Edwards Faces Trial : Cajun King’s Crown Slips in Louisiana

BATON ROUGE, La. — And now, for a change of pace in politicians, meet Edwin W. Edwards, 58, Louisiana’s flamboyant, enormously popular third-term governor, fondly known among locals as “The Cajun King” or “Fast Eddy.”

Small and dapper, his silver hair accented by a perfect tan, Edwards is slick, glib and smart. When he grins, he reveals a gap between his two front teeth that sometimes lends him the fleeting look of a round-faced, impish kid in need of braces, instead of what he is--a complex man of many faces, most of them appealing, all of them carefully calculated.

He is, at one minute, the thoughtful, well-spoken statesman, fully in command of the facts, nicely turned out in a well-tailored, gray three-piece suit, absorbed in discussion of some of Louisiana’s most pressing problems--education, unemployment and the importance of attracting new industry.

Flair for Vulgarity

In the next minute, he is the bawdy rake of local lore, lover of the good life, especially given to gambling and pretty women. Grinning ear to ear, leaning across the table in mixed company, he tells a sex joke about Cajuns and Jews, Tampax and lawn mowers, so crude that it’s almost funny. Edwards’ famous flair for vulgarity seems to surface in conversation, on the average, about every 15 minutes.

Then comes the face of the martyr, carefully devoid of any anger, bitterness or self-pity, only quietly resigned, as he discusses his recent indictment by a federal grand jury on 51 assorted counts of corruption in an alleged scheme to rig state hospital permits.

It came as no real surprise to him, says Edwards, the seventh governor in U.S. history to be indicted while in office. By his own count, he has been the target of 13 federal investigations in the last 15 years, probes into everything from suspected sale of state offices to a $10,000 gift his wife received from South Korean lobbyist Tongsun Park in 1971.

More to Come

(And the government isn’t finished. Even if Edwards is acquitted this time, U.S. attorneys are currently investigating his role in two other transactions that could lead to future indictments.)

Edwards’ explanation is simple, matter-of-fact: A liberal Democrat, he is the victim of political persecution, he says, hounded relentlessly by “overzealous Republican prosecutors . . . a vicious, cynical and heartless group of people. The Republican Party today is in the hands of neo-Nazis and archconservatives.”

By discrediting Democratic leaders, Edwards says, “Republicans hope to shed the image of Watergate-- the major political corruption scandal in America, next to the other major Republican scandal, Teapot Dome.”

(In fairness, he adds, Democrats are guilty of witch hunts too, when they control the attorney general’s office: “Fellas like Bobby Kennedy used the office for political purposes all the time.”)

From there, Edwards, who began his political career on a small-town city council, moved on to serve four terms in Congress and has never lost an election in 15 races, lapsed into a moment of melancholy, thinking about what might have been.

He might have been President of the United States. In fact, he said, it was that private dream that led him--alone among Southern Democratic governors--to snub Jimmy Carter and support the presidential candidacy of former California Gov. Edmund G. Brown Jr. in 1976, then again in 1980.

“It was a calculated risk; I said at the time it was sort of like buying the last ticket on the Titanic,” he said wryly, enjoying the story.

Second Spot on Ticket

” . . . On the other hand, I said to myself, ‘Self, he (Brown) may not make it this time (‘76) . . . but in four or eight years he might be the Democratic nominee. . . . And I was lookin’ to the possibility of hookin’ up with him on the national ticket (as vice president) somewhere down the line.”

The Cajun King playing second fiddle to Jerry Brown?

Edwards looked halfway startled, then grinned at the very idea.

“Well, darlin’, I sure as hell didn’t expect to be playing second fiddle very long ,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Even if he’d got in, I knew that fella would’ve never lasted.”

But those happy days of unlimited schemes and dreams are gone.

Faces 265-Year Term

Now Edwards’ chief ambition is simply to stay out of jail. The trial is scheduled to begin Sept. 17 in New Orleans. If he is convicted on all counts, his sentence would add up to 265 years.

Indicted along with Edwards were his older brother Marion, 59, a nephew and five business associates. Essentially, the government accuses Edwards, an attorney, of conspiring with the others, while he was out of office (1980-84), to give special treatment, once he was reelected, to a hospital consulting company which paid Edwards $2 million in purported legal fees. (Edwards’ brother, an investor, earned $1 million.)

Edwards denies any favoritism in his later actions as governor, and he is currently seeking to have the indictment thrown out on grounds of prosecutorial misconduct before the grand jury.

As for the $2 million, Edwards is, characteristically, uncowed.

‘What’s Wrong?’

“So what? What’s wrong with making money? You don’t get rich as governor, you know. When I left office (in ‘80), I was only worth about half a million; now I’m worth maybe 3 to 5 (million). But I did it as a private businessman, not as governor. So there’s nothing illegal about it.”

Already, TV is begging for permission to broadcast his trial, which promises to be a delicious daily show with an all-star cast.

Edwards intends to play a major role in his own defense--assisted by Nashville attorney James Neal, 55, who gained fame as chief prosecutor in the Watergate conspiracy trial, sending three of Richard M. Nixon’s top aides to jail (and, later, successfully defended the doctor who prescribed Elvis Presley’s drugs).

Aggressive Prosecutor

Chief prosecutor will be John Volz, 50, an aggressive U.S. attorney in New Orleans who has already jailed several prominent government officials and recently dazzled Louisianans by convicting reputed Mafia chief Carlos Marcello, who had eluded authorities for 25 years, on assorted racketeering charges.

Edwards generally refers to Volz in his most languid drawl, dripping contempt, as “that fella down in N’awlins. . . . He was a Democrat, you know. A Carter appointee. But he changed his registration after Reagan was elected to keep his job. Tells you what kinda fella he is.”

“Anybody who’s so stupid as to suggest that changing a party affiliation can secure a job with this responsibility should take a civics course,” retorted Volz in tones of cold, deliberate condescension.

In Baton Rouge, meantime, another U.S. attorney, Stanley Bardwell Jr., far less circumspect than Volz, nearly endorsed Edwards’ conspiracy theories.

Second Indictment

Sitting behind his desk, grinning at all the wrong times, Bardwell, 45, a former Baton Rouge corporate attorney and Reagan appointee, practically admitted that the government hopes to stack the deck against Edwards by asking for a second grand jury indictment before he even goes to trial on the first.

Bardwell is heading an investigation to determine whether an audit of Texaco was improperly switched from a private firm to state auditors in order to save the company several million in back taxes. Although the investigation is still under way, Bardwell’s mind seemed to be made up.

“On the face of it, it certainly looks like there was some attempt to provide some basic relief to Texaco,” he said.

Same Problem

But the government’s problem, presumably, will be the same one it has faced in every previous investigation of Edwards--demonstrating that he somehow directly benefited from questionable deals.

“I have to give Edwards credit, he’s brilliant, he plays the system like a violin,” Bardwell said. “He has an uncanny knack of charging headlong to the brink and knowing exactly where to stop . . . and he doesn’t even try to cover his trail, he’s that cocky.”

But now, he said, pointedly sly, “We’ve been paying more attention to how he operates.” Then, casually, Bardwell added that he hopes to present his findings to a grand jury by late summer--before Edwards’ trial even begins.

“Oh, the timing certainly isn’t deliberate, it’s just coincidental,” he said, grinning.

Edwards is far from alone in his troubles. In fact, so many Louisiana officials are under investigation, or have been, and so many of them have been indicted and jailed that, to an outsider, Louisiana resembles a state under siege.

Currently, U.S. attorneys are investigating Louisiana’s lieutenant governor in connection with the sale of World Fair demolition contracts. In separate cases, the Speaker of the House is also reportedly under investigation, as well as the state insurance commissioner, the state superintendent of education and at least two state legislators.

Among the steady parade of public officials who have already gone to jail during the past few years, convicted of everything from taking bribes to extortion, are the state attorney general, an agriculture commissioner and a couple of his aides, a U.S. congressman, the former president of the state Senate and Edwards’ former chief administrator.

Local Corruption Too

Corruption is thriving at the local level too. Here in the state capital, 11 city officials and contractors were recently indicted in a major bid-rigging scandal.

Enough in most states to leave a shocked citizenry reeling.

But not in Louisiana.

It’s been said so often that it’s almost a cliche--but things are different in this lush, sultry Gulf Coast land of rice paddies, oil fields and alligator swamps, where Cajuns, Creoles, Anglos, blacks and a dozen other groups blend in perhaps the nation’s richest ethnic mix.

More than other Americans, Louisianans seem to have not only an extraordinary appetite for colorful-to-incredible politicians, but also a remarkably high tolerance for corrupt ones too. Not long ago, the citizens of Baton Rouge reelected a state senator charged with corruption, forcing the state Senate to expel him from his prison cell. In a nearby county, a crooked sheriff was handily reelected after serving time in his own jail.

It has practically become a local pastime trying to figure out why this should be so.

Monarchial Traditions

Delving into the collective Louisiana psyche, Louisiana State University historian Mark Carleton, among others, argues that while other American states were influenced mainly by England, where democratic traditions flourished much earlier, Louisiana today is a direct reflection, culturally and psychologically, of the rigidly monarchical traditions of its colonial masters, France and Spain, who alternately owned and ruled Louisiana from 1699 to 1803.

Thus, Carleton concludes, whereas other Americans take for granted that power resides in the people, many Louisianans still inherently accept the elitist notion that rulers are above the law.

(What his theory fails to explain, of course, is why Louisianans have not caught up with democratic ideals, when even the French and Spanish have.)

Virtually No Taxes

A more practical explanation is offered by local political writer John Maginnis, among others, in his new biography of Edwards, “The Last Hayride.” As Maginnis points out, for decades Louisiana has been so awash in oil revenues that citizens have paid virtually no taxes. And so Louisianans may have traditionally applauded political chicanery as high entertainment, simply because they could afford to: The money that corrupt officials stole wasn’t theirs. It came from oil companies and taxpayers in other states.

In any case, everyone agrees that Louisiana’s fascination with colorful characters goes back a long way, at least to those lusty, lawless days at the turn of the 19th Century, when the French pirate Jean Lafitte openly sold his plunder from Spanish ships to cheering New Orleanians--who consistently helped him elude frustrated authorities, even when they posted sizable rewards.

To those less historically inclined, it was the legendary populist demagogue and former governor, Huey (The Kingfish) Long, who set the tone for Louisiana’s tradition of personality politics.

Garish Monument

Governor from 1928 to 1932, revered as the champion of the poor, Long was once nearly impeached for thieving state funds, but Louisianans elected him to the U.S. Senate anyway. He was assassinated in 1936, as he prepared to run for President, and is now buried on the grounds of the state Capitol, a garish, 34-story monument he built to himself. Mothers still bring their children to see his grave, and countless tales of his flamboyant antics live on--a particular favorite, true or not, being the story of how Long once publicly relieved himself on the pant leg of a legislator who had displeased him.

In one of his more immortal remarks, Long once said in a speech at Louisiana State University:

“People say I steal. Well, all politicians steal. I steal. But a lot of what I stole has spilled over in no-toll bridges, hospitals . . . and to build this university.”

Smoother and Smarter

To many Louisianans, Edwin Edwards is Huey Long reincarnated--except smoother and smarter.

Unlike Long, for example, Edwards denies stealing--but, he once quipped, “Lying is a big part of my job.” And he openly admits that he sometimes draws a very fine line between what’s legally right and wrong.

Once accused of selling state posts in exchange for campaign contributions, Edwards only shrugged and said: “I didn’t put prices on offices--they (contributors) did. They’d make overtures about some office or other, and I’d simply say, ‘Well, that sounds good to me,’ or ‘I’ll look into it.’ Then later I’d just say it didn’t work out. People hear what they want to hear.”

On another occasion, discussing contributions he had received from large corporations in the 1971 campaign, he observed, again technically correct: “Well, maybe it was illegal for them to give, but not for me to receive.”

Bit of Melodrama

Sometimes, indulging in a bit of melodrama, Edwards compares himself to Long too:

“Our careers parallel. We both represent the underprivileged and the uneducated and the disadvantaged. They tried to impeach him and couldn’t, they tried to recall him and couldn’t, then they indicted him and couldn’t convict him, and finally they shot him. I don’t know if that’s in store for me or not. . . .”

After Long’s death, his successor, Gov. Richard Leche--the only other Louisiana governor to be indicted--was jailed along with the president of LSU and several others in a massive highway building scandal in 1939.

And dishonest Louisiana officials have been going to jail, off and on, ever since.

(Leche was succeeded by Long’s equally colorful older brother Earl, remembered today less for his leadership than--in a tale that still makes locals laugh--for once releasing himself from a state mental institution where his wife had committed him by invoking the powers vested in himself as governor to fire the hospital director and demand the keys.)

Some Are Ashamed

Some Louisianans, of course, are ashamed of their state’s reputation as a haven for the colorful and the crooked.

“There’s no moral indignation left in Louisiana,” said veteran lobbyist Henri Wolbrette, both disgusted and resigned. “The public has become so inured to corruption in government that people don’t pay any attention to it anymore.”

“In any other state, (unethical politicians) would be run out of office. Here, people just sit back and eat crawfish and drink beer and laugh,” sighed a state legislator from New Orleans.

But a young bookstore clerk may have summarized prevailing attitudes best as he described one particular bumper sticker, so popular that he can hardly keep it stocked. It reads, “Louisiana, Land of Indictments,” he said, chuckling. Like his customers, he thought it was pretty funny.

But, with the exception of a small band of gleeful Republicans in Louisiana’s sea of Democrats, it’s hard to find anybody who thinks Edwin Edwards’ predicament is amusing.

Edwards is probably the most popular governor in Louisiana history. After serving from 1972 to 1980, then skipping a term (state law limits governors to two consecutive terms), Edwards was reelected by a 2-1 landslide in 1983, becoming the state’s first governor to be elected to three terms.

(In another historic footnote, it was also the most expensive winning gubernatorial race on national record. Edwards spent about $14 million--$1 million less than what Thomas Jefferson paid Napoleon for the Louisiana Purchase in 1803. Left with a $4-million campaign debt afterward, he wiped it out by chartering two jumbo jets and taking about 600 Louisianans, at $10,000 a head, to Paris for a few frolicsome days. Cajuns, descendants of French immigrants from Nova Scotia, consider France the nominal motherland.)

Emotional Reaction

Among average Louisianans on the streets, reaction to Edwards’ indictment is emotional. Time and again, people say they don’t care whether he’s guilty or not, they don’t want to see him convicted.

“Personally, I’m crazy about the man; I’m gonna sit down and cry if they send him to jail. I’m not saying that maybe he didn’t take a little (money)--he might have,” said Audrey MacBath, owner of a local beauty parlor, reflecting a fairly typical opinion.

“But he’s been a good governor, he’s helped us too, he’s done a lot for the little people in this state. Besides, I think the government’s picking on him. You chase any man that long and you’re bound to finally find something.”

Edwards is counting on the Audrey MacBaths of Louisiana to set him free.

Only One to Convince

“Louisianans can see through persecution,” he declares. Besides that, he gloats happily, “On any jury in Louisiana, at least eight of the 12 are gonna be Edwards’ voters. And they gotta convince all 12; I only have to convince one.”

It isn’t hard to understand Edwards’ popularity. For one thing, people still associate his leadership with the lush, high-rolling ‘70s, a golden era when the Louisiana oil boom reached its peak while the rest of the country sat in gas station lines.

But perhaps equally important, in the finest tradition of Louisiana governors, Edwards is the perpetual showman who knows how to keep the crowd entertained.

He doesn’t drink or smoke, but goes on extravagant gambling sprees to Las Vegas and Monte Carlo. The son of a poor sharecropper, reared in a Cajun home without running water or electricity, Edwards now flings thousands of dollars away on a roll of the dice. “Gambling for fun is no vice, it’s not even mentioned in the Bible. I have no vices,” he proclaims.

Rumors About Women

Even more titillating, while his wife of 36 years stands silently by, altogether unamused, Edwards deliberately feeds rumors about his allegedly insatiable appetite for pretty women, the younger the better.

Practically everybody seems to know a story about Edwards, chauffeured by a state trooper, trolling sorority row at LSU, or propositioning somebody’s wife or sister or girlfriend.

In one of his friskier moments, Edwards once told a gaggle of reporters that he didn’t see why anybody would want to bug the governor’s mansion “except maybe for a few jealous husbands.” Another time, during the ’83 campaign, Edwards boasted, to the everlasting delight of his constituents: “The only way I could lose this election is to be caught in bed with either a dead girl or a live boy.”

When Edwards’ sex habits were documented in lurid detail a few years ago in a book written by a former aide, he merely remarked with a small smirk that some of it was “exaggerated.” The book was a sellout all over Louisiana.

A Catholic WASP

Then there is Edwards’ amazing way with religion. In a state where about half the population is Roman Catholic in the south, and the northern half is hard-core, fundamentalist WASPs, Edwards is, blatantly, both.

The son of a Nazarene father and a Roman Catholic Cajun mother, he is, depending on the occasion, a Bible-thumping evangelist, still the ordained Nazarene preacher he became at 16. At other times, he is his mother’s son, a converted Catholic, being photographed taking Holy Communion in New Orleans or at Notre Dame.

Either way, nobody seems to really mind.

And, if anything, Edwards’ continuous skirmishes with the law seem to have only enhanced his reputation as “Fast Eddy,” slicker and quicker than the bumbling feds. Thanks to his quick wit and smart mouth, he uses it to full advantage.

‘No Money Left’

During the last campaign, for instance, when the incumbent governor accused Edwards of being corrupt, he cracked: “Hell, if I’m not elected, there won’t be any money left (in state coffers) to steal.”

Edwards did get himself into serious hot water with the voters once, however, by remarking publicly that he didn’t believe in the Resurrection. Fundamentalists may be willing to forgive Edwards if he covets his neighbor’s wife from time to time, but this heresy they would not abide. His office was swamped with angry mail.

He speedily squirmed out of it, explaining that, although he might not believe in the Resurrection intellectually, “I certainly believe in it through faith.”

Meantime, while Edwin Edwards’ fate hangs in limbo, Louisiana state government has apparently ground nearly to a halt, according to those involved, including Edwards.

“It’s chaos; we’re in a state of breakdown. Nothing is happening, nobody knows why we’re even here ,” said an exasperated state representative, John Hainkel, sitting on a half-empty House floor. “The Legislature of this state has been trained to simply wait for the governor to present his package so they can vote for it. They’ve never learned how to be a deliberative body, making decisions and engendering projects themselves.”

If the Legislature has been subservient by tradition, the governor of Louisiana is also constitutionally invested with enormous powers, from a line item veto (never overridden in state history) to personal control over literally hundreds of appointive posts.

“Louisianans don’t elect governors, they elect kings,” lobbyist Wolbrette said. “Just look at the nicknames even--the Kingfish, the Cajun King. . . .”

‘Most Powerful’

Edwards agrees. “This is the most powerful governor’s office in the country. By comparison, the governor of California is just a figurehead. Why, Jerry Brown told me that during legislative sessions, he went to Africa!” Edwards looked genuinely aghast.

“Why, that’d be unthinkable in Louisiana! The governor has to be here to run the whole show . . . to lay out policy, provide direction and give people a reason for supporting it.”

Now, however, Edwards added, eyes narrowing, he has temporarily lost his clout.

“You see, you have to have the appearance of longevity--because one of the ways you get a legislature to support you is the threat or the possibility of, ah, political reprisals,” he explained, using the most delicate language he could find. “But right now, a lotta these fellas are willing to sit back and retrench for a few months until they see how long I’m gonna last.”

‘Easy to Deal With’

Then, with an evil smile, his drawl at its softest, “But when I come back after an acquittal, and they know I’m gonna be around for seven more years, they’re gonna be easy to deal with. Real easy.”

Publicly, few legislators are willing to risk Edwards’ wrath. Almost anyone willing to be quoted by name defends him as an innocent, persecuted and brilliant governor.

Among Edwards’ most sincere supporters are the state’s 18 black legislators. Edwards was the first Louisiana governor to appoint blacks to high state office; now there are dozens. (Also, about half of Edwards’ Cabinet is female.)

“Without Edwin Edwards, blacks in this state would still be sweeping floors and waiting on tables,” said state Sen. Gregory Tarver of Shreveport. “I also think he’s too damned smart to steal a dime, even if he wanted to.”

Bad Time for Indictment

Edwards’ indictment probably could not have come at a worse time, either for him or Louisiana.

Unlike the state he ran so smoothly during his first two terms, Louisiana now faces problems long common in other states, plus some. Revenues are down, economic growth is at an all-time low, unemployment is over 11% and, as oil and gas companies cut back, the state is left with serious environmental scars, threatening segments of the fishing industry.

Perhaps most glaring of the state’s current problems, the educational system is so poor that Louisiana now has the highest adult illiteracy rate in the nation (7.8%), as well as the highest high school dropout rate (42%).

Although Edwards left office with a large surplus in 1980, he inherited a larger deficit in 1984. Now, in order to cope with state problems, he is faced for the first time in his political life with the need to trim the budget and, worse yet, he may be forced to raise taxes for a second time. Or at least try.

Tax Package

As one of his first acts in office last year, he was obliged to submit a $1.1-billion tax package. Now he wonders aloud if he dares even attempt to impose a property tax on pampered Louisianans--even one with what most Americans would consider a lavish $75,000 exemption.

The happiest people in Louisiana these days are the Republicans, who joyfully proclaim that, if the king isn’t politically dead yet, he soon will be.

To Republicans, Edwards’ indictment could be the final straw, sending a swarm of disillusioned Democrats into the GOP fold--especially if Louisianans begin to blame the state’s flagging economy on its national image of corruption. In their hopeful view, Louisiana is at long last about to join the rest of the nation, where citizens routinely stage tax rebellions and crucify crooked public officials.

In fact, the state looks so ripe that, not long after Edwards’ indictment, the Republican National Committee named Louisiana as one of four “target states” in a new, high-powered registration drive.

10% Republicans

Currently, only about 10% of the state’s registered voters are Republicans. Of the 160 state legislators, only 20 are Republicans, several of them recent defectors from the Democrat Party.

But in Louisiana, many so-called Democrats are philosophic Republicans anyway. In fact, thanks mainly to a dogfight among Democratic gubernatorial candidates in 1979, a Republican, Dave Treen, actually got elected--the state’s first since Reconstruction, when carpetbaggers briefly installed a freed black man. (Although even Republicans agree that Treen was a poor administrator, his really fatal flaw may have been that he was horribly boring, compared to Edwards. “Treen’s so slow it takes him an hour and a half to watch ’60 Minutes,’ ” Edwards hooted throughout the campaign.)

And now that Sen. Russell B. Long (Huey Long’s son) has decided not to seek reelection to the U.S. Senate seat he has held since 1948, local GOP leaders have high hopes that voters might be fed up enough with Democratic leadership to elect the state’s first Republican senator.

The 10-year-old Louisiana Assn. of Business and Industry has become the Republican Party’s major source of money, recruits and strategy. “Until we settle down this lousy climate, would you invest $1 million here?” asked LABI director Ed Steimel, sounding the new GOP battle cry.

Little Organization

The Democrats, meantime, have little or no state party organization. “Never needed one, you were either a Long or an anti-Long,” said one state senator with a shrug. Traditionally, the voice of the Democratic Party has been the AFL-CIO, headed by Victor Bussie, a crusty state power broker who despises all Republicans, and Ed Steimel in particular. He finds them almost un-American.

“I don’t hear Texans criticizing Texas, why do they deliberately try to make Louisiana sound so bad?” he demanded. “According to Steimel, everybody in Louisiana politics is corrupt! I’m saying to you, nobody in government is corrupt unless some businessman helps corrupt him! And those are Steimel’s members! He ought to tell the truth --business is corrupt too!”

Moreover, Bussie stormed, “Let me tell you something else, Edwin Edwards is one of the best governors this state has ever had! He’s capable . . . he fights for what’s right! He’s in the tradition of Huey Long , who put in free schoolbooks I used as a child! And he’s not dishonest--this is a witch hunt , pure and simple!” He finished almost shouting.

While the storm goes on about him, Edwards remains a vision of confidence and composure, still the Cajun King.

On the day of his final arraignment, his fingerprints and mug shot now in federal files, he was, publicly, as jaunty as ever, seemingly as interested in defending his suntan as his integrity to reporters. (Contrary to gossip, “I do not use a sunlamp,” he bristled. “That is an absolute lie!”)

Back at the governor’s mansion, he was not a governor indicted but an imperial ruler, in full command.

While a dozen assorted supplicants, lobbyists and legislators waited in the corridors, hoping for a few minutes of his time, Edwards sat in his office ignoring them all, enjoying instead a leisurely chat with a stranger about everything from his girlfriends to the presidents he has most admired.

A Bit Exaggerated

Lapsing into his richest drawl, careful to neither confirm nor deny, he did allow that his reputation as a womanizer is a bit exaggerated.

“Why, darlin’, I’d have to be 12 different fellas, devoting full time to that (sexual) pursuit alone to justify even 10% of the things said about me,” he said with a sly smile and dancing eyes. “But people believe what they want to believe.”

Talking about his favorite President, the lighthearted lecher was replaced by the lifelong politician applauding another Southern master of the trade.

“Lyndon Johnson called the shots, he made decisions, he stayed with them. He knew the power of politics. (Harry) Truman too.”

Note of Self-Pity

Then, pausing: “You know, I don’t often get credit for it, but I’m far more honorable and honest than anybody else I know in public life.” He sounded self-conscious, embarrassed at the rare, open note of self-pity.

“I’m just not into money. That’s what’s so absurd about all of this,” he went on, sighing. “Power turns me on, fame turns me on. But not money. It never has.”

It was an affecting moment. He seemed, just then, both spontaneous and sincere, neither arrogant nor especially self-assured, only vulnerable, like a man who often looks over his past with frustration and regret, full of private weariness at this juncture of a dead-end career.

Anybody’s Guess

But with Edwin Edwards, you never really know. What’s real, what’s part of the polished public facade is anybody’s guess.

If he is convicted, Edwards said, matter-of-fact again, he will resign from office rather than try to run the state during the long appeals process. “I think it would be too much of a burden.”

And, if acquitted, he accepts his diminished role in American history with casual grace.

“I am going to become the first Louisiana governor to be elected four times, to serve 16 years. . . . It’s not the epitome of what I wanted out of life. On the other hand, it’s more than I expected as a child growing up.”

Times researcher Nina Green contributed to this article.