“In the late 1950s, a branch of a loose-knit gang of violent thugs nicknamed the Dixie Mafia settled in Biloxi with plans to establish their turf and take over a share of the vice. Before the Dixie Mafia, there had always been jealousy among the club owners, but they were making money and life was good. There was a killing every now and then and the usual intimidation, but no serious efforts by one group to take over.”
These are the opening words of the novel and they set the stage for much of what is to come, which is a deep dive into everything one could ever want to know about Biloxi. Except, curiously, how to properly pronounce the name of this town hugging Mississippi’s Gulf of Mexico coastline. For the record, pretend there is a “u” where the “o” is. Making this absence especially curious is that the proper pronunciation of Biloxi could have been exploited by the author as part of one of the multiple references to luck and being lucky that are scattered throughout the novel. The entire first chapter is a broad overview of the history of Biloxi as a small-time crime capital. Though certainly not the equivalent of Chicago—or even, for that matter, Phenix City across the border in Alabama—a specialized sort of organized crime actually was run by a group known as the Dixie Mafia. This is a novel, not a non-fiction account, but this opening paragraph sets the stage for the opening chapter which sets the stage for the rest of the book. Which, by the time a reader finishes it, will have completed their education in the historical background of Biloxi’s seamier side.
“The tournament was dominated by teams from the southern part of the state: Biloxi, Gulfport, Pascagoula, Pass Christian and Hattiesburg. In the first game against Vicksburg, Keith threw a one-hitter and Hugh hit a grand slam. In the second game, Hugh threw a one-hitter and Keith returned the favor with two home runs. In five games, Biloxi scored thirty-six runs, gave up only four, and walked away with the state title. The town celebrated and sent the boys off to Pensacola with a party. Competition at the next level was a different matter because the Florida teams were waiting.”
It should be obvious from this quote, that youth baseball plays a major role in the narrative. The game is of relevance to the plot, but more importantly it is relevant to painting the details of the setting. And this is one of the few novels by this author where setting is of supreme significance. The baseball being discussed here takes place back when it truly was the National Pastime and just before college football ascended to the level of religion in the region. The references to Pascagoula and Pensacola joined by references to Mobile and Jacksonville on the very next page. Hank Aaron and Willie Mays were born three years apart in Alabama cities about three hours apart. The Gulf Coast region at the time this novel is set was every bit as much a hotbed of baseball talent and interest as small towns like Biloxi and Phenix City were hotbeds of small-time but very powerful organized criminal activity. The two streams converge precisely because the young baseball players were not playing at the level of Aaron and Mays. Left with dreams of glory on the diamond crushed, both automatically turn to what they know: the businesses of their respective fathers. These boys of summer become the “Boys” of the title as their incongruent career set them on course for a showdown. Baseball, crime, and the loose confederation of the entire Gulf Coast region that is familiar to all calling it home all converge in the narrative toward efforts to reconcile this conflict.
“You boys look worried. Need I remind you that the graveyard is full of politicians who promised to clean up the Coast?”
The key to this quote is not that one should always take the “friendly” advice of a southern sheriff nicknamed Fats seriously. The significant element here is that phrase “clean up the coast.” It pops up several times over the course of the narrative. Keep in mind that it has nothing to do with litter on the beach, but corruption among law enforcement. When a sheriff called Fats is mocking the phrase, one can be sure that Fats is one of the great beneficiaries of that corruption. The very first appearance of this phrase is placed in conjunction with another phrase: “That’s just the Biloxi.” Which is another way of saying that everybody recognizes corruption is rampant and a few will even publicly rail against it, but most people are smart enough not to be worried because they know nothing will ever be done.
