Former Governor Edwin Edwards died this week; he was a larger-than-life figure who changed Louisiana for the better.
African-Americans have a special love for Edwin Edwards because, unlike any governor in the state, he worked doubly hard to ensure that African-American political, business, and community leaders were at the decision-making table.
Before his election in 1972, The Black community across the state engaged in “surrogate” politics. We sought a white candidate to speak for our concerns in state government. We were accustomed to the likes of the late Governors Huey P. Long, Earl Long, and former U.S. Senator Russell Long, who championed causes for the poor and some Negro rights issues.
We were also accustomed to State Representatives such as the late T.W. Humphries and Shady Wall carrying the ball for us in Baton Rouge as they stealthily courted and sidestepped racist’s interest at the same to get funds for Grambling, Southern, Conway Hospital, and others.
Edwards eliminated the idea of surrogacy. He called for a constitutional convention and changed Louisiana’s constitution in ways that destroyed the old ways.
Edwards was personally accessible to rank and file Black leaders without the need to go through elected leaders first.
For example, when he came to Monroe, he hosted meetings at the Bethel Baptist Church with common laborers, pastors, and a shoeshine man, Alfred Blakes, became his contact among our people. He was a frequent face in Black community social events, parades, and breakfasts.
No one had to go through anyone else; most of the leaders of his generation spoke of him as if he was a cousin, referring to him as “Edwin” without the title.
More than that, he used his influence to see that Blacks across the state received state contracts for roadwork, buildings, and even building rest areas along the highways.
Behind the scenes, he urged blacks to form companies to get contracts for painting the yellow lines on state highways and other projects. For the first time, Black business interest understood what it meant to be “at the table.”
The first black political leaders found a friend in the governor’s office. He pushed, twisted arms, begged, and played hardball politics to get monies for local projects targeting social programs in the minority community. It was not unusual for Black representatives to come home with drainage, social improvement projects, and criminal justice totaling a million dollars or more.
When Edwards came to town, he brought his wit, charm, and cajun humor with him. He was considered a political superman who often said the only way he could lose an election is that he was “caught in bed with a dead woman or a live man.”
Those who hated him called him corrupt. Those who loved him called him a “godsend.”
He served four terms as Louisiana’s Governor, six years in Congress, and served as a State Senator. He also did an eight-year stint in prison after finally being convicted on a federal conspiracy charge after three tries.
As soon as his prison term ended, he married a woman nearly 50 years his junior and became a proud new dad.
At 93, Edwin Edwards closed out his life, enjoying his seven-year-old son and etching himself a place in history that the people of Louisiana, especially minorities, will never forget.
Just as there will never be another Huey P. Long, the same can be said of Edwin Edwards.
He is gone, but he will never be forgotten.
