votes! He wields life-and-death power over private business, through his bank examiners, his homestead agents, his boards and commissions….”
“Is that why a law-abiding citizen, like yourself, took up arms and rose up against him?”
I was referring to uprisings in both New Orleans and Baton Rouge.
Last year in New Orleans, Huey-at odds with local politicians-had passed legislation giving the state (i.e., himself) control over the New Orleans police and fire departments; and usurped the city’s authority over voter registration and election machinery, as well. Huey had Governor O.K. Allen declare martial law, and soon the New Orleans police and an “army” of local citizens were facing down the National Guard. The comic opera situation had attracted both the national press and the White House, and-eventually-civic leaders had convinced both sides of the conflict to declare an armistice.
But the Baton Rouge uprising, earlier this year, had been the work of Hamilton’s Square Dealers. The group consisted largely of embittered Standard Oil employees who feared Huey’s personal war on Standard would drive out the company that kept the community financially afloat.
“Armed insurrection was not our goal,” Hamilton said quietly, the rocking in his swivel chair ceasing. “Only to rid the state of obnoxious dictatorial laws.”
I gave him a smirk. “Come on now, Mr. Hamilton. You wore little blue uniforms, you formed ‘battalions,’ you marched and drilled….”
His frown turned his dark eyebrows into one straight, furrowed line. “We were a paramilitary organization. So are the Boy Scouts. Neither group is inherently violent.”
“Your slogan was ‘Direct Action.’ One of your members spoke openly about hanging Huey and his puppet governor and all the rubber-stamp legislators-”
He bit the words off: “It was not our purpose to assassinate or murder anybody. For God’s sake, man, we numbered two ex-governors among our membership, and the mayor of New Orleans.” He shook his head. “I must say, I’m disappointed with the tack you’re takin’, Mr. Davis. I’m not certain this interview should…”
I replaced the smirk with an easygoing smile. “Mr. Hamilton, please understand. The things that are happening down here are difficult for folks up North to grasp.”
His eyes were scolding. “That’s the point I’ve been tryin’ to make. Don’t feel so smug about it. Huey’s already in Washin’ton, and he’s knockin’ at your door. He’ll smile and grin and guffaw his way into America’s house and steal off with the Bill of Rights and the Constitution and every man, woman and child’s immortal soul.”
That all seemed pretty arch to me, and perhaps my expression showed it. Hamilton sat forward, leaned his elbows on the desk and looked at me, wearily.
“You see, Mr. Davis, after our impeachment efforts failed, and when Long began pushin’ through his ‘special legislature sessions’ in 1934-there have been
“‘Somebody oughta kill that guy’ became more than just a wisecrack, you mean?”
Sitting back, Hamilton nodded gravely.
I asked, “Is ‘a wildness in the air’ why three hundred armed Square Dealers stormed and occupied the East Baton Rouge courthouse, last January?”
He winced at the memory. “You must try to understand, Mr. Davis…. Long sneaked a bill through that gave his stooge O.K. Allen leeway to appoint new members to the governing board of our parish-our last vestige of representative government had been stolen from us.”
“I thought storming the courthouse had to do with one of your people being arrested.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, that did fuel the ill-advised episode.”
“So Huey sent the militia in, and the Square Dealers folded.”
He shook his head, quickly. “No. We received word that our arrested member had been released, and we went home. The irony is, that ‘member’ was an undercover agent of Huey’s all along. In fact, during his ‘arrest,’ he was probably reportin’ in, deliverin’ names and phone numbers. That would certainly explain the airport debacle.”
The morning after the seizing of the courthouse, a hundred armed Square Dealers had arrived at the Baton Rouge airport, where they were greeted by five hundred national guardsmen with machine guns and teargas.
The sorrowful eyes took on a haunted aspect. “Most of the Square Dealers were gassed, and one was shot. Half a dozen were hospitalized. No fatalities, thank God. Some of us made it to our cars, or into the woods, before anything serious happened…other than abject humiliation, that is.”
“What possessed you to send a hundred of your men to the airport, anyway?”
His laugh was short, deep, humorless. “That’s the most humiliatin’ part. Even those of us in leadership capacities didn’t know
“Phone numbers provided by Huey’s spy?”
He sighed. “I can only assume so. At any rate, that was the end of the Square Dealers, for all intents and purposes. A while later Huey banned the organization, officially. Martial law wasn’t lifted in Baton Rouge until only just last month.”
“When you say the Square Dealers are ‘officially’ dead, do you mean…?”
A brave smile formed on that lived-in face. “That unofficially, the anti-Long movement is very much alive? Oh yes, Mr. Davis. Yes indeed.”
“Alive, like at the DeSoto Hotel conference?”
The smile disappeared and he winced again; sat forward. “That’s been highly exaggerated, Mr. Davis. Most of what the press has said about that conference is based upon Huey’s own irresponsible hyperbole on the floor of the Senate of the United States.”
“He named FDR as a conspirator in a murder plot against him,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s either irresponsible, or goddamn disturbing. The idea of the President of the United States, conspiring to have one of his challengers killed…”
His frown was dismissive. “It’s absurd! The DeSoto Hotel conference was aboveboard and respectable-four of the five pro-Roosevelt Louisiana congressmen were present, for God’s sake, as were ex-governors Sanders and Parker, and Mayor Walmsley….”
“All gathered to discuss the Huey Long problem?”
“It was a political caucus, sir, plain and simple. The business at hand was to select anti-Long candidates to run in the comin’ primary election.”
“What about Huey’s claim of having a transcript of the conference taken from a dictaphone his men planted?”
“Ludicrous.”
“Maybe so, but colorful as hell.” I checked my notes from my briefing by Alice Jean. “Among the tidbits Huey reported on the Senate floor was one unidentified speaker’s offer to ‘draw straws in a lottery to go out and kill Long. It would only take one man, one gun and one bullet.’”
“Please, sir, don’t dignify-”
“Another unidentified voice supposedly said, later, ‘Does anyone doubt that President Roosevelt would pardon anyone who killed Long?’”
He was shaking his head, slowly, his smile one of frustration. “Mr. Davis…how often do you suppose someone in Louisiana says ‘Somebody ought to kill that Huey Long’?”
“Every thirty seconds or so?”
“Precisely. It doesn’t mean they’ll do it, or even that they’re thinkin’ serious of it. It’s just a kind of…wish. A daydream.”
He made it sound wistful.
“Mr. Hamilton,” I said, “I have an admission to make.”
He looked at me sharply.
“My name isn’t Davis,” I said, “and I’m not a reporter. Name’s Nate Heller-I’m a bodyguard on Senator Long’s staff.”
He almost lost his balance in the swivel chair; he tried for indignation, but his fear was showing, as he said, “This is outrageous, sir! I must ask you to-”
My hands patted the air. “Whoa,” I said, “settle down. I said I was a bodyguard, not a spy….”
