Crossing the Line

Seventy-nine years ago this fall, Huey P. Long was shot in the State Capitol. Dr. Carl Weiss, the man who was widely believed to be his assassin, was shot sixty-one times and died at the scene. While the focus of these events has revolved around politics and mystery, a lesser, but equally important, story involves the struggles of Dr. Weiss’ then twenty-seven-year-old widow, Yvonne Pavy Weiss, and their three-month–old son.

Yvonne’s youngest sister, Ïda Pavy Boudreaux is now ninety-one-years-old and the last surviving Pavy sibling. The following is a fictionalized account based on Ïda’s memories of the night when word of the shooting reached her family home in Opelousas.

Opelousas, September 8, 1935

Ïda was thirteen years old the night of the shooting. She hadn’t fallen all the way asleep yet when she saw the shadows dance and fall across her bedroom walls. A line of headlights made their way up the drive to her house in the country where the tall French windows of Ïda’s room sat open on the front porch. She could hear everything from her bed. She heard the car tires on the gravel drive. She heard Papa hurrying down the front hall and saw, in her mind, Mama following him. There were footsteps on the front steps and on the porch. Car doors creaked open and shut. She could hear fear in the men’s voices before Papa reached them. Ïda could feel danger hanging in the hot, humid Louisiana air.

“Mon Dieu,” Papa said, “are you sure it was Carl, our Dr. Carl Weiss?”

“He’s dead, Judge. Huey’s men killed him at the State Capitol. Shot him over and over again. They’re saying Carl pulled a gun on Huey,” a voice said to Papa.

Ïda felt her heart sink into her stomach. Her throat tightened. The heat of salt and tears pounded at the back of her eyes.

“There must be some mistake, surely this can’t be....” Papa’s voice slipped behind Mama’s. “What about Yvonne and the baby?” she said. Ïda recognized Mama’s tone. She was trying to maintain control.

“Yvonne,” Ïda whispered aloud to no one.

Ïda’s sister, Yvonne, was married to Carl. The thought of their three-month-old baby brought her to her feet. She hurried through the living room, down the entrance hall, and onto the front porch where she found her two sisters, Evelyn, who was called Sister, and Marie. She felt safe sandwiched between them on the wicker settee. The live oak in the front yard formed a backdrop of limbs and leaves behind her parents who sat on the swing at the edge of the porch.

“Henry, they took Huey to Our Lady of the Lake. I think you ought to have some protection for this house,” Uncle Octave advised Papa. “Who knows what Huey’s men’ll do to you if he dies. Hell, and what if he lives, Henry? Your blood alone won’t satisfy him. He’ll come after the entire Pavy family. We may all be forced to leave the state of Louisiana,” he said waving his hand around to everyone.

Of course Ïda knew who Huey Long was. She knew he hated Papa. Everybody knew he hated Papa. Huey had warned Papa not to cross him. Papa didn’t listen. But for the ever-present, threatening force of Huey Pierce Long, when he was governor of Louisiana and now as a U.S. senator, the Pavy life in Louisiana was perfect.

The phone rang. Papa stumbled past the three girls to answer it. “This is Judge Pavy,” he answered. After a lot of “I sees,” he hung up and went to Mama.

“That was Dr. Weiss,” Papa said.

Carl’s parents, Dr. and Mrs. Weiss, lived two blocks from Yvonne and Carl in Baton Rouge. The front door of the new State Capitol building faced the side of the Weiss’ home on 5th Street. You could walk along the grounds of the building from the Weiss’ house to her sister’s. Carl had a brother, Tom-Ed, who was a senior at LSU and a sister, Olga, who lived in New Orleans. Ïda wondered who told them about Carl and how they must have taken the news. Surely this made no sense to them. Unlike the Weiss’, the Pavy family had politics as a perpetual guest at the dinner table. Because Papa had ideas about improving Louisiana that contrasted Huey’s, the threat of the “Long regime” was constant for them. The Weiss’ were committed to making life better for people, too, but in a different way. Carl and his father were doctors. They wanted to heal people. What Ïda knew of Carl went against what she was hearing tonight. He couldn’t hurt a fly.

Papa, turning to Ïda’s oldest brother Veazie, said, “You must drive to Baton Rouge tonight to see about your sister and the baby.” Ïda thought he was about to say something else, but instead he leaned back and took deep breaths, like he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. Ïda noticed her chest tightening, laboring for air alongside her big, strong Papa.

“Yes, sir,” Veazie answered Papa.

Veazie was twenty-three years old when Ïda was born. They were the bookends of the family, and he never let her forget it. The Pavy sisters had a level of trust in Veazie that was hard to explain. They all felt like they had a second Papa in him.

Ïda remembered when Veazie had returned home from battle-scarred France. “Look at my little girl,” he’d said to Ïda, holding out a poupée, a beautiful French doll, stuffed with sawdust and immaculately attired. Her velvet dress was red with white trim and her porcelain face was flawless.

“I’m gonna name her Evangeline,” Ïda told Veazie.

“Of course you will,” Veazie laughed.

For as long as she could remember, Veazie had told her the story of Longfellow’s Evangeline, who lost her true love when forced from her home.

Papa’s voice pulled her back into the conversation on the front porch. “Dr. Weiss said Carl left Yvonne earlier this evening to call on a patient,” Papa reported. “I realize he passes right by the Capitol building on his way home, but, sacré, why would he have gone in?” Papa asked no one.

“Maybe he went in to talk to Huey about the gerrymandering legislation. We all know that was number one on the legislative ballot for tonight,” Veazie said.

Huey was proposing a new judicial district for the Judge’s upcoming election. Judge Pavy had served the 13th District for twenty-five years. Huey tried several times to get a pro-Long candidate to beat him in the elections, but he couldn’t do it; St. Landry Parish was one of the last truly anti-Long regions of the state. To ensure the Judge would lose his next election, Huey took St. Landry Parish and Opelousas completely out of the 13th District, joining them to the pro-Long 15th Judicial District.

The business between the Judge and Huey started long before Carl came along. Huey was still governor when he showed up at the courthouse to bribe Judge Pavy. He rolled into Ville Platte with a parade of sirened escorts and state police cars as if he were the King of Rex. He double parked and marched the whole lot of officers and bodyguards right into the courtroom. After interrupting the case the Judge was hearing and dismissing all of the parties present, Huey tried to convince Judge Pavy into joining forces with him.

“You’re either with me or against me,” Governor Long had said. “Name your price,” he’d demanded. A line was drawn in the sand that day.

This talk was all too familiar to Ïda. But what Ïda didn’t understand is how Carl got involved. He wasn’t even living in Louisiana when any of that happened, he didn’t know Yvonne yet, and he certainly didn’t know a thing about Governor Long interrupting her Papa’s courtroom and offering him money to change sides. Huey Long was a senator in Washington, D.C., by the time Carl started coming to Opelousas to see Yvonne.

Their courtship was a wonderful time for the family. Yvonne was back from The Sorbonne, Marie had graduated from LSU, and they were all together in the country. Carl would come to visit from Baton Rouge. They’d ride horses together, or shoot cans off of fence posts, or lay around in the hammocks. Carl would tell stories about Vienna and Paris, where he did his medical training. Some of his tales were tall and some of the funniest were those about his brother, Tom-Ed’s adventures. Those long, hot summer days were stuck in her mind like a blackberry vine snagged on a sweater, pulling her back in time. None of her memories of Carl included the sour topic of Huey Long.

Papa took a deep breath. “I’m not feeling well,” he said. “Mon cœur,” he whispered, slipping his right hand between the buttons of his gown and moving it around like a nurse moving her stethoscope, searching for a heartbeat. His stiff and jerky movements scared Ïda. His words were strained and seemed to tire him. He seemed breakable all of a sudden.

Uncle Octave and Uncle Albert went to him. They were both doctors, and Ïda felt sure they wouldn’t be in favor of sending Papa to Baton Rouge. The three of them planned the family’s next moves in whispers. Ïda sat restless between Marie and Sister. She rubbed her bare feet together to soothe the few mosquito bites she’d gained while they sat in the darkness.

Papa cleared his throat, turned from his brothers, and gave his instructions. Veazie would drive Mama and Ïda to Baton Rouge to help Yvonne with the baby. Sister and Marie would stay in Opelousas with Papa. Sister was in charge of answering the phone and Marie, the family jester who genuinely delighted Papa with her mischief, would do what she did best. “Marie,” Papa said. “Just make sure we haven’t all lost our smiles forever, eh chère?”

The porch was cleared in minutes. Ïda, Mama, and Veazie returned with suitcases in hand ready to make their trip to Baton Rouge.

“Go the speed limit. Do not draw attention to yourself in any way. The cargo you are carrying is precious. You understand?” Papa’s head was low; emotion carried his voice much further than he intended. Uncle Albert and Uncle Octave stood with Papa, peppering Veazie with similar warnings. “There are Huey Long people in ev’ry parish,” Uncle Octave said. “Don’t think for a second they aren’t looking for a reason to take a Pavy down,” Uncle Albert added.

Mama took Ïda’s chin in her hand, turning her face from the men. She stroked the child’s cheek with the side of her index finger and brushed the bangs across her forehead. Her dark eyes were serious, “Listen, ma chère,” she said. “Some men handle things with violence. That’s not our way and you know that wasn’t Carl’s way. Killing is a selfish act, and Carl was not selfish. In Baton Rouge you will hear a lot of talk and speculation about what happened tonight. You listen with your heart, Ïda.” Mama looked at Veazie, who was holding the front car door open for her. “We shall all listen with our hearts.” She sat down and let Veazie close her door. When he slid into the driver’s seat Mama continued, “Vengeance will not win the war that’s been waged this evening; love and forgiveness will.”

Claire Boudreaux Bateman is the niece of Ïda Pavy Boudreaux and has been entrusted by her aunt with a vault of love letters, journals, photographs, and personal stories on the topic of Long’s assassination. She is in the process of combining these unpublished archives with her family’s oral narrative to create a work of historical fiction chronicling the life of Yvonne Pavy Weiss entitled Outside the Capitol.