Singing Governor Dies At 101

Jimmie Davis, the "singing governor" who drew on his popularity as a maker of hits such as You Are My Sunshine to twice win election to the state's top office, died Sunday, his former press secretary said. He was believed to be 101.

"He died at 4:40 a.m., peacefully in his sleep in his home at Baton Rouge," Ed Reed said.

Davis parlayed smooth talking and sweet singing into a political career, serving as governor from 1944-48 and 1960-64.

He estimated that he wrote more than 400 songs, including It Makes No Difference Now and Sweethearts or Strangers, and recorded at least 52 albums. You Are My Sunshine, his first smash hit in the late '30s, became a standard.

Davis had acknowledged in the past that he was uncertain of his own age, knowing only that he was born around the turn of the century.

Age had taken its toll on Davis in recent years, but he frequently mustered the strength to perform. He sang at his own 100th birthday celebration in Baton Rouge in September 1999. At a quieter, private celebration a year later he was in a jocular mood.

"It's a great day for me," he said in one of his last interviews. "I'm getting the hang of these things."

He said it was Gov. Sam Jones and Huey Long's brother Julius who talked him into running for governor in 1943. Backers thought his popularity as a singer could help him end the crippling 15-year battle between the Long forces and their opponents.

The national press had a field day with the "singing governor," but he wasn't a political neophyte; even while pursuing his musical career, he had served in local offices in Shreveport and on the state Public Safety Commission.

And he proved he was capable of making lawmakers dance to his tune.

He was remembered for pushing through legislation in his first term creating the state's first driver's licenses, and, in his second, for seeing the state through the school desegregation battles of the early 1960s.

He called five straight special legislative sessions to resist federal desegregation orders, and created a grant program to aid private school pupils after the courts prevailed.

He said later that he was only doing what was best for the times.

"Everybody ran on the segregation ticket. You couldn't be elected without it. When desegregation came, we did it without having anybody killed. We didn't even have a fistfight."

A bid for a third try at the governorship fell short in 1971.

His show biz career at times interfered with his day job. He set a record for absenteeism during his first term as governor, in part because he spent part time in Hollywood making movies. (Among his films: Louisiana, 1947, about a country boy who becomes a singer and then a governor.)

He remained a gospel singer until late in life, his voice losing little of its strength over the years and growing in emotional depth. His annual spring concerts for the Legislature, for whch the big, boisterous House chamber would become as quiet as a church, were a Capitol tradition until he grew too frail for them in recent years.

He also appeared regularly at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival until the last few years. In 1994 he taped a couple of shows for the Grand Ole Opry.

Starting in the late '20s, Davis taught college while at the same time singing on radio and making records.

He first recorded You Are My Sunshine in 1931, but was so dissatisfied with the studio's band that he refused to release the record. It was eight years before he recorded it again, and this time it was a hit.

One of the accomplishments of his second term was the Sunshine Bridge over the Mississippi, which critics called the "bridge to nowhere" but which was later credited with fostering industrial growth in the area between Baton Rouge and New Orleans.

And he had a horse named Sunshine who helped him make headlines in 1961. He rode the beast up the Capitol steps to make a point when his purchase of a Cadillac limousine was being criticized. He explained with a straight face that he just wanted to let Sunshine see his office.

Davis had little involvement in politics in his later years, devoting his energy to his music. He once said that's what he'd most like to be remembered for, as "someone who scattered a little sunshine along his path."

Survivors include his wife, Anna Gordon Davis, who sang with him in the gospel group "The Chuck Wagon Gang," and by a son, Jim.