Jimmie Davis; ‘Singing Governor’ Spread Sunshine

He feared he might go down in history as the character who rode his horse right up the state capitol steps and into his office in Baton Rouge, La.

He wanted to be remembered instead for his accomplishments as a two-term governor.

Or maybe for the 400 or so hillbilly, western and gospel songs he wrote and recorded that got him into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 1972.

But Jimmie Davis, Louisiana’s “singing governor,” who died Sunday in Baton Rouge at the supposed age of 101, unquestionably will be remembered for a single song he wrote well over 60 years ago whose ever-singable refrain begins, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.”

As a matter of fact, that horse he rode to work during his 1960-64 term after somebody complained that he spent too much public money on a Cadillac limousine was named Sunshine in recognition of the song’s success.

He gave the name, too, to a controversial bridge he built across the Mississippi, derided originally as “a bridge to nowhere,” but later credited with fostering industrial growth from Baton Rouge to New Orleans.

Davis proved to be one of the most colorful politicians in a state known for producing a rainbow, from populist Huey Long to gentleman scoundrel Edwin Edwards. “He was never once indicted--that’s unreal,” noted Edwards at one Davis birthday party. Edwards, who defeated Davis in the singer’s attempt at a third term and then signed legislation making “Sunshine” the official state song, was himself indicted for racketeering.

But Davis will live as a national figure, not for his record on state employee pensions or desegregation, but for adding that particular bit of musical history to the American consciousness.

Considered one of the five most popular songs ever recorded, “You Are My Sunshine” was first put on a disc by Davis in 1931, but he was so unhappy with the studio band that he refused to release the record. Eight years later, he made the first hit recording with his bandleader, Charles Mitchell, who is often credited as co-composer of the music.

Over the years, Davis’ indelible lyrics have been recorded by more than 20 major artists, including Bing Crosby, Gene Autry, Ray Charles, Andy Williams, Aretha Franklin and Jerry Lee Lewis. The song was featured in a 1947 film about Davis, “Louisiana.”

Davis was not sure exactly how old he was, noting only that he was born around the turn of the last century. Official biographies give his birth date as Sept. 11, 1899--or maybe 1901 or 1902. But Louisiana staged a blowout 100th birthday party in 1999, and a smaller celebration acknowledged his 101st a couple of months ago. Last year, Davis’ baritone was still strong enough to sing out:

The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping,

I dreamed I held you in my arms.

When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken.

So I hung my head and cried.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

You make me happy when skies are gray.

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

However long Davis’ life, it was an unusual and varied one.

Born in the long-vanished Beech Springs, La., one of a sharecropper’s 11 children, he grew up working 14-hour days in the cotton fields and sleeping in the family’s two-room shack.

But he was determined to get an education, and after high school he hopped a freight to Pineville, where he worked his way through Louisiana College, singing and picking a secondhand guitar on street corners. He taught high school and earned a master’s degree at Louisiana State University. Then he taught at Dodd College for Women in Shreveport, moonlighting as the Dixie Blue Yodeler on the city’s KWKH radio.

Encouraged by a Decca Records scout who heard his broadcast, Davis recorded his first hit, “Nobody’s Darling but Mine,” in 1934. He bought the 100-acre farm he had always longed for, and a brand new $400 Ford. He was on his way.

Davis recorded more songs, and appeared in such B western films as “Frontier Fury” and “Riding Through Nevada.”

But when songs failed to pay the bills, he got a day job as a court clerk, putting him near the politicians who urged him to seek public office. In 1938, he was elected police commissioner in Shreveport, and in 1939 he joined the statewide Public Safety Commission.

By 1943, he was ready to run for governor. Advocates said his singing reputation would help, as opponents sought to use it against him.

Although Davis said it was the late Huey Long’s brother Julius who encouraged him to go into politics, family member Earl Long became his bitter opponent in Davis’ first run for governor in 1943. The Long camp dug up a series of raunchy blues songs Davis--the man who learned to sing at Solemn Thought Baptist Church--had recorded from 1929 to 1934, when he was trying to distinguish himself from other singers.

Among them were “High-Geared Mama,” “Red Nightgown Blues” and “Alimony Blues.”

The Long camp played the songs at rallies to show that Davis was morally unfit to be governor. But the tactic backfired. Voters were far from shocked and outraged--they danced.

Davis blitzed Louisiana with the strategy of a little talk and a lot more song. He was elected twice.

The tuneful governor, who could neither read nor write music, also sang his legislative program, and the stunt proved so popular with the Legislature that he gave annual concerts in the state capitol for years after he left office.

He was remembered from his 1940s term for pushing bills to enact Louisiana’s first driver’s licenses and pensions for state employees, and from his 1960s term for presiding over the hard-fought demise of segregation.

Davis called five straight special legislative sessions to resist federal desegregation orders and created a grant program to aid private school pupils after the courts prevailed. Yet he assured detractors he was only dealing with the tenor of the times.

“When desegregation came, we did it without having anybody killed,” the man known as the “feel-good politician” proudly asserted. “We didn’t even have a fistfight.”

In or out of office, Davis continued his entertainment career, recording 52 albums. And he continued to sing into his late 90s, notably at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival and the Grand Ole Opry.

His second wife, Anna Gordon Davis, often sang with him in the gospel group the Chuck Wagon Gang. In addition to his wife, the former governor is survived by a son, Jim.

Mellowing in his later years, Davis asked to be remembered merely as somebody “who scattered a little sunshine along his path.”

From current Louisiana Gov. Mike Foster who said, “It’s a sad day. . . . an era has ended,” to anyone around the world who can sing “You Are My Sunshine” in any language, Davis certainly did that.