In an era of 24-hour cable news, disasters breed instant celebrities. In the two months since BP’s oil rig explosion, Plaquemines Parish Police Jury President Billy Nungessor has gotten more face time on CNN than most correspondents get in a career. For awhile, it seemed that every time I glanced at the screen, he was being interviewed by Anderson Cooper or some other reporter. Nungessor, a successful businessman before being elected as the Parish’s top official, has been around politics most of his life. His father, Billy Sr., was former Chairman of the state Republican party and a top aide to the late Governor, David Treen.

But in terms of political power, the Nungessors and every other Plaquemines Parish official in the last 75 years are overshadowed by the infamous Judge Leander Perez, a corrupt segregationist whose disgraceful bigotry became such a national symbol of racial hatred that he was ex-communicated from the Catholic Church.

For forty years, Perez ruled his small domain like a monarch. Although he only served a short time on the bench prior to becoming District Attorney, he maintained the title of “judge” thoughout his life. Perez’s claim to infamy was racism and the shake down oil and mineral companies for millions of dollars—sometimes for the good of the community, but mostly for himself. 

The judge’s raw power was initially exhibited during the 1930’s when the Plaquemines parish town of Port Sulphur was established by Freeport Sulphur Company, now called Freeport McMoran. Three decades later, a company official told me a story about the Perez’s unbridled influence while I was visiting a Freeport drilling rig for a radio news story. When company operations were first proposed in the Gulf, the executive said Perez demanded that Freeport build a hospital and construct a new drainage system in the parish. When officials refused, the judge warned that not a shovel of dirt would be turned for a processing plant, nor an ounce of sulphur extracted from the Gulf until the demands were met. The stand-off lasted only a few weeks. The company was forced to relent because it was unable to recruit a single worker from the community, or even import outsiders for the project. Prospective employees were stopped by sheriff’s deputies on the only road providing access to the coastal parish.

On orders from Judge Perez, the same kind of blockade would be used years later to block civil rights organizers from entering the tight knit community. An outspoken bigot, his racial slurs were loud and public. He raged against blacks in small gatherings, before microphones in the Louisiana legislature and interviews with reporters. 

At a volatile time in the desegregation of Louisiana schools, Perez launched attacks on the Catholic Church in the wake of a call for calm by the Archbishop of New Orleans. Criticism of the church, personal attacks on the cleric and his rhetoric inciting white citizens to resist racial mixing led to his ex-communication.

I only met the judge once. He was a guest on my radio talk show in 1968. By then, age had toned him down slightly. Still, he displayed pride in his notoriety by wearing a badge that stated “Here come da Judge,” a phrase made popular by the Rowan and Martin television show, Laugh In.

Judge Perez died in March, 1969 at the age 78. However, his legacy of politics was passed to his sons. Leander Jr. was elected District Attorney and his brother, Chalin, became parish President. And five months after Perez’s death, I witnessed first hand the perception of power that had been passed on to his sons.

In August, 1969, Hurricane Camile devastated Plaquemines parish. A few days afterwards, I traveled to the parish with then Louisiana Superintendent of Eduction, Bill Dodd. He made the trip to assess the damage to schools and come up with a plan to begin repairs. Bill was a veteran politican—a Governor wannabe and one time candidate. Over the years, he held five statewide offices at one time or the other, including a short stint as Lieutenant Governor. He was not a political lightweight. Except in the presence of members of the Perez family as I found out.

We had driven a circuitous route around damage and debris that blocked the highway into the parish prior to finally arriving at a gymnasium where Chalin Perez had set up his office. A table and chairs were located at the far end from the entrance to the gym. Chalin sat at in the middlewith a couple of flunkies on either side. Surprisingly, Bill approach with the same deference one would expect in the presence of royalty. And Perez treated him in that manner. After promises were made to assist the parish in rebuilding, Bill was dismissed and in a matter of minutes with a wave of Chalin’s hand. It seemed like a scene from an old western movie in which the town boss issues orders.

Whatever power Chalin Perez then possessed, it began to disintergrate when he and Leander Jr. became embroiled in a family feud. Over money, of course. The judge had left behind a multi-million dollar fortune that was accumulated from his corrupt deals with companies wanting to do business in the parish. Following his death, lawsuits were filed to recover the ill-gotten gains. The litigation was eventually settled for $12-million. Though neither of the brothers were left impoverished, daddy’s legacy of power was soon lost.

In watching the ever-present parish official Billy Nungessor on television in recent days, I wonder how the Judge would have handled a tragedy of the magnitude of the oil spill—especially in having to deal face-to-face with an African American President.

On second thought, I don’t want to even speculate.

My memoir, Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, is available at amazon.com and independent bookstores. It offers much more than $19.99 worth of laughs. The book is an account of my illustrious (I choose the adjectives) career.