Huey’s corpse was viewed by a coroner’s jury at the Rabenhorst Funeral Home, where it was being prepared to be laid out in state in the capitol’s memorial hall for two days before the funeral. Thomas M. Davis, now a laboratory supervisor for an oil refinery, was one member of that five-man panel. Speaking in the living room of his modest home in the Goodwood subdivision, he recalls that---- “I was an L.S.U. freshman at the time. My daddy had come to Baton Rouge from Alabama to work as a brickmason at the Standard Oil plant. Dr. Tom Bird, the coroner, was a friend of ours, and knew I wasn’t too well fixed, so for as long as I was in college, he would appoint me to these coroner’s juries because he knew the two-dollar fee I got helped me to stay in school. “The day of the inquest--it was a Tuesday and raining like everything--we met at Rabenhorst’s and were taken out in back where Long’s body lay under a sheet. The sheet was lifted and then Dr. Tom, he raised up the right side of the body to show us the wound in the back. It was so small I doubt we’d have even seen it had it not been pointed out to us. But they wouldn’t let us get too close to the body, no more than from here to the other side of the room [indicating a distance of approximately twelve feet]. They never did let us feel around to see could we get out another bullet. They did show us the little old Spanish [_sic!_] automatic that belonged to Dr. Weiss, and then Dr. Tom filled out the report and we all signed it, and went home through the rain that was still pouring. That afternoon Dr. Weiss was buried.” Long was buried two days later. Throughout the day and night, Tuesday and Wednesday, his body lay in state as thousands upon thousands filed slowly past the casket in an apparently endless procession to look their last upon him. From near and far came floral offerings: elaborate professional set pieces of broken columns, gates ajar, open schoolbooks, and the like, with ornately gold-lettered, broad ribbons of white or lavender silk; but there were likewise many simple wreaths of garden blossoms, plucked by the hands of those who revered ol’ Huey as the avatar who had been put on earth to brighten and better the lot of the common man. Large as it was, Memorial Hall could not begin to hold the flowers. When they were set up outdoors in the landscaped capitol park, they occupied literally acres of the grounds.