Aside from drunken stunts during my booze years, one of the most embarrassing moments of my career was providing the first ever public forum for a pimpled face 19 year old lunatic named David Duke.

In 1969, I was host of a radio talk show on WJBO in Baton Rouge called Topic, a public affairs program that featured in-studio guests along with call in questions and comments from listeners. Although the practice is almost unheard of today on AM radio, I tried to present balanced views—partly because of the FCC’s Fairness Doctrine that was then in effect. So it is not surprising that I sometimes got careless when booking guests with contrasting viewpoints. Such was the case with David Duke. He contacted me following a show in which the head of an LSU student group voiced criticism of U.S. involvement in Vietnam. As I write in Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger, the show was an embarrassment to me and the station. 

     David Duke won Topic’s title as the most uncontrollable guest to ever appear on the program. It was his first exposure to an audience larger than a few people who had heard him rant and rave on LSU’s Free Speech Alley. Claiming to be a spokesman for the National Socialist Movement, Duke seemed relatively articulate, and I didn’t check his background until the day of the show. That’s when I realized he was a member of George Lincoln Rockwell’s American Nazi Party. Though disconcerting, I figured to easily send Duke away with a swastika tucked up his ass. After all, I considered myself an accomplished interviewer accustomed to one-on-one confrontations with crazies.

He did me in, responding to rational questions with irrational speeches. But as a free speech advocate, I toughed it out. Using terms like “nigger” and “kike,” the racial slurs and anti-Semitic comments were so inflammatory, I asked if he were under psychiatric care.

When David Duke emerged years later as founder of the National Association for the Advancement of White People, a Ku Klux Klan Wizard, a successful political candidate and a symbol of racism in America, I was embarrassed to admit that I provided an early forum for his malevolence.

More disturbing was the reaction of several call-in listeners, who agreed with his views. These same listeners would picket the station a few weeks later when I refused to bring them on as guests.

I don’t recall the precise reason for denying their request, but they were probably advocating the return of slavery or something equally as stupid. The lesson I learned was that there is an audience for every cause, no matter how crazy. David Duke’s supporters expanded for beyond “Free Speech Alley” and WJBO listeners. After getting a facelift, beefing up his frail body and refining his racist rhetoric, he became a factor in Louisiana politics—serving a short term in the state House of Representatives and then running a credible campaign for governor in which he received more than 600,000 votes, prompting him to brag that he received 55% of the white vote. Duke was beaten by notorious political scoundrel Edwin Edwards in a campaign that featured bumper stickers supporting the three-term governor stating, “Vote for the Crook. It is important.” 

Duke has since faded from the political scene, but clones march on as radio and television personalities, and political candidates. The tone of racial hatred is not as overt as David Duke’s rhetoric. But listening to Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck, Sean Hannity, Sarah Palin and Newt Gingrich, I hear subtle echoes of David Duke. They exploit the hysteria that prompted Arizona to adopt draconian measures to deal with illegal immigrants—a law that empowers lawmen to profile Hispanics.

At the National Rifle Association’s annual convention in Charolotte, North Carolina this past weekend, the gun-toting advocates were dazzled with disinformation dispensed by the trio of Palin, Beck and Gingrich. Miss Sarah claimed that Barack Obama wanted to ban guns and ammunition, Beck did his gig about the nation heading for socialism, and former House Speaker Gingrich discussed the threat of U.S. Supreme Court nominee Elena Kagan. The NRA is a particularly gullible audience to right-wing propaganda. Members apparently live in fear. Why else do they want to carry guns into Starbucks, churches, and other locations they perceive as dangerous?

Indeed, fear has taken a segment of society to the brink of panic. The David Dukes of today exploit the fears of people caught in the throes of economic uncertainty and fear of an unprecedented unknown—a black President. In troubled times, there are always people willing to cash in on fear. As Paul Krugman writes today in the New York Times, “Right-wing extremism may be the same as it ever was, but it clearly has more adherents now than it did a couple of years ago.” 

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/17/opinion/17krugman.html?ref=opinion

David Duke was last reported living in Salzburg, Austria and running an Internet blog, although he still claims to be a resident of Mandeville, Louisiana. But no matter where he is, the professional hater must be proud of those following in his footsteps.

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. It is an account of my illustrious (I choose the adjectives) career. 

Edwin Edwards didn’t do nothing. He was framed by prosecutors, reporters and friends who traded on his name. That is the thrust of a nine page letter added to the second edition of Leo Honeycutt’s book, Edwin Edwards: An Authorized Biography. I happened to be in Cottonwood Bookstore touting my own book the morning Leo’s tome went on sale.  I think I was the first in the store purchase a copy. Hopefully, the first edition becomes a collectors item (make me an offer) because of the omission of the Edwards Epilogue/Letter  assessing blame for his tarnished reputation.

“From day one, I was despised by some news organizations,” he laments. As a small part of “some news organizations,” I can only speak for myself. But I liked Edwin from day one of his announced intention to run for Governor, which was more than two years before his campaign. When then Congressman Edwards revealed his plans on my radio show, I knew very little about the Crowley politician. By the end of my show, though, I was ready to run out and cast my vote for him. He was that impressive.

The Edwards biography credits newspaper reporter Larry Dickinson with doing the first accusatory—a liberal use of the word—story about Edwards after he was elected. Actually, Larry was parroting a story I aired the previous day. It was not a biggie. I disclosed that a federal grand jury was investigating an allegation that a lobbyist had been pressured by Edwin’s brother to retain a Baton Rouge lawyer as his organization’s legal counsel. In fact, the attorney was  the guy who asked me to book Edwin as a guest on the talk show two years earlier.

I don’t recall my source tipping me to the grand jury inquiry. Probably an FBI agent. Anyway, there is a humorous side-bar. I attended a media event at the Governor’s Mansion a few days after my report. When Edwin greeted me, his first words were, in effect, “You need to stop repeating Larry Dickinson’s stories.” I didn’t confess that Larry was repeating my story.

In 1972 and early 1973 during Edwards first term, I had just taken on the title of “investigative reporter”—the result of a convoluted series of personal tragedies. Anyone interested in my downfall and subsequent recovery can read my book, Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger. The “derelict gunslinger” label was attached to me by Edwards a decade later in reference to my checkered past and eventual craft as a mud-slinger.

But back in the early months of his Administration, my initial story about a grand jury probe of influence peddling was my only “investigative’ report about the new Governor. By early 1973, my skills as a muckraker improved to the point that I started collecting journalism prizes. And thus began a nine-year gypsy-like journey to Miami, Boston and New York before returning to Baton Rouge for seven glorious years that preceded my recruitment by CNN.

It was during my Baton Rouge reprise that I earned the enduring enmity of Edwards. A strange over-reaction given that in the course of seven years, I probably reported only three or four investigative stories focusing on  Edwards. As I wrote in previous posts, his spin on those reports in Leo’s book alters reality. The same variations of reality are in the Edwards letter added as an Epilogue to the second edition of his “authorized” biography.

He does admit being guilty of arrogance. And he apologizes in the August 9, 2009, letter for things he said about the late Governor Dave Treen. He also admits his guilt in mixing too much personal business with governing. However, Edwards rationalizes that his top salary as Governor was a measily $70,000. He does not mention free housing, food, limousines, private planes and helicopter, personal servants and security, a lucrative retirement pension, and various other perks—plus a huge pot of campaign funds to dip into for a wide range of purposes.

In citing his intertwining personal and government dealings, Edwards  answers his own question about the news media’s perception of him as a rogue and scoundrel. But perception is everything when it comes to politics. That is why so many reporters, prosecutors, law enforcement agents and a lot of voters considered Edwards a crook. In fact, many of his personal deals were barely borderline legal. And in the wake of changes in ethics laws, some of these activities would probably be illegal today. As a sitting Governor, he was tried three times on federal charges but never convicted. However, not guilty does not translate to innocence.

Still, there is a belief among friends of the former Governor—as well as many foes—that he was convicted of past transgressions rather than the charges that sent him to prison. I agree. But as Edwards points out in his letter, that would be patently unconstitutional. I also agree. And as I wrote in previous posts, it is also my opinion his current imprisonment was orchestrated by ambitious prosecutors, a pill-popping hanging judge, FBI agents with selective memories, witnesses hoping to save their asses, and a jury trying to meet expectations. But that is the cost of arrogance.

In my first encounter with Edwards four decades ago, I came away from an hour long interview thinking he was about the smartest politician I ever met. After reading his letter in the second edition of Leo’s book, I realize that no matter the smarts of a successful politicians like Edwards, they rarely see themselves as others do. And he never will.

In Part Two of my Edwin Edwards comments, I stated, “Let him go.”  In this final installment of my screed, I must note that his release will not be based on humility. The first 346 pages of  a recently released “authorized” biography written by my friend, Leo Honeycutt, reads like a nomination for the former Governor’s sainthood. I remember him differently.

During Edwards four terms as Louisiana’s chief executive—two that I have  hands-on knowledge—he whines about being persecuted by political enemies, prosecutors and the news media, me included. The final 200 pages of the biography provides details  of events leading to his imprisonment in a federally sponsored time-share facility. Indeed, Edwards has grounds  to complain in this instance. In my opinion, he was a victim of ambitious prosecutors, a pill-popping hanging  judge, FBI agents with selective hearing, and a jury under pressure to convict regardless of the evidence. The miscarriage of justice that he and many others perceive is apparently the rationale used by Edwards to justify every ethical violation—moral and otherwise—and borderline criminal act he committed prior to the trial. For the most part, he refuses to concede past mistakes.  Even so, he is now a harmless old man and the good he did as Governor outweighs his sins. The prison gates should have swung open for him long ago.

In contrast to his self-justification, I encountered someone a couple of days ago who could give Edwards lessons in partaking of humble pie. It was one of those encounters when my muckraking past collided with the present, which has often happened since my 2004 return to Louisiana. I was signing copies of Odyssey of a Derelict Gunslinger that were being restocked at Cottonwood Books in Baton Rouge when a guy I recognized  walked into the store. I couldn’t put a name with the face until store owner Danny Plaisance  greeted him as, “Naaman.”  How could I forget? It was Naaman Eicher.

In 1989, my investigative stories were a major factor in putting him and his daddy, John, in a federal prison for four years. Naaman’s wife, step-mother and two sisters served lesser terms. I had never met Naaman or other members of the family—mainly because of their refusal to grant interviews prior to my exposé, a one-hour report that earned me a fourth Peabody medallion.  The main target of my story was Insurance Commissioner Douglas Green. I revealed that Eicher-owned Champion Insurance Company laundered $2-million dollars into Green’s election campaign in order to keep their insolvent $100-million a year automobile insurance firm in business. After Champion’s collapse, Green was convicted of multiple counts of malfeasance  and sentenced to 25 years in prison.

While introducing myself to Naaman at the bookstore, I braced to have him take a swing at me. Surprisingly, he smiled and shook hands. In effect, he said, “No hard feelings.” Instead of anger and justification, Naaman suggested he got what he deserved—that it had been a wake-up call teaching him life lessons he needed to learn. As I wrote in my gonzo memoir, I’ve had to digest large portions of humble pie. But each slice was important in changing the course of my life. Following our conversation, Naaman asked me to inscribe my book, a chapter of which gives details of the Champion debacle. I wrote, “To Naaman Eicher, who helped me win a Peabody award.”

I should have added that unlike Edwin Edwards, Naaman was willing to take responsibility for past mistakes. For all of us, it is difficult to do .