Blood and Thunder

Vidrine’s smile was shy. “There were a lot of skeptics who didn’t think either one of us knew what we were doing.”

“Them aristocratic snobs on the board at Tulane, what the hell do they know? They were overcrowded, and Louisiana needed goddamn doctors! Maybe Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it just took me sayin’ so, and, whiz, bang-we had a new medical school. And now what? Just four years later? What’s the enrollment this fall?”

Huey gestured with a hand for Vidrine to sit next to him, and he did.

“Nine hundred,” Vidrine said, humbly proud.

“Increased the enrollment times nine in only four years. Damn! Now, that’s an accomplishment.” He patted the doctor on the shoulder like a child who’d performed well. “When I appointed you super’ntendent of Noo Awlins Char’ty Hospital, I wanted to show the worl’ that a back-country doctor like you was ever’ bit as good as any big- city sawbones. Thanks for not makin’ a liar outa me, son.”

Vidrine nodded and smiled sheepishly; he was behaving like a new priest in the presence of the Pope.

“Got your pretty little wife along?” Huey said, and suddenly rose, and so did Vidrine, who sensed he was being dismissed.

“Yes, I do….”

Huey walked him toward the door. “You put tonight’s dinner at the Hunt Room at the Heidelberg on the ol’ Kingfish’s tab, y’hear?”

“That’s not necessary….”

“Don’t insult me, now, by rejectin’ my generosity.”

“Yes, sir,” Vidrine said, smiled, nodded and went out.

I was shuffling the cards. Quietly, I asked Murphy, “What’s his background? Seems like a kinda unassuming type to be holding such fancy administrative jobs.”

“Dr. Arthur Vidrine-former general practitioner from Ville Platte,” Murphy said, as if that answered my question.

“What’s Ville Platte?”

“Bump in the road, over Opelousas way.”

I began dealing, Black Mariah again. “How does that qualify him for anything?”

“Gimme a damn spade, would you? He captained the Long campaign in those parts.”

No further explanation was necessary for this Chicago boy.

A little later another unassuming character entered for an audience with the Kingfish. Heavyset, crowding six feet, he made himself seem smaller by hunching his shoulders and holding his straw fedora in front of him with two hands; under eyebrows that seemed perpetually raised, two squinty slits appeared, and a nervous smile curved beneath a nondescript beak. The overall impression he gave was of bemused embarrassment.

“You wanted to see me, Kingfish?”

“Yeah, come in and sit down!” The Kingfish was on the couch again.

“Who’s this guy?” I whispered to Murphy.

“Jim Smith-president of LSU,” he whispered back.

“Now what the goddamn hell is this about a ridin’ academy out at the college?”

Smith shrugged, hat still in his hand; the little smile remained embarrassed. “Thelma likes to ride. I bought her a thoroughbred, and she likes wearing those cute outfits. She thought the coeds might enjoy…”

Huey was shaking his head. “When I hired you, on the advice of a stationery salesman I might add, the idea was to get rid of them goddamn highfalutin suckers over at the university, and put in some down-to-earth folks. Now your wife is havin’ fancy parties and puttin’ on airs and at her biddin’ you’re usin’ my funds to start a fuckin’ ridin’ academy?”

“Well…as I was saying, it’s a nice activity…”

“For the coeds. Right. Well, I see in the paper where two girls fell off them horses on their fannies, last week.”

The smile got more nervous. “Do I have to tell you about the lying press, Senator?”

“No, you don’t. I have three words for you: sell them plugs.”

“Senator?”

“Sell them plugs! Get rid of them horses! No more ridin’ academy. Besides which, my people tell me you may wanna talk to the missus about this handsome, strappin’ former Army man she hired to be her groomsman. Word to the wise.”

The smile disappeared; he hung his head. “Yes, Senator.”

“Now. This comin’ fall…those journalism students I expelled last year, they’ll be back on the Reveille, I suppose.”

“Yes sir. Except for those that graduated.”

“Well, tell those prima donnas that if they print any more unflatterin’ letters or editorials about me and my administration, they won’t be graduatin’.”

“I’ll make that clear, Senator. I’ve already told them I would fire the entire faculty and expel the complete student body before I’d offend you, sir.”

The Kingfish’s grin just about burst his face. “You’re my kinda educator, Jimmy. Now…you handpick the new editor, and tell him LSU is Huey Long’s university, and no bastard is gonna criticize Huey Long on Huey Long’s own goddamn money! Is that clear.”

“Crystal, Senator.”

“I enjoy our little talks, Jimmy. Go, now.”

He stood. “Yes, Senator.”

And he was up and out.

The Kingfish sat shaking his head. He said to nobody in particular, “Now that’s my brand of university president. Not a straight bone in his body, but he does what I tell ’im to.”

That evening, the Kingfish was in top form, bounding across Memorial Hall, down this corridor, down that one, outdistancing his half-dozen thuglike guards, with whom I blended in disturbingly well. Brushing by lobbyists, tourists, legislators, stopping to chat sometimes for a couple minutes, sometimes a couple seconds, he finally strutted into the House of Representatives like a rich uncle arriving late at the family reunion.

The human dynamo bounded up and down the aisles, showing off that shit-eating grin, pressing the flesh, laughing loud, an important man making his minions feel important, too. Now he was crouched beside this member’s seat, whispering, now he was jumping up like a jack-in-the-box at a question directed to him by another member, now he was leaning in at that member’s seat, bellowing with shared laughter, only to suddenly propel himself up to the dais, to consult the Speaker, before strutting back down an aisle, grimacing, shouting. And then the process began again.

The balcony was packed with spectators, whose eyes followed the bouncing ball of the Kingfish, who was after all the whole show here. The legislature rubber-stamping process was devoid of drama.

Finally Huey ambled back up to the dais and helped himself to the swivel armchair by the Speaker of the House. No one objected; certainly no one was surprised.

The down-home crudity of Huey’s style was at odds with this magnificent tan-and-brown marble chamber; a frieze of the state’s plants and animals hugged the ceiling, and various fixtures were also decorated with stylish flora and fauna. But the massive walnut voting panel, behind the Speaker’s chair, invoked an altar, and the place resembled nothing so much as a Protestant church with a very wealthy congregation.

Our hoodlum honor guard was again assembled at the rear, seated behind a rail, with the exception of Big George; maybe he and his brown-bagged tommy gun weren’t welcome in the House. Huey had told us that if any pro-Long legislator got confused and pushed the “no” button on any of his bills, one of us was to guide that lawmaker’s hand to “yes.”

I was no judge, but the going-through-the-motions session seemed to be moving right along. Absentmindedly, I checked my watch-it was nine on the nose. When I glanced up, Huey-still seated up on the dais-was waving at somebody in the back of the room. Trying to get their attention.

It took me a while, but I finally got it.

Me? I mouthed to him.

And his head bobbed up and down, yes.