Clancy DuBos

Everyone knows the outcome of Edwin Edwards’ trial in the riverboat casino corruption case, but few know the gory details that led to EWE’s indictment or the tangled web of deception, bribery and influence-peddling that marked the birth of legalized gambling in Louisiana. We all had our suspicions about "the Louisiana Way," but nobody had ever pierced the veil of silence that kept the conspiracy going. Moreover, no one had ever connected the dots to paint the complex panorama that is Louisiana’s long and painful love affair with gambling.

  We can thank the U.S. Justice Department for finally catching up with Edwards and for doing its damnedest to put him behind bars where he belongs.

  And now, thanks to former Times-Picayune investigative reporter Tyler Bridges, the whole sordid story of gambling’s growing hold on Louisiana has been told. Bridges’ new book, Bad Bet on the Bayou: the Rise of Gambling in Louisiana and the Fall of Governor Edwin Edwards (Farrar, Strauss Giroux, $27), is more than a factual recitation of EWE’s downfall. It is masterful storytelling. The tale spans more than a century.

  From the corrupt Louisiana Lottery of the late 19th century to the arrival of mobster Frank Costello’s illegal slots (through a deal between Costello and Huey Long) to the rise and demise of Jefferson and St. Bernard parishes’ illicit but wide-open casinos in the 1940s and ’50s, Bridges describes how Louisiana and gambling were always an intoxicating, yet highly combustible mix.

  Best of all, Bad Bet exposes the charlatans of Louisiana’s modern political establishment for using their positions of public trust to steer coveted gambling licenses to their friends – and, in some cases, to line their own pockets. At the center of most of it, of course, was Edwin Washington Edwards.

  Bridges uses a compelling set of "signal moments" – crucial points at which he slows the story down – to recreate what happened in graphic detail. We thus get entire chapters on the selection of Harrah’s over Caesars by EWE’s casino board, how EWE pressured State Police to give Christopher Hemmeter a gambling license, and the day EWE’s legislative allies rammed the casino bill through the House. We all know what happened, but Bridges’ five years of research allow him to add insights from many participants and eyewitnesses.

  "I wanted to add enough material to let the reader feel as though they were actually there that day, in the room, when things went down," Bridges told me recently. Bad Bet does exactly that. Never mind that we all know how the story ends; the telling of this tale, like a good Cajun joke, is what makes it appealing. Only in this case, the joke is on Louisiana. Bad Bet is thus engrossing and sickening at the same time; we’re captivated by how it happened, but in the end we’re the suckers.

  Bad Bet also contains never-before-published material, from the titillating (EWE cheating on Candy during their engagement and then hiring a detective to see if she was cheating on him) to the profound (EWE arrogantly chastising two aides for warning him that Pat Graham might be a government informant, which is what he ultimately was).

  Bridges’ no-holds-barred style served him well as an investigative reporter. He brings that same style to Bad Bet, describing EWE’s son Stephen as "profane, balding, and with a profound sense of entitlement." He later offers this excellent assessment of Edwards’ fourth and final term as governor:

  "Edwin Edwards had returned to the Governor’s Mansion in January 1992 backed by a never-before-seen coalition of business leaders and poor blacks who had joined together to defeat David Duke. But Edwards squandered a rare opportunity to try to modernize the state’s tax structure, to dramatically improve the backward education system, and to bridge the state’s huge racial divide. Instead, for two years he devoted much of his energy to gambling legislation, initially getting the legislature to legalize a land casino in New Orleans and then manipulating the licensing of riverboat and video poker applicants to ensure that his friends and political supporters got licensed. He allowed his children, particularly his elder son, Stephen, to cash in on the Edwards name … ."

  It ain’t a pretty story, but Bad Bet on the Bayou is a great bet for any bookshelf. It exposes not just Edwin Edwards’ hypocrisy and greed, but our own complicity in the scandals as well. As Bridges concludes, "Ultimately, the state will have to shed its affinity for practicing the Louisiana Way."

  Don’t bet on that any time soon.