He was encouraged by the meeting and left it with the belief that the newspaper, a major voice on the Coast, would back him. The following day, the front page had a nice photo of him with the headline: “Jesse Rudy Enters DA’s Race.”
* * *
Lance Malco read the story and was amused by it. He had known Jesse since their childhood days on Point Cadet and had once, many years ago, considered him a friend, though never a close one. Those days were long gone. The new battle lines were clear and the war was on. Lance, though, was not concerned. Before Jesse could begin his mischief, he had to get elected, and Fats Bowman and his machine had never lost an election. Fats knew the playbook and was adept at the dirty tricks: stuffing ballot boxes, raising large sums of unreported money, buying blocks of votes, spreading lies, intimidating voters, harassing poll workers, bribing election officials, and voting dead people with absentee ballots. Fats had never been seriously challenged and enjoyed boasting about the need to have at least one opponent in every election. An enemy on the ballot allowed him to raise even more money. He, too, was up for reelection and when an opponent finally appeared he would crank up the full force of his political machine.
Lance would meet with Fats soon enough and have a drink over this latest news. They would map out their opposition and plan their dirty tricks. Lance would be clear, though, about one thing. Jesse and his family were off-limits and were not to be threatened. Not in the first months anyway. If his reform campaign gained traction, which Lance seriously doubted, then Fats and his boys could revert to their old ways of intimidation.
* * *
Through the spring of 1967, Jesse hit the civic club circuit and made dozens of speeches. The Rotarians, Civitans, Lions, Jaycees, Legionnaires, and others were always looking for lunch speakers and would invite almost anyone in the news. Jesse honed his skills on the stump and talked of a new day on the Coast, one without corruption and the freewheeling, anything-goes history of unbridled vice. He was a proud son of Biloxi and Point Cadet, had risen from modest means, raised by hardworking immigrants who loved their new country, and he was tired of his town’s ugly reputation. As always, he avoided naming names, but quickly rattled off joints like Red Velvet, Foxy’s, O’Malley’s, Carousel, the Truck Stop, Siesta, Sunset Bar, Blue Ocean Club, and others as examples of “pits of iniquity” that had no place in a new Gulf Coast. His favorite prop was a memo sent from the headquarters at Keesler. It was an official warning to all members of the armed forces, and it listed 66 “establishments” on the Coast that were “off-limits.” Most were in Biloxi, and the list included virtually every bar, lounge, club, pool hall, motel, and café in town. “What kind of place do we live in?” Jesse asked his audiences.
He was generally well received and enjoyed the polite applause, though most of those listening doubted his chances.
As busy as his office was, he found two or three hours each afternoon to hit the streets and knock on doors. There were almost 41,000 registered voters in Harrison County, 6,600 in Hancock, and 3,200 in Stone, and his goal was to meet as many as possible. He barely had enough money for brochures and yard signs. Radio ads and billboards were out of the question. He relied on hard work, shoe leather, and a dogged determination to meet the voters. When she was free, Agnes joined him, and they worked many streets together, Jesse on one side, his wife on the other. When school ended in May and Keith came home from college, the four children eagerly grabbed stacks of brochures and canvassed shopping centers, ball games, church picnics, outdoor markets, anywhere they could find a crowd.
It was an election year, time for serious politicking, and every race from governor down to county constable and justice of the peace was on the ballot. Somewhere in the district, there was a rally every weekend, and the Rudy family never missed one. Several times, Jesse spoke either before or after Rex Dubisson, and the two managed to keep things cordial. Rex relied on his experience and crowed about his 90 percent conviction rate. Jesse countered with the argument that Mr. Dubisson was not going after the real crooks. Fats had managed to coerce an old deputy to run against him, and his machine was in high gear. His presence at a stump speaking always guaranteed a crowd. The governor’s race pitted two well-known politicians, John Bell Williams and William Winter, against each other, and when it heated up in midsummer the voters were even more excited. Observers predicted a record turnout.