Jambalaya

"Isn't this a fine jambalaya--with Earl Long, the Times-Picayune, [Plaquemines Parish Boss&] Leander Perez, the Shreveport Times . . . the old regulars--this all put together in one pot ... a mixture that the entire history of Louisiana has never seen before? I am confident the public will bury the whole pot of jambalaya with an avalanche of votes."So spoke New Orleans' four-term Mayor deLesseps Story Morrison as his Democratic runoff campaign for Governor of Louisiana approached its climax.

Last week, through the upcountry, the big city of New Orleans and the Cajun lowlands, the avalanche fell--a record 900,000 votes in all--but not on the jambalaya pot. Licked worse than even the strongest pessimist might have guessed was 47-year-old "Chep" Morrison himself, longtime reform politician, perennial foe of the Long regime, and, all in all, a relatively moderate Southerner. The winner: James H. Davis, 59, colorless, onetime Governor (1944-48) renowned for his guitar-strumming and hillbilly compositions (You Are My Sunshine), outspoken foe of integration, and without doubt the next Governor of Louisiana (since no Republican candidate stands a chance in the April general election). The vote: 485,000 to 414,000.

Strictly in the Groove. A sharecropper's son, Jimmie Davis always had the knack of strumming his way toward the top. In the old days he held minor offices, taught school (tutoring yodeling on the side), even made B pictures in Hollywood (Strictly in the Groove, Frontier Fury). His four years as Governor were noted principally for a $38 million surplus (which Successor Earl Long soon spent). But in his runoff race against Morrison, front runner in the first primary (TIME, Dec. 14), Davis dropped his "peace and harmony" theme, picked up the cause of segregation, and ran hard and fast.

He accused Morrison (who had the backing of most of New Orleans' 34,000 Negro voters) of playing along with the N.A.A.C.P. and Teamster Boss James Hoffa, promised to go to jail before he would permit integration in Louisiana schools. Although he had token support from outgoing Governor Earl Long, Davis' biggest ally was State Senator Willie Rainach, one of Louisiana's hottest segregationists; Rainach rounded up thousands of supporters with the promise that Davis would make him boss of an anti-integration state sovereignty commission.

Strictly Segregation. Chep Morrison never really got off the ground. A Roman Catholic, he was battling a tradition that has kept Catholics out of the Governor's job since 1888. Moreover, he had lost the powerful support of the New Orleans newspapers and many once-loyal do-gooders. With the segregation issue thrust at him, Morrison proclaimed that he was a better segregationist than Davis (who, he claimed, once ran an "integrated" nightclub in California), spent too much time criticizing Songwriter Davis' risque compositions (Red Nightgown Blues, Organ Grinder Blues, etc., etc.).

In all the glory of Jimmie Davis' big victory, one outsider joined the Morrison mourners. He was Massachusetts' John Kennedy, who had been counting on a Morrison victory to give him Louisiana's 26 votes at the Democratic presidential convention in July.

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