Senator BB “Sixty” Rayburn – One of a Kind

YOU BETTER CHECK WITH SIXTY

As in most states, political figures come and go.  Some are talked about for a few years, and others are even memorialized with plaques and statues surrounding some public building. Few leave any lasting impression. But there are exceptions.  One such is former Louisiana State Senator BB “Sixty” Rayburn. 

They buried Sixty this past weekend.  He was memorialized at a small Baptist church in Rio, a token community outside of Bogalusa.  And for almost 3 hours, a litany of political heavyweights, past and present, eulogized one of a very few “transitional politicians” during the 20th century of Louisiana’s political history. 

Sixty was a product of the Long era, tutored by former Governor Earl Long, but nurtured in the populist philosophy that came from the Kingfish, Huey Long himself.  Sixty Rayburn did not have much formal education, and started off as a pipe fitter by trade. But by the toil of long service in the Louisiana Legislature, he built up the institutional knowledge that allowed him to emerge as a power to be dealt with, no matter who the governor might be. 

For almost 50 years, if you wanted to pass major legislation at the state Capitol in Baton Rouge, it was a given that you had to check with Sixty. Governors, other legislators, lobbyists, and a cross-section of interest groups regularly stood outside the office of the Chairman of the Senates Finance Committee to pay homage, seek advice and make a request.  Nobody went around Sixty. 

I personally received an early baptism in the Rayburn ways, and quickly learned to seek his advice as I wove my way through the complications any new legislator faces.  I was elected to the Louisiana State Senate in 1971, and was one of the youngest legislators making my way to Baton Rouge. 

On my first trip to the state capital following the election, I stopped off at Mike and Tony’s for lunch, which at the time was one of the capital’s local political hangouts. An aide to former Governor John McKeithen recognized me, and waived me over to his table for a visit.  “Why on earth would you want to get elected and come down here to get involved in politics?”  he asked.  I jokingly replied: “I’m going to make an effort to clean up all this mess down here.”   

Another fellow who was sitting at the table stood up, looked me straight in the eye, and said: “Well son, I’m Senator Sixty Rayburn, and I’m the fella that created all  this mess you say you’re going to clean up.” 

A rocky start for a new kid on the block like me.  For months thereafter, whenever I walked into the Senate chambers, Sixty would holler out for everyone to stand aside; for here comes the new guy who’s going to clean up all the mess.  I thought he would never get off my back. He finally took me under wing, and served as a mentor while I was trying to make my mark as a new senator.  However, it was not long after before I made another faux pas. 

Sixty was appointed to head up a joint House — Senate Transportation Committee, to review and set highway construction priorities throughout the state.  He put together a “road show” that traveled from city to city receiving input from local officials about their transportation needs.  On one particular tour, we held a hearing in Monroe, and then traveled down to Central Louisiana for a similar gathering in Alexandria the following day. 

I had made arrangements to stay at the Ramada Inn, and knew the hotel manager who was originally from my hometown of Ferriday.  He wanted to throw me a few accolades, and took the liberty, without asking me, of putting my name up on the sign on the highway outside the motel.  In big letters it read: “Welcome Senator Jim Brown.”  I was flattered when I saw the sign, but didn’t give it much of a thought.  Boy, what a mistake. 

Shortly after I checked in, the distinguished Chairman himself drove up to the Ramada Inn.  He saw the sign, and you can imagine his grumbles.  Then he came to the front desk, asked for a large convention in town, and he was probably going to have to drive a good ways to find any room at all.  Whatever good graces I built up since my first encounter with the Senator quickly washed away.  I heard about the sign on the Ramada Inn for years thereafter. 

Sixty Rayburn was so often the “go-to guy” for those of us who were trying to both make our mark as well as contribute towards any significant difference in Louisiana’s future.  Whatever the issue, if you wanted to get results, you better had checked with Sixty.  I can recall on so many occasions when Louisiana’s “best and brightest” around the Legislature would gather to try to solve a problem or reach a consensus.  Lawyers, accountants, researchers and lobbyists; no matter what their backgrounds, would at some point realize that if they were going to get their legislation passed, they better call on the Senator from Bogalusa. 

The guy with the least education often ended up being the most successful problem solver. I wish there had been a recording of the ceremony last weekend.  Former governors, a U.S. senator, former and present legislators and other public officials galore were in attendance at the Palestine Baptist Church.  We were all there to pay our respects to a former public official who crammed a lot a living  into his 92 years.  And everyone there had a story that was unique and colorful about this larger-than-life character, who always talked about the little man. 

For almost 50 years, he served as the catalyst who build coalitions to keep the ship of state moving forward. I don’t know whether or not they will build any memorials to remember Sixty Rayburn.  I’m sure there will be some highway named after him.  But in the state capital, when the debate gets bogged down on important legislation and stumbling blocks cannot be overcome, there will be both participants and observers who will wish there was someone they could turn to.  Someone who knew how to simmer and mix the stew of legislation.  Someone to get the debate off center. You can just see and hear one of the old heads, thinking back and wishing they could say: “Hey, if we want to get this worked out, we better check with Sixty.”Â 

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“Oh Lord, when I die, please let me be buried in Louisiana, so that I can stay active in politics.”Â 

– Former Governor Earl Long

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