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"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."
— William Shakespeare
"Except in Biloxi, where the stage has been closed for eight years and nobody knows the lines."
— The Undersigned
PROLOGUE: THE RETURN
Dear Reader,
We are back. It's 2026.
You remember how we left things, don't you? The Greyhound station. The heat that crawls into your lungs. The Strip with its neon promises and backroom deals. Mike Gillich polishing glasses at the Golden Nugget while a judge and his councilwoman wife lay dead across town.
You remember the family tree we drew. The Croatian bloodline that split into two branches — one that chose grocery stores, one that chose murder. And the nephew of the murderer who became mayor.
Four terms. Eighty percent of the vote. Unopposed in 2021.
The Matrix doesn't die, Reader. It adapts.
Take my hand again. We're not going back to 1987 this time — we just came back. It wouldn't be safe or proper. The machine needs to cool. The timeline needs to heal.
So we're staying right here, in the present, where the ghosts wear suits and the corruption files quarterly reports.
But first — we need to visit a theater.
* s t a t i c c r a c k l e *
Oh — hey.
Hey. Reader.
Reader.
You still with me?
...
Good. Good. The undersigned was worried for a second there. Time travel takes a lot out of you. Especially when you're dragging a passenger.
Listen — do you remember something?
Back in 1987. When we were walking through downtown. On foot. You and the undersigned, side by side, heading to City Hall.
We passed the Saenger.
Remember? The marquee was lit. Something playing — the undersigned doesn't remember what. Doesn't matter. What matters is you.
The undersigned saw how you looked at it.
Your head turned. Your step slowed. Just for a second. The undersigned noticed.
You wanted to go in.
But we couldn't. We had somewhere to be. We had to witness Margaret Sherry — the Margaret Sherry, still alive, still breathing, still fighting — talking to those councilmen. We had to see the machine before it killed her.
So the undersigned made you a promise.
"Later. We'll catch a show later."
You nodded. You kept walking.
And then — well. You know what happened next. The Sherrys. The blood. The timeline turning red. We had to leave. Fast. You can't linger in a year where the bodies are still warm, Reader. Not with Holcomb driving back to Texas with gunpowder on his hands. Not with Mr. Mike already planning his alibi.
We had to go.
But the undersigned promised.
"We'll see a show when we get back."
Well.
We're back.
It's 2026. We made it. Forty years forward. The undersigned kept you safe the whole way.
And guess what?
The Saenger Theatre still exists.
Same building. Same marquee. Same velvet seats where Biloxi's finest used to watch the pictures before The Strip took over, before the bullets flew, before the nephew became king.
So what do you say, Reader?
Let's take our minds off the Sherrys. Just for a second. See something light. A musical, maybe. Something with dancing. The undersigned could use a laugh.
You could use a laugh.
Let's go.
. . .
Wait.
Hold on.
What do you mean it's closed?
...
What do you mean there's no show?
...
What do you mean it's been closed for EIGHT YEARS?
. . .
$5.3 million spent.
No opening date.
A ghost light on an empty stage.
Reader.
Reader.
The undersigned dragged you through forty years of American history. Exposed you to radiation you didn't even know existed. Showed you things that would make a federal prosecutor weep.
The undersigned did all of that —
— escaped 1987 —
— promised you a show —
AND THE THEATER IS STILL DARK.
. . .
Ha.
Ha.
You know what, Reader?
Forget the musical.
The undersigned is going to show you something better.
The undersigned is going to show you why this theater has been dark for eight years. Who approved the contracts. Where the money went. Which carpets don't match. Which judgments got hidden.
Oh.
Oh.
You see it now, don't you, Reader?
Mike Gillich might be gone. Died in 2012. Cancer took him in his own home — the home he got to keep after ordering two murders.
But his organization?
Still here.
This theater — dark for eight years, $5.3 million gone, no opening in sight — this is the work of his nephew. The programmer. The one who built the computer systems. The one who went legitimate while his uncle went to prison.
The one who became your mayor.
Different Gillich. Same results.
Mr. Mike ran strip clubs into the ground. FoFo runs theaters into the ground.
One killed people. One kills projects.
Progress.
You wanted entertainment?
Fine.
If we can't see a show —
Let's make one ourselves.
You and the undersigned. Right here. Right now.
No curtain. No intermission. No mercy.
Ready?
...
No?
Again?
Damn, Reader. Get your act together.
The undersigned didn't drag you through forty years of murder and conspiracy for you to get cold feet at the theater door.
Come on. With me now.
Deep breath.
There you go.
CAMERAS.
LIGHTS.
ACTION.
Let's fucking go, Reader.
. . .
Oh — and Reader?
One more thing before we start.
Our little trip to 1987?
It caused ripples.
You and the undersigned — walking through The Strip, witnessing Margaret Sherry, documenting the bloodline — that wasn't just tourism. That was disruption.
The effects of our trip have been felt.
Greatly felt.
Over 100,000 views, Reader.
One hundred thousand people now know what we saw. What we documented. What the machine tried to bury for forty years.
The Sherrys are looking down on us right now.
Vincent. Margaret.
And you know what?
They're smiling.
We did that, Reader.
You and the undersigned.
Together.
Now let's do it again.
* s t a t i c f a d e s *
CHAPTER I: THE MARQUEE
You want to know about the Saenger Theatre, Reader?
Fine. Let's talk about the Saenger Theatre.
And how fucking hard can it be to fix a theater?
The undersigned is asking seriously. Because the undersigned is a licensed builder. The undersigned has renovated properties. The undersigned knows what it takes to bring a building back to life.
And the answer is: not that hard.
Unless.
Unless you're corrupt. Unless you're stealing money. Unless the project being "unfinished" is the point — because as long as it's unfinished, the contracts keep flowing, the invoices keep coming, and the grift stays open.
Close the project? Close the grift.
Keep it open forever? Infinite money.
But Reader — we need not speculate. We have history.
You know how long it took to build the Saenger Theatre?
From the ground. From nothing. In 1929. With 1929 technology. 1929 labor laws. 1929 supply chains.
One year.
They built the entire fucking thing in one year.
And FoFo Gilich — with modern equipment, modern contractors, modern everything — can't remodel it in eight?
Eight years, Reader.
It took less time to build it from scratch than to put in new carpet.
Let that sink in.
Actually — no. Let the undersigned make it simpler.
Say you had a pizza.
A whole pizza. Made from scratch. Dough, sauce, cheese, toppings, baked. Done. One hour.
Now someone says: "Hey, can you add some tomatoes and extra cheese to this pizza?"
And you say: "Sure. Give me seven hours."
Seven. Hours.
To add toppings.
To a pizza that already exists.
How the fuck does that make any sense?
It doesn't, Reader. It doesn't make sense. Unless the person adding toppings is charging by the hour. Unless every hour they don't finish is another hour they get paid. Unless the pizza being "unfinished" is more profitable than the pizza being eaten.
That's the Saenger Theatre.
Built in one year. Can't be remodeled in eight.
The pizza has been "almost ready" since 2017.
And Reader — if you're wondering whether this is corruption or just incompetence?
The undersigned has an answer for you.
The carpet.
FoFo Gilich's administration spent $73,000 on a carpet for a city building.
Seventy-three thousand dollars.
And they did it wrong.
Wrong color. Wrong pattern. Doesn't match. Looks like shit.
Now they need another $70,000 to fix it.
So here's your answer, Reader:
It's not corruption or incompetence.
It's both.
They're stealing money AND they're bad at their jobs. They can't even grift correctly. They fumble the bag while they're grabbing it.
This is the administration that's been "remodeling" the Saenger for eight years.
They can't get a carpet right with $73,000 and unlimited time.
And you're surprised the theater isn't finished?
*the undersigned puts on a top hat*
*picks up a ringmaster's mace*
*clears throat*
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!
Dear Reader — the undersigned will be your host this evening.
Welcome to the greatest show in Mississippi.
Welcome to the only circus where the clowns run the city and the taxpayers are the ones getting pied in the face.
WELCOME TO...
THE DIXIE MAFIA SPRING
— A Biloxi Production —
And now, Reader...
Allow the undersigned to introduce our star attraction.
He promised you a whole new world.
He delivered a mismatched carpet.
He promised you a renovated theater.
He delivered eight years of darkness.
He promised you fiscal responsibility.
He delivered a $21 million deficit.
His uncle ordered murders. He orders carpets.
Neither one got it right.
INTRODUCING...
THE CROATIAN ALADDIN
Four-time Mayor of Biloxi
80% of the vote
0% of the theater
ANDREW "FOFO" GILICH JR.
*crowd goes mild*
But wait, Reader — there's more!
Every Aladdin needs a vizier. Every puppet show needs someone pulling the strings.
AND NOW...
The meanest short man in Mississippi.
The tallest 5-foot-tall man in Biloxi history.
$700,000 a year and counting.
THE NAPOLEON OF BILOXI
PETER C. ABIDE
*scattered applause from city contractors*
And by his side — because every Napoleon needs a Josephine —
Her face on every "For Sale" sign in town.
Her name on every closing document.
The realtor whose husband approves the building permits.
How convenient.
JULIE ABIDE
*polite golf claps*
. . .
*Napoleon takes the microphone*
*adjusts his height*
*clears throat*
"Ladies and gentlemen... if I may..."
"I would like to introduce someone very special to me."
"My... hidden partner."
"Without his help, the racketeering wouldn't be possible."
"$3.7 million in co-owned real estate. Engineering contracts flowing like wine. A $300,000 pier design for a pier that doesn't exist."
"Please give a warm welcome to..."
THE CONTRACT GUY
MARK SEYMOUR
Seymour Engineering
Where the contracts go and the projects don't
*one guy in the back claps*
*it's Mark Seymour*
*he's clapping for himself*
. . .
Oh — but Reader.
We almost forgot someone.
How could we forget?
Every fraudulent project needs permits approved.
Every Stop Work Order needs someone to sign it.
Every Sunday morning surveillance needs a photographer.
Without him, this show wouldn't be possible.
He wears five hats — but answers to one master.
He's the first one Napoleon calls when someone needs to be silenced.
And when Napoleon calls?
RISE AND SHINE.
Building Official.
Community Development Director.
Historic Preservation Director.
Code Enforcement Director.
Secretary to the Board of Appeals.
One man. Five titles. Zero accountability.
He said it himself, under oath:
"Pete Abide... directed me."
THE PUPPET
JERRY CREEL
Five hats. One master.
The gun that Napoleon points.
The fucker of HR managers.
The hungriest building official in Mississippi history.
Hide your girls, dear Reader.
This one won't forgive no one.
*Jerry waves enthusiastically*
*nobody waves back*
*Jerry keeps waving*
*this is getting uncomfortable*
. . .
And no team is complete without support staff, Reader.
Every circus needs roadies. Every heist needs a getaway driver. Every scheme needs useful idiots.
INTRODUCING... THE SUPPORTING CAST
. . .
First up —
The man who hooks up the deals.
The man who can't even get his own dick straight.
The man who proves that in Biloxi, failure is no obstacle to promotion.
But couldn't even make it as a fireman.
THE HOOK
AARON WILSON
Allegedly got a U-turn for his weiner.
Still couldn't get his story straight.
*Aaron trips walking onto stage*
*blames someone else*
. . .
And finally —
When the City needs someone to do their dirty work...
When they need "concerned citizens" to file complaints...
When they need white knights with interesting backgrounds...
They call the Weeks.
THE WHITE KNIGHTS
ANITA & RONALD WEEKS
She's got the huge glasses. The little Facebook page.
He's got the white knight complex.
Alleged prostitution ties.
Definite City ties.
Helping Biloxi one complaint at a time.
We have the public records, Reader. The ones that show the unequal treatment. How the Weeks requested records and didn't pay a dime. How they got them the next day — through backchannels — while regular citizens wait weeks and pay fees.
And they love some government money. Got grants for their business to make it look like "old stuff." Façade grants. Taxpayer dollars. For the City's favorite defenders.
*the Weeks smile for the camera*
*the camera declines*
Poised to join us in litigation soon.
. . .
AND THAT, DEAR READER, IS YOUR CAST.
The Croatian Aladdin. The Napoleon. The Realtor. The Contract Guy.
The Puppet. The Hook. The White Knights.
All performing nightly at City Hall.
Admission: Your tax dollars.
You already paid.
But there's no show to watch.
The theater is dark, remember?
Refunds: Not available.
In fact, the City is issuing bonds to pay for bills.
For what they already stole.
You're paying twice, Reader.
* curtain rises *
But first — close your eyes. Feel the years peeling back. Not to 1987 this time. Further. All the way to 1929.
The Saenger Brothers.
Julian and Abe. Two kids from New Orleans with nothing but dreams and audacity.
Dream? They had it.
Ambition? They had it.
Boldness? They had it in spades.
These two brothers looked at the American South — broke, segregated, beaten down by war and poverty — and said: "We're going to build movie palaces. Not one. Not ten. Three hundred and twenty."
320 theaters.
They didn't just want to enter the market, Reader. They wanted to dominate it. They wanted to build cathedrals of velvet where a sharecropper's son could sit in the same darkness as a banker's daughter. Where the poor could feel rich. Where everyone was equal in the flicker of the silver screen.
And you know what?
They fucking did it.
The Biloxi Saenger was their jewel on the Gulf. 1,500 seats. Neoclassical columns. A ceiling painted like God's waiting room. Opening night — January 15, 1929 — they showed Paramount's first all-talkie. The future itself, projected onto a screen.
Camille tried to kill her in '69. Failed.
Katrina sent a 14-foot wall of black water through her doors in 2005. The orchestra pit became an aquarium. The velvet seats became sponges. The ceiling fell in chunks.
Still. She. Survived.
But eight years of FoFo Gilich's administration?
Reader — that might be what finally kills her.
January 2026
Open your eyes.
You stand on Reynoir Street in downtown Biloxi. Turn your head slowly. Look up at the marquee. Notice how the paint peels in strips — whole sections of gold leaf missing.
Breathe.
The Saenger Theatre rises before you — a grand dame in a dusty ballgown, her marquee dark, her doors chained shut. The same Art Deco architecture from 1929, now bleached and cracking.
A sign hangs crooked on the entrance, bleached by eight years of Gulf Coast sun:
GRAND REOPENING SOON
"Soon."
⚠️ QUEST WARNING: "Soon" is a technical term in municipal engineering. It means "never, but with a press release." Previous players reported spending 8 years waiting on this objective. Proceed with caution.
You've heard that word before, Reader. You heard it in 2019, when the city said renovations would cost $2.1 million and take a year. You heard it in 2021, when the estimate ballooned to $5.3 million. You heard it in 2024, when Mayor Andrew "FoFo" Gilich promised the theater would open "this year."
You heard it in 2025, when he guaranteed opening was "weeks away, not months."
It is now 2026.
The theater remains dark.
Count the years on your fingers if you need to, Reader. Verify it yourself. The math is worse when you do it in real time.
(In FoFo's defense, eight years is a long time. Light switches are complex. They require understanding elementary physics and the ability to read instructions written for children. He's only one man.)
Look at these numbers carefully, Reader. Don't skim. Let each one sink in.
THE SAENGER THEATRE: BY THE NUMBERS
OPENED: January 1929
CLOSED: March 2018
YEARS DARK: 8 (and counting)
ORIGINAL ESTIMATE: $2.1 million (2019)
CURRENT SPENT: $5.3 million+ (2026)
GRANT AMENDMENTS: 5 (missed deadlines)
OPENING PROMISES BROKEN:
• 2024: "This year" — FAILED
• 2025: "Weeks, not months" — FAILED
• 2026: No date announced
An old woman watches you from a gallery across the street. She has tired eyes and a smoker's laugh.
"You here about the theater?" she asks.
You nod.
"Honey, I've been waiting for that place to open since my granddaughter was in diapers. She's in middle school now." She takes a long drag. "It's the longest intermission I've ever seen."
She doesn't mention what's happening behind the curtain.
But you're about to find out.
CHAPTER II: THE BACKSTAGE DOOR
A Brief Return to 1987
Before we go deeper into the present, let's remember where we've been.
In Part One of this series, we walked The Strip together. We met Mike Gillich Jr. — "Mr. Mike" — the quiet man who held doors for ladies and ordered executions over coffee. We watched the Sherry murders unfold. We saw Pete Halat, the lawyer who blamed an innocent judge for stolen money, become the Mayor of Biloxi.
And we drew the family tree.
Mike Gillich Jr. had a brother. Andrew M. Gillich Sr. The legitimate one. The grocer. The apartment builder.
Andrew had a son.
They call him FoFo.
A door marked "STAFF ONLY" still sticks. You shoulder it open and the dust hits like '87 cigarette smoke. Same city, same script, different cast.
The question we asked in Part One was: Does blood determine destiny?
The answer was no. FoFo Gilich was never charged with any crime. He ran software companies while his uncle ordered hits. He is, by all available evidence, a legitimate businessman.
But the question we're asking in Part Two is different.
The question is: Has anything actually changed?
Then it was envelopes under tables.
Now it's PDFs on public servers.
Then it was a councilwoman crusading against The Strip, silenced by bullets.
Now it's councilmen demanding transparency, silenced by confusing reports and hidden agendas.
The choreography is smoother.
The rhythm hasn't changed.
CHAPTER III: THE PROP THAT DOESN'T FIT
The $73,000 Carpet
Let's talk about carpet, Reader.
I know. Carpet. Stay with me.
In August 2025, the City of Biloxi signed a contract with Continental Flooring Company of Arizona. The price: $73,100 for carpet tiles to be installed in the Saenger Theatre.
Seventy-three thousand dollars. For carpet. In a theater that hasn't opened in eight years.
Carpet tiles — not broadloom. More expensive, but easier to replace individual sections. A reasonable choice for a commercial venue.
There was just one problem.
The contractor warned the city before installation that the large pattern selected would not align seamlessly between tiles. The design would look disjointed. Mismatched. Wrong.
Read that again, Reader. The professional they hired to install the carpet told them it wouldn't work.
The city approved the design anyway.
The work proceeded.
Two days before Christmas 2025, the City of Biloxi posted photos of the newly installed carpet on social media — proud as a cat presenting a dead bird.
The internet erupted.
"CARPET-GATE": THE TIMELINE
AUGUST 2025: Contract signed — $73,100
BEFORE INSTALL: Contractor warns pattern won't align
CITY RESPONSE: Approves design anyway
DECEMBER 23: Photos posted on social media
DECEMBER 24: "Facebook frenzy" — public backlash
JANUARY 2026: Mayor calls it "carpet-gate," claims it's "corrected"
POTENTIAL ADDITIONAL COST: Another $70,000+ to relay
The carpet is a clue, Reader.
Not because it matters in isolation — $73,000 is a rounding error in a $5.3 million project. But because of what it represents.
Say it out loud with me:
The city was warned.
The city approved anyway.
The city is now paying to fix what should never have been broken.
This is not incompetence, Reader. This is a pattern. Memorize it. You're going to see it again.
The carpet doesn't match the room.
The carpet doesn't match the story.
Neither does the administration telling it.
CHAPTER IV: THE REVIEWS ARE IN
Council Members Speak
Are you ready for this, Reader?
Because I'm about to show you something that made me sit back in my chair and whisper "holy shit" at my screen.
You read the council minutes like a detective reads crime scene reports. One word jumps off the page.
Not a metaphor this time. An accusation.
On October 30, 2025, the Biloxi City Council gathered for what should have been a routine meeting. Agenda items. Budget amendments. The usual bureaucratic theater.
But Councilman Anthony Marshall had questions.
The mayor's office wanted to redirect $2.2 million in state infrastructure funds — money earmarked for pothole repairs and sidewalk improvements across all seven wards — toward the Popp's Ferry Road Extension project.
Marshall wanted to know why.
The answer, when it finally came, was explosive.
The city was facing a $3.9 million court judgment.
Translation: They lied. The council didn't even know they were being lied to. By the time they figured it out, the check had already cleared.
Do the math yourself, Reader. I'll wait.
An eminent domain lawsuit. The city had seized two acres of land for the road project, offered $210,787 in compensation. A real estate appraisal — you know, by professionals — determined the "just compensation" was $3.9 million.
The city had lost. Badly.
And nobody had told the council.
Nobody.
THE HIDDEN JUDGMENT
CITY'S OFFER: $210,787
COURT'S RULING: $3,900,000
DIFFERENCE: $3,689,213 (1,756% higher)
DISCLOSURE TO COUNCIL: Only after direct questioning
Councilman Wayne Gray put it plainly:
And then:
The council voted to table the issue for a week. To allow time for "financial planning."
But the damage was done.
The fourth wall had broken.
(Achievement Unlocked: "THEY KNEW" — Discovered elected officials were kept in the dark about a nearly $4 million judgment. +500 XP. Warning: This achievement unlocks the "Righteous Anger" debuff.)
CHAPTER V: THE LIGHTHOUSE THAT WASN'T
Another Project, Another Nightmare
⚠️ SIDE QUEST DISCOVERED: "The Lighthouse That Wasn't" — Investigate the other landmark that can't seem to get rebuilt. Difficulty: Sisyphean.
You know the Biloxi Lighthouse, Reader?
Of course you do. Everyone does. It's on the postcards. It's in the tourism brochures. It's the most iconic structure on the Mississippi Gulf Coast.
A beacon since 1848. Survived the Civil War. Survived Camille. Survived Katrina.
Its pier did not survive Hurricane Zeta.
That was October 2020.
Count the years on your fingers, Reader. Go ahead.
It is now January 2026.
The Lighthouse Pier remains closed.
Five years.
At a city council meeting in January 2026, Mayor Gilich was asked for an update on the pier reconstruction.
His answer?
His own word. On the record. Describing a project his administration has managed for five years.
(When the boss describes his own work as "a nightmare," Reader, that's not a bug. That's a confession.)
Look at these numbers carefully. Let each one sink in like the pier sank into bureaucratic quicksand.
LIGHTHOUSE PIER: THE NUMBERS
DESTROYED: October 2020 (Hurricane Zeta)
YEARS CLOSED: 5+
FEMA COMMITTED: $858,000
CITY HAS: $1,097,000
TOTAL AVAILABLE: ~$1.95 million
"EXPENSIVE OPTION": $4.2 million (Seymour Engineering design)
DESIGN FEE: $300,000 (Seymour got paid)
PIER STATUS: Does not exist
FEMA STATUS: DENIED upgraded funding requests
MAYOR'S DESCRIPTION: "A nightmare"
Peter Abide thanks you, dear Reader.
Your tax dollars paid for his partner's design.
For a pier that doesn't exist.
BONUS: They even have a little LLC together.
NAME: Bird Dog LLC
PURPOSE: Holding real estate
PARTNERS: Abide + Seymour
How cute. A little nest egg.
MEANWHILE: Julie Abide — the realtor wife — has been scooping up tax deed properties.
You know, those properties the City forecloses on.
The ones her husband's office processes.
Coincidence?
The undersigned stopped believing in coincidences two years ago.
WHAT DOES MISSISSIPPI LAW SAY?
Miss. Code § 25-4-105:
"Public servants cannot use his official position to obtain, or attempt to obtain, pecuniary benefit for himself or for any relative or any business with which he is associated."
PENALTIES:
• Civil fines up to $10,000
• Censure
• Removal from office
• Restitution of unlawful gains
So... City Attorney Abide approving contracts for his business partner Seymour...
While his wife Julie scoops up tax deed properties...
Through the same office he controls...
Sounds like a violation to the undersigned.
Source: Mississippi Ethics Commission
The mayor wants the expensive option. A bigger, better pier. Concrete pylons. Stainless steel fasteners. Flow-through decking. Storm-resistant.
A beautiful vision.
FEMA said no.
(FEMA, Reader. The agency famous for saying yes to everything. The agency that funded New Orleans rebuilding, Houston flood recovery, Puerto Rico reconstruction. That FEMA said "no thanks, we'll pass.")
So the pier sits in limbo. Not rebuilt to original specs (which the available money would cover). Not upgraded to the expensive design (which no one will fund). Just... waiting.
Perfect being the enemy of good. Five years and counting.
Councilman Jamie Creel — remember that name — offered a reality check:
CHAPTER VI: THE CONFUSING REPORT
When the Mayor's Office Had to Explain What the Mayor Said
Okay, Reader. This one's my favorite.
You ready?
The January 2026 council meeting was supposed to provide clarity. Answers. A roadmap.
It provided the opposite.
When Mayor Gilich finished his reports on the Saenger Theatre and the Lighthouse Pier, council members sat in confused silence. Numbers had been thrown around. Funding sources mentioned and abandoned. Timelines vague to the point of existential dread.
The reports were so confusing that the Mayor's office had to release a statement the next day explaining what had been said.
Read that again. Slowly.
The Mayor gave a report. The report was so unclear that his own staff had to translate it into English afterward.
This is the man running your city, Reader. Four terms. Eighty percent of the vote.
Watch what happens when a councilman asks a simple question.
Councilman Creel asked: What is the timeline for the Saenger Theatre?
Simple question. Yes or no. A date. A month. Something.
The mayor's response:
Translation: I'm not going to answer your question.
Creel's response was patient but pointed:
CHAPTER VII: THE CAST
The Family Business
Let's talk about the Gilich family business.
FoFo's father, Andrew M. Gilich Sr., built an apartment empire in Biloxi. Multiple buildings across the city. A legacy of brick and mortar and rental income.
When Andrew Sr. died in 2014, who took over the family properties?
According to sources familiar with the family's business operations, the rental portfolio is now managed by FoFo's wife.
The mayor's wife. Running the family rental empire. While the mayor runs the city.
The Gilich family tree extends further.
Rachel Gilich Wade — FoFo's niece — is married to Keith Wade, Captain of the Gulf Coast Carnival Association.
This is not illegal. This is not even unusual. Families have businesses. Families have connections.
But in a city where transparency is demanded and accountability is promised, the question remains:
What does the city owe the family? And what does the family owe the city?
CHAPTER VIII: THE STATE FEUD
Jackson vs. Biloxi
You want to understand why Biloxi can't get things done? Look north.
The relationship between Mayor Gilich and state officials in Jackson has deteriorated to the point of open warfare.
Exhibit A: Secretary of State Michael Watson.
The dispute centers on tidelands — the publicly owned coastal lands that casinos and developers lease for waterfront access. Watson accused Biloxi of issuing "good-ole-boy" lease rates to favored developers.
Watson sued. Biloxi, Long Beach, and Harrison County all faced legal action over tidelands authority.
The Mississippi Supreme Court ruled in Biloxi's favor. But the damage was done.
Mayor Gilich's response was not diplomatic.
In a letter to Attorney General Lynn Fitch, he wrote:
And:
According to a former city official who spoke on condition of anonymity:
The official added:
CHAPTER IX: THE BUDGET
A Spending Problem, Not a Revenue Problem
Here's where it all comes together, Reader. Here's where the math finally tells the story.
In August 2025, Mayor Gilich proposed a 3-mill property tax increase to cover a $2 million budget shortfall.
The council — for once — said no.
In September 2025, the council passed a budget with a $21 million deficit — and that's after selling off assets (capitalization) and issuing $10 million in bonds.
Read that number again. Out loud. $21 million in the hole.
Twenty-one million dollars in the red — after they already sold everything they could and borrowed ten million more.
The same former official put it bluntly:
Look at this list, Reader. Really look at it. Add up the dysfunction in your head.
THE SPENDING PROBLEM
SAENGER THEATRE: $5.3M+ spent — 8 years, no opening
LIGHTHOUSE PIER: 5 years closed — "nightmare"
$73K CARPET: Mismatched — may need $70K more to fix
$3.9M JUDGMENT: Hidden from council — "TRICKERY"
CITY ATTORNEY: $566K/year — "outside contractor"
DC LOBBYIST: $8K+/month — still can't get projects done
BUDGET DEFICIT: $21M (after selling assets + $10M bonds) — FY2026
TAX INCREASE PROPOSED: Yes (3-mill)
TAX INCREASE PASSED: No (council rejected)
(And they wanted to raise your taxes to cover it.)
CHAPTER X: THE GHOST LIGHT
What This All Means
Close your eyes one more time, Reader.
Picture an empty theater. Dark. Silent. Dusty.
In theatrical tradition, when a theater goes dark, a single bulb is left burning on the empty stage. They call it the ghost light. It's there to keep the spirits company. To remind them that the show will go on.
The Saenger Theatre has been dark for eight years.
The ghost light is still burning.
But the show never starts.
Open your eyes.
Reader, you've walked with me through this investigation. You've counted the years. Added up the dollars. Watched the promises break like cheap props.
You've seen the numbers. The timelines. The broken promises. The hidden judgments. The family connections. The state feuds. The spending that never stops and the projects that never finish.
What does it all add up to?
You tell me. You've done the math now. You've seen the receipts.
It adds up to a city that performs governance without actually governing.
A city where the mayor gives reports so confusing that his own staff has to explain them.
A city where $73,000 carpets are approved over contractor objections and $3.9 million judgments are hidden from elected officials.
A city where the flagship cultural landmark has been "almost ready" for nearly a decade.
A city where the most iconic pier on the Gulf Coast sits in ruins while administrators argue about design upgrades they can't afford.
The Strip never closed, Reader. It just got rezoned.
The theater never opened. They just kept renovating.
EPILOGUE: THE ENCORE
January 2026
Come back to where we started, Reader.
You stand one last time across from the Saenger Theatre. The Gulf breeze carries salt and the faint smell of failure.
The marquee is still dark. The sign still promises "GRAND REOPENING SOON."
A construction worker walks past, hard hat in hand. He's seen you here before — or someone like you. Another person waiting for a show that never starts.
"You know when this place is gonna open?" you ask.
He laughs. Not a happy laugh. The laugh of a man who's asked the same question too many times.
"Buddy, I've been asking that question for three years. Best I can tell you is 'soon.' But around here, 'soon' means 'whenever they figure out who's paying for what.'"
He walks on.
📋 QUEST STATUS: "The Saenger Theatre" — INCOMPLETE.
Objective: Wait for grand reopening.
Time elapsed: 8 years.
Reward: Unknown.
This quest cannot be abandoned.
The Saenger Theatre was built in 1929 for $200,000. It took less than a year to construct. It had 1,500 seats and a child's ticket cost a dime.
The renovation started in 2018. It has cost over $5.3 million. It has no opening date.
Think about this, Reader. In the time it has taken to "renovate" this theater, humanity accomplished the following:
- Built the Empire State Building — 102 floors, 410 days
- Constructed the Golden Gate Bridge — 1.7 miles, 4 years
- Fought and won World War II — entire global conflict, 3 years and 8 months
- Put a man on the moon — from Kennedy's speech to Neil Armstrong's step, 8 years
But the City of Biloxi cannot, apparently, install carpet that matches.
Let that sink in.
The undersigned will continue to investigate.
The undersigned will continue to document.
The undersigned will continue to ask the questions that council members are afraid to ask and mayors refuse to answer.
Because the show must go on, Reader.
Even if the theater never opens.
And you? You're part of this now. You've read the numbers. You've walked The Strip with me — twice. You've seen what I've seen.
The question isn't whether you believe it anymore.
The question is what you're going to do about it.
Rise and shine, Biloxi.
The intermission is over.
It's time to demand the final act.
Sources
News Sources
- WLOX: Saenger Carpet Controversy
- WLOX: Jamie Creel Gets Clear Answers
- WLOX: Mayor's Report on Saenger and Lighthouse
- WLOX: "TRICKERY" Accusation
- WLOX: Budget Passed 4-3
- WLOX: More Funds Requested
- NOLA.com: $73,000 Carpet Backlash
- WLOX: Mayor Backs AG Against Watson
Public Records
- Biloxi City Council Meeting Minutes (October 30, 2025; January 2026)
- Mississippi Development Authority Grant Amendments (5 total)
- Continental Flooring Company Contract ($73,100)
Legal Sources
- Mississippi Supreme Court — Tidelands Rulings (2023)
- Harrison County Circuit Court — Eminent Domain Judgment ($3.9 million)
Legal Disclaimer
This article presents facts documented in news reports, public records, and statements from public officials acting in their official capacity. All claims are sourced and attributed.
The undersigned makes no accusation of criminal wrongdoing against any individual named in this article. Questions are asked. Patterns are documented. Conclusions are left to the reader.
Protected political commentary under the First Amendment. See Hustler Magazine v. Falwell, 485 U.S. 46 (1988).
Response Invited
Mayor Gilich and any city official named in this article are welcome to submit signed responses for publication with equal prominence. We will post them in full, unedited.
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