads coast to coast.

The end comes gracefully to those who have been through it before. Edwards could have stayed gone the first time voters ran him off. But he had a legacy to leave and he would not be denied. With the truly gifted politicians, there are some powers that are not the people’s.*