Letting the Good Times Roll

By Gregory Jaynes

Louisiana's Governor parties his campaign debt away in Paris

Last year, on a fine October Sunday morning in New Orleans--the day after Edwin Edwards was elected to his third four-year term as Governor of Louisiana--the conversation over breakfast at Brennan's turned to campaign debts. In all, Edwards had spent roughly what the U.S. had paid for the Louisiana Purchase. About $4.4 million in loans from contributors remained outstanding. Somebody suggested taking everybody to South America in return for forgiveness of the loan. Somebody else suggested France. Two weeks ago everybody went to France.

Some people paid $10,000 for a seat. Some simply accepted a seat to forget that they had lent the campaign $10,000, or two seats if they had been good for $20,000. And some friends, journalists and legislators were given reduced rates, ranging from $2,100 to $2,500.

Organizers said they had raised slightly more than $5 milhon, that the deficit had been erased, that 616 Southern pilgrims were Paris bound, and that the time had come to "Laissez les bans temps rouler!" Harold Dejan's Olympia brass band, led by a prancer in a bowler and spats, bugled the revelers aboard two 747s and off they went, a "cou rouge" delegation if ever there was one, as one self-professed redneck exalted. They were indeed ready to let the good times roll.

They had a TWA jet named Gabriel and an Air France jet named Evangeline, and the Governor, an enormously popular Democrat, rode Evangeline. Edwards was Governor from 1972 until 1980, when he was blocked by the state's constitution from seeking a third successive term. He came back last fall, when he was eligible, and recaptured the office from the Republican incumbent, David Treen, who fell from grace with the electorate for committing the unpardonable sin--in Louisiana--of being dull. The Governor's raven-haired daughter Vickie explained the public's fondness for Edwards as the plane bibulously roared toward France. Said Vickie: "That man really gives a damn about his state."

Amid all the praise for the nondrinking, nonsmoking Governor, a gentleman aboard from the Louisiana press decided that the cocktails all save Edwards were enjoying could use some sour grapes. He mentioned that the Governor had come close to being indicted several times. To this sort of talk, the Governor has answered, "People say I've had brushes with the law. That's not true. I've had brushes with overzealous prosecutors but I've never had brushes with the law."

It was raining in Paris, a cold, sideways rain. The Louisianans had their new, flat, virgin passports stamped and got on their buses, which spread them around among four hotels. They were tired now. There was no whooping, no hollering. They had talked of tearing the town apart, but in the end they were as docile as garden slugs. The only recorded incident of aberrant behavior occurred at the Hotel George V, where, according to Manager Paulo De Pol, a man tossed his cowboy hat into the air, demanded a car and driver, and expressed the intention of hitting every bar in Paris. A little later, two of De Pol's employees carried the comatose celebrator to his room, where he remained for the next three days, conversing only with room service.

Overall, the deportment was exemplary, as Katie Robards, a housewife from New Orleans, had expected it to be. "We're a fun-loving, partygoing people," she explained, "but we know when and when not to. We know when to have too much to drink, and when not to, and this isn't the place to, and we're not."

So they did not. Instead, they got a little confused ("How do you get where you want to go?" "Ask your group captain." "I can't ever find the sucker"), a little weary of the food ("I wouldn't eat another bite of smoked salmon if you held a gun to my head"), and a little understanding of the virtues of Paris ("If you ain't got culture, you ain't got nothin' ").

The Governor went around visiting dignitaries, including President Franc,ois Mitterrand, promoting the 1984 World's Fair in New Orleans. He predicted, correctly, that these dutiful activities would not snag nearly so much attention as his gambling at Monte Carlo.

Down there, beneath the cherubs and the naked ladies painted on the casino ceiling, he won $15,000 at the crap table. Gambling is his recreation, the Governor said, as is riding horses, but riding horses "is not provocative."

The Governor's followers, who when you hear them speak of him are more like worshipers, trailed him to Monte Carlo, then to Brussels, then back to Paris. As the junket played out, the sole complaint, from the Governor on down, was that too many stops had been jammed into the itinerary.

And yet, given an unstructured afternoon, many couples chose to play card games in their hotels rather than go it alone. Small pleasures, like a solitary stroll, like watching fish break water in a fast city river like the Seine, went mostly unexploited.

Big pleasures were gargantuan: at a cost of $85,000, they had a black-tie dinner--with a band playing Dixie--at Versailles. "We couldn't even afford to paint it," said a well-heeled Louisiana contractor, "much less maintain it." Said a photographer from Monroe: "Those frogs flat know how to cater."

The press repeatedly questioned the delegation about Louisiana's reputation for corruption. "I don't cross the line," said the Governor. Between what? "Between what's legal and illegal." Monroe Businessman George Luffy: "I'm not dishonest. Nobody here is dishonest. I can't afford to have my butt in jail."

When they left for home, fatigued, last Thursday, their European experience appeared to have made but one noticeable change in them, and that was evident only among some of the men. A week earlier, these fellows were entirely without affectation, the sort who would pause unselfconsciously in mid-conversation to scratch themselves. Now they were returning to Louisiana, their topcoats draped fashionably over their shoulders, the sleeves dangling down outside their arms. --By Gregory Jaynes