WILBERT RIDEAU: THE “SOLUTION” MAN!
In his memoir, In the Place of Justice (Random House 2010), Wilbert Rideau continuously presents himself as the “Johnny-on-the-spot” solution man for individuals facing problematic situations. The rub is that he makes the person with the problem seem like a dimwit who cannot think or act for himself without the famed prison journalist’s professional guidance. I pointed this out in my May 18, 2010 post, Wilbert Rideau: Angola’s De Facto Warden. That post dealt with Rideau making former Angola Warden John Whitley appear to be incapable of handling a “prison crisis” without the advice, counsel, and instruction of the former editor of The Angolite. Acting upon Rideau’s counsel, Warden Whitley managed to quell the crisis without any major difficulty— at least according to the Rideau. I now have impeccable information that the conversations Rideau attributed to himself and Whitley did not occur—at least not in the context in which the famed prison journalist described them in his memoir.
That’s why I approach the next “Johnny-on-the-spot” episode described by Rideau in his memoir with serious reservations. This one deals with a Rev. J.L. Franklin, a prominent black Lake Charles minister, a staunch Rideau supporter, and a local political power broker of sorts. While Rideau was housed in the Calcasieu Parish Jail awaiting his fourth murder trial, which took place in January 2005, Rev. Franklin staged a number of rallies and meetings with other Lake Charles ministers and black leaders to drum up support, particularly in the African-American community, for the award-winning inmate journalist. Rideau at least had the courtesy to express his gratitude for Rev. Franklin’s efforts.
But here’s where the story takes another one of those bizarre, unbelievable Rideau “spin doctoring” turns. While waiting for the legal maneuvering to run its course prior to the trial, Rev. Franklin, according to Rideau, provided the former convict editor with “another opportunity to make a difference for the citizens of Calcasieu Parish. (Emphasis mine) But you read it correctly: another opportunity to “make a difference for the citizens of Calcasieu Parish.” I don’t know what “differences” (and the memoir did not detail any significant ones) Rideau made for the “citizens of Lake Charles” before Rev. Franklin’s “opportunity” knocked. But I don’t think robbing a bank, kidnapping three bank employees, trying to kill all three, and managing to kill one (no matter how the crime is justified) really qualifies as making “a difference for the citizens of Lake Charles.”
Nonetheless, Rideau wrote that in early 2004 Rev. Franklin shared with him the minister’s frustration “about the substandard education the students in his district were getting and in fact that the superintendent of schools was ignoring the problem.” Faced with this enormous problem, Rideau confidently advised Rev. Franklin to “get rid of the superintendent” and that would solve the problem.
Rev. Franklin wavered in the face of such a bold suggestion. “How?” he asked Rideau, apparently unable to see either the forest for the trees or the trees for the forest. “He’s been an icon out here for a decade, a local hero who writes Cajun cookbooks on the side. They’ll never fire him.”
Undeterred, Rideau, the eighth-grade dropout who had apparently by 2004 become an authority on local education through his “prison journalism,” gives the intimidated Reverend the courage to press forward, instructing: “They will if you bring enough heat on him. Get your Coalition of Pastors for Action involved. These statistics are a scandal. The kids in the black schools are even outperformed by kids in all of the surrounding parishes, where the schools have less money and few resources. Educate your preachers.”
Rev. Franklin saw the “guiding light.” His prayers had been answered. The famed prison journalist sitting in his jail cell had delivered to the minister the solution to his problem—how to save the black kids in his district from “bad education.” Rev. Franklin led his fellow black ministers on a media campaign to oust the school superintendent. The campaign worked, Rideau said, and in June of of that year “the school board voted that [the superintendent] would have to leave within a year.”
Having successfully dethroned the local superintendent of education, Rideau said he turned his attention to “some other local politics. I advised the black community in the race for the congressional seat of southwestern Louisiana held by Democrat Chris John, who was making a run for retiring John Breaux’s spot in the Senate.”
Can you believe the audacity of that assertion? The famed prison journalist, sitting in a jail cell (and we’re not talking about Martin Luther King’s “Letters from a Birmingham Jail” here), “advised the black community” on who it should elect to a U.S. Congressional seat!
Inherent in these two bodacious claims is the underlying premise that neither Rev. Franklin on his own could find a way to deal the Cajun cookbook writing education superintendent and nor could the black community of Lake Charles decide who they wanted to serve them in Congress without Rideau’s sterling silver advice.
I will say this politely but whose meaning demands a much stronger expression: bull manure! In each of these episodes, just like with the Warden Whitley crisis, Rideau is the “problem solver,” the Johnny-on-the-spot” solution man. He’s the smart one. The recipient of his advice and counsel is the dimwit. He casts supporter after supporter in the same light—being unable to handle their personal and professional business without the guidance of “the nation’s most rehabilitated prisoner.”
Believe me, I did not invent this stuff. It’s in the book. I swear it is! Buy the book if you don’t believe me. And if you believe what this ninth “wonder of the world” said, well, that Arizona property is still available.
