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Pamela Colloff

Pamela Colloff

Pamela Colloff is an executive editor at TEXAS MONTHLY and has been writing for the magazine since 1997. Her work has also appeared in The New Yorker and has been anthologized in three editions of Best American Crime Reporting as well as the ebook collection, Next Wave: America's New Generation of Great Literary Journalists.

Colloff has been a finalist for two National Magazine Awards, first in 2001 for her article on school prayer, and then again in 2011 for her two-part series, “Innocence Lost” and “Innocence Found,” on wrongly-convicted death row inmate Anthony Graves. One month after the publication of “Innocence Lost,” the Burleson County district attorney’s office dropped all charges against Graves and released him from jail, where he had been awaiting retrial. Colloff’s article—an exhaustive examination of Graves’s case—was credited with helping Graves win his freedom after eighteen years behind bars.

Colloff holds a bachelor’s degree in English literature from Brown University and was raised in New York City. She lives in Austin with her husband and their two children.

Photograph by Jeff Wilson

Features

Michael Morton spent 25 years wrongfully imprisoned for the brutal murder of his wife. How did it happen? And who is to blame?

Michael Morton came home from work one day in 1986 to find that his wife had been brutally murdered. What happened next was one of the most profound miscarriages of justice in Texas history.

On October 3, 2006, a four-year-old boy named Andrew Burd died in a Corpus Christi hospital. The cause of death was determined to be salt poisoning, an extremely unusual occurrence. Even more shocking was what happened next: his foster mother, Hannah Overton, was found guilty of killing him. But could she really have done what the prosecutors say?

Why did Jason Bourque and Daniel McAllister, two Baptist boys from East Texas, set fire to ten churches across three counties last year?

Some people call it a quartoseptcentennial, or a septaquintaquinquecentennial (seriously), but you’d better save your breath. You’ll need it on this wide-ranging 6,000-mile voyage commemorating Texas’s 175th birthday. It starts in Glen Rose, ends in Austin, and stops along the way at 175 places that tell the story of the state, from the grassy field in La Porte where independence was won to the parking garage in Dallas where the Super Bowl was dreamed up; from the Austin dorm room where Dell Inc. was born to the college hall in Houston where Barbara Jordan learned to debate; from the hotel in San Antonio where Lydia Mendoza recorded “Mal Hombre” to the—well, you get the idea. And you’d better get started. The road awaits . . .

Anthony Graves had been behind bars for eighteen years when the prosecutors in his case abruptly dropped all charges and set him free. How did it happen? What happens next?

The faces—and voices—of eighteen Texans who are living the debate over illegal immigration.

Anthony Graves has spent the past eighteen years behind bars—twelve of them on death row—for a grisly 1992 murder. There was no plausible motive nor any physical evidence to connect him to the crime, and the only witness against him repeatedly recanted his testimony. Yet he remains locked up. Did the system fail?

On March 31, 1995, South Texas came to a standstill as the shocking news spread that the hugely popular Tejano singer Selena Quintanilla Perez had been shot and killed in Corpus Christi. Fifteen years later, the people who knew Selena best recall the life and devastating death of a star who touched us all.

Driving the River Road, in far West Texas; having a drink at the Mansion on Turtle Creek, in Dallas; fishing for bass in Caddo Lake; eating a chicken-fried steak in Strawn; searching for a lightning whelk along the coast; and 58 other things that all Texans must do before they die.

A fond look back at 22 Texans who died in 2009, from Farrah Fawcett and Walter Cronkite to Brandon Lara and Joe Bowman.

On November 18, 1999, at 2:42 a.m., the most passionately observed collegiate tradition in Texas—if not the world—came crashing down. Nearly sixty people were on top of the Texas A&M Bonfire when the million-pound structure collapsed, killing twelve, wounding dozens more, and eventually leading to the suspension of the ninety-year-old ritual. Now, ten years later, on what would have been Bonfire’s centennial, the Aggies celebrate the history, relive the tragedy, and wrestle over what happens next.

On our first-ever quest for the state’s best burgers, we covered more than 12,000 miles, ate at more than 250 restaurants, and gained, collectively, more than 40 pounds. Our dauntless determination (and fearless fat intake) was rewarded with a list of 50 transcendent burgers—and you’ll never guess which one ended up on top. Check out our Best Burger section.

The most shocking thing about the murder of the Caffey family in East Texas last year was not how gruesome or inexplicable the crime was. It was that it was masterminded by sixteen-year-old Erin Caffey, a pretty girl who worked at the Sonic, sang in her church, and loved her parents.

For the longest time, quinceañeras were simple, down-home celebrations held in parish halls and backyards. Then along came the stretch Humvees, the carriages and thrones, the choreographed dance routines, the smoke machines, the climbing walls, and the dinners for four hundred bedazzled guests. One thing remains the same, though: It’s all about the girl.

For the 140 full-time, residential students lucky enough to be enrolled there, the Texas School for the Blind is “heaven,” “home,” and “the first place I had friends.”

Eighteen hungry reviewers. 14,773 miles driven/flown. 341 joints visited. Countless bites of brisket, sausage, chicken, pork, white bread, potato salad, and slaw—and vats of sauce—ingested. There are only fifty slots on our quinquennial list of the best places to eat barbecue in Texas. Only five of those got high honors. And only one (you’ll never guess which one in a million years) is the best of the best.

On April 19, 1993, the world watched as the Branch Davidian compound, outside Waco, burned to the ground after a 51-day standoff. Fifteen years later, witnesses and participants—from federal agents to loyal followers of David Koresh—remember what they saw during the deadliest law enforcement operation in U.S. history.

Two Border Patrol agents are sent to prison while the dope smuggler they pursued and wounded is granted immunity by federal prosecutors and goes free. A miscarriage of justice? Not so fast.

An East Texas prison ministry is trying to heal crime victims and rehabilitate criminals by getting them to talk.

Nearly two centuries after their forebears protected colonists from Indian raids, the Texas Rangers are alive and well and wrestling with the realities of the twenty-first century. In their own words, the iconic crime fighters explain how their world has changed—and what it takes to battle the latest generation of bad guys.

The short, slight, mentally disabled black man was found on the side of a road in Linden, huddled in a fetal position. He was bloody and unconscious—the victim of a violent crime. But another tragedy was how residents of the East Texas town reacted.

While politicians and bureaucrats endlessly debate the best ways to secure our borders, illegal immigrants are dying to get into America—literally.

At 11:48 a.m. on August 1, 1966, Charles Whitman began firing his rifle from the top of the University of Texas Tower at anyone and everyone in his sights. At 1:24 p.m., he was gunned down himself. The lives of the people who witnessed the sniper’s spree firsthand would never be the same again.

Every February, on the weekend of Presidents’ Day, the daughters of Laredo’s most prominent families are presented to society in dresses that cost $20,000 or more at a colonial pageant that is the party of the year.

The weekend after Thanksgiving, demonstrators gathered in Crawford and made their feelings about the war quite clear.

Forty-five years after Betty Williams was shot to death by the handsome football player she had been secretly seeing, her murder haunts her Odessa high school—literally.

The letter-sweater-wearing, pom-pom-shaking, pep-rally-leading girl next door has been a beloved Texas icon for generations. So why do so many people today— lawmakers and lawyers, preachers and feminists—think cheerleading is the root, root, root of all evil?

No one in McAllen saw Irene Garza leave Sacred Heart that night in 1960. The next morning, her car was still parked down the street from the church. She never came home.

How the Texans who organized the Swift Boat Vets capsized John Kerry’s presidential campaign.

A year after state legislators kicked tens of thousands of children off the taxpayer-funded health insurance rolls, our biggest public-policy problem has reached crisis proportions. And the bleeding shows no signs of letting up.

Eight years ago, 42 people in the West Texas town of Roby—7 percent of the population—pooled their money, bought lottery tickets, and won $46 million. And that's when their luck ran out.

Seventy-five Texans—sons and daughters, brothers and sisters—have died in Iraq since last March. Here are some of their final words.

Around the Piney Woods, most people will tell you that they know someone who’s addicted to homemade speed. Drug recovery centers are overwhelmed; court dockets are backed up; jails are filled. There’s no end in sight.

Most of the 42,000 soldiers stationed at Fort Hood, one of the largest military installations in the world, are in Iraq or preparing to go. Meanwhile, the loved ones who are left behind wait—and hope they don't hear an unexpected knock at the door.

The town's name will forever be synonymous with one of the worst hate crimes in American history. But the story doesn't end there.

There are countless theories about why Dallas women are so crazy about makeup, but there's something approaching a consensus about the place to buy it. Which is why, against all odds, I found myself at the NorthPark Center Neiman's.

Every day the new politics of abortion play out at clinics like the one in Bryan-College Station, where emotions run high and Roe v. Wade is almost beside the point.

What has Sherron Watkins' life been like since she exposed the financial shenanigans of her colleagues at Enron? Well, she may be one of Time's "Persons of the Year," but she's not necessarily one of Houston's.

At this year's Miss Texas Teen USA pageant, girls from big cities and small towns stuffed their bras, slicked Vaseline across their teeth, and prayed that their thighs were toned enough. Anything for the crown.

Once upon a time, the Central Texas town of Crawford was like Mayberry: Everyone knew everyone, no one talked politics, and the air was ripe with the aroma of hogs. Then the leader of the free world bought a little place west of the Middle Bosque River, and nothing was ever the same again.

So says Rusty Hardin, Houston’s defense attorney of the moment—the latest in a long line of courtroom heroes guilty of premeditated flamboyance and charisma in the first degree.

In 1996 the body of a cheerleader from a small town in Oklahoma was found on the Texas side of the Red River. She had been raped and shot. The brutal crime destroyed several families and the illusions of an isolated slice of the world.

In 1994 the president of Grapeland High's senior class committed a brutal, senseless murder. Now he's on death row, waiting for the courts to decide his fate.

Director Wes Anderson's new movie, The Royal Tenenbaums, deals with death, despair, and other dark subjects. And—what do you know—it's hysterically funny.

Evangelist Lester Roloff drew a line in the dirt to keep the State of Texas from regulating his Rebekah Home for Girls. Years later, then-govenor George W. Bush handed Roloff's disciples a long-sought victory. But this Alamo had no heroes—only victims.

For teenage girls in the Hill Country town of Llano, life can be short on glamour and excitement—except at the annual rodeo, when one of them gets a rhinestone tiara and a rare, thrilling moment of glory.

In Maverick County illegal immigrants are crossing in record numbers, creating a war zone. Mexicans have been shot and killed, houses robbed, cattle stolen. Some ranchers are fleeing. But others, like Dob Cunningham, have decided to stay and fight.

In the Gulf Coast town of Santa Fe, high school football games had always kicked off with a prayer, but in June the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that the practice violated the separation of church and state. Now the issue—which has turned neighbor against neighbor and provoked some decidedly un-Christian behavior— has grown from a local controversy into a national one.

Getting personal.

Waco white hat.

Susan Dell, the wife of Michael and the owner of a pricey couture salon that bears her name, is the perfect symbol of the new, mega-monied Austin. So what if its thunderstruck natives don't know quite what to make of her? Meet the Capital City's designing woman.

From a boutique hotel in hip South Austin to a bed-and-breakfast across the Mexican border, from fly fishing on the Llano River to bathing in the Chinati Hot Springs, 33 getaways the guidebooks don’t tell you about, courtesy of our intrepid staff of weekend warriors.

What they lack in cash they make up for in cachet: on the road with the Trail of Dead, Austin's coolest punk rockers of the moment, as they head east in search of fans, fame, and a free place to crash.

For Tom Cherry, the precise place where loyalty to his dad ends and a larger obligation to society begins lies deep in the woods of East Texas, at the intersection of history and conscience, where the truth about a church bombing during the struggle for civil rights in the South may only now be coming to light.

Amarillo is a city where conformity counts, so the death of a punk at the hands of a football player had more than a little symbolic significance there. So did the jury’s decision to keep the killer from going to jail.

A soldier’s story

Factions of the West Texas tribe are feuding, and while the problem is supposedly one of genealogy–who is and is not a member– you can bet that casino gambling has something to do with it too.

Coming of age in Odessa and Midland.

Elegant antebellum furniture in Jefferson, Latin American folk art in Smithville: Where the buys are in two dozen communities.

There’s something romantic about a jailbreak, even when the escapee is a cold-blooded killer on death row. That’s why our feelings about Martin Gurule were more than a little complicated.

With its optimistically broad streets and oversized cantilevered homes, Plano is the suburban ideal taken to its extreme, and its exaggerated scale often gives rise to exaggerated problems. Heroin addiction is only the latest.

Conspiracy theories: The Vietnam Theory.

Conspiracy theories: The Shadow Government Theory.

Conspiracy theories: The Secret Service Theory.

Conspiracy theories: The Cuban Exiles Theory.

Conspiracy theories: The Castro Theory.

Conspiracy theories: The FBI Theory.

Conspiracy theories: The KGB Theory.

Conspiracy theories: The LBJ Theory.

Conspiracy theories: The Mafia Theory.

JFK was killed by (a) the mob, (b) Castro, (c) the FBI, (d) the CIA, or (e) none of the above? Decide for yourself.

Conspiracy theories: The CIA Theory.

Poetry in motion.

The show-biz establishment loves them almost as much as their parents do.

The verdict is in: Oprah loves Texas—and Texas loves Oprah. The queen of daytime talk swept into the Panhandle, turned the tide of public opinion, and had courtroom watchers asking, Where’s the beef?

The slashing of a cadet’s throat at the Marine Military Academy in Harlingen is only the latest incident of violence at a venerable institution under not-so-friendly fire.

So few people, yet so many feuds.

Columns | Miscellany

Five years ago, Hannah Overton, a church-going Corpus Christi mother of five, was convicted of murdering her soon-to-be adoptive child and sentenced to life in prison. In April, she returned to  court—and watched her lawyers put the prosecution on defense.

The strange case of Mauricio Celis, the Corpus Christi lawyer who was not a lawyer.

The arson of the Governor’s Mansion in June was as mystifying as it was heartbreaking. Could Austin anarchists have been to blame?

Larry McMurtry writes about how if you’re forced to leave Texas before you’re ready, before the state lets you go, you always dream of it.

"I don't believe anything in this world could ever disturb or upset me enough to make me start drinking again."

"It's still easy to walk around New York unrecognized. I'm kind of nerdy and not fashionable, so people don't give me a second look."

Thirty years after Roe v. Wade, I'm still that lawyer.

Only a man who came within three days of being executed for a crime he didn’t commit could be as passionate an advocate for a death-penalty moratorium as former death row inmate Randall Dale Adams.

Like the coffee and pie in the fictional town of Twin Peaks, the Arlington-based fanzine Wrapped in Plastic is damn fine.

In the heady world of romance novels, our state’s writers—and readers—are passion players.

Can Miller Quarles live forever? The 83-year-old Houstonian hopes so—and he’ll pay $100,000 to anyone who will help him.

She subdues bail jumpers with a modem and her strong right arm: Meet Janis McCollom, one of Houston’s best bounty hunters.

What is ex–football star Bill Glass’s plan for reforming hardened prison inmates? God is in the details.

Why is it so hard for cities like Austin to hire a police chief?

Reporter

The Biscuit Brothers on teaching kids about music.

The CNN contributor and syndicated columnist talks about the future of media.

Dallas Fed chair Richard Fisher on our lame economy.

Jana Faulk, long-haul truck driver.

Where hip meets history.

Nan Hall Linke, astrologer.

Funeral director.

Rain, rain, go away.

The eclectic artiness of San Antonio’s Southtown.

A few novel ideas.

When the girls’ basketball coach at the only high school in Bloomburg moved in with another woman, it cost her a job and at least a few friends. But the tumult over a lesbian relationship in this tiny East Texas town wasn’t the end of the story.

The demographics of one legislative district in Houston have changed so dramatically that they allowed a novice Democrat to unseat an eleven-term Republican powerhouse. But the real story is what could happen elsewhere in the not-so-distant future.

What do you do if your university's administrators extinguish your Bonfire? If you're Aggies, you take the show on the road.

Thanks to Dubya and a few fellers from Hollywood, the Texas accent is fixin' to be cool again.

Ethan Hawke on his second career, as a novelist.

Pamela Colloff counts down Napoleon Beazley's final hours.

Climbing a new branch of the family tree.

Pamela Colloff gets on the road in search of the Beat Generation's Texas connections.

Pamela Colloff tests an Aggie hero's medal.

In search of a boom, Midland gushes about tourism.

Pamela Colloff flags down Austin's hottest political scribe.

Is the Department of Public Safety racist? Lets look under the hoods.

The read on James H. Hatfield, a Bush biographer with a past of his own.

Hudspeth County’s spiteful standstill.

Fifty years ago LBJ won—some say stole—a U.S. Senate runoff. What happened to the South Texas ballot box that saved his career?

Inmates apologize to the families of their victims.

The mysterious murder of a small-town mayor.

George W. Bush pardoned convicted rapist Kevin Byrd after DNA evidence proved he was the wrong man. How did he get sent to prison in the first place?

Web Exclusives

For eighteen years Anthony Graves insisted that he had nothing to do with the gruesome murder of a family in Somerville. That’s exactly how long it took for justice to finally be served.

Era una chica del barrio cuya voz la hizo acreedora de un Grammy, vendió millones de álbumes y la convirtió en una sensación como ninguna otra. Y cuando fue asesinada, el 31 de marzo de 1995, la estrella de la música tejana Selena Quintanilla Pérez pareció llevarse consigo las aspiraciones de fans de todo el mundo.

Texas parents have the choice to opt their children out of school vaccination requirements based on “reasons of conscience.” But what about the other kids around them?

Texas school districts will no longer be required to offer health classes—and that’s just sick.

Was the Army as much to blame for the Mahmudiyah killings as its perpetrators?

The Grande Dame of Dish is far from retired.

How a high-profile member of Austin′s radical progressive community became an FBI informant.

Bonnie Haldeman, the mother of David Koresh, dies at 64.

The facts of this case are quite simple. Two Border Patrol agents shot at an unarmed man as he was running away from them. And then, they covered it up.

With the Big Three teetering on the brink, it’s worth noting that the Toyota plant in San Antonio is still motoring. Oh, what a feeling!

Senior editor Pamela Colloff talks about "faith-based" terminology, the Rebekah Home for Girls, and corporal punishment.

Senior editor Pamela Colloff, who trailed five young women as they vied for the title of rodeo queen, talks about small towns and big dreams.

After spending a week at the busiest U.S. Border Patrol station in Texas, associate editor Pamela Colloff learned that there is more to an agent's job than helicopters and surveillance cameras.

Associate editor Pamela Colloff tells the story behind November's cover story, "They Haven't Got a Prayer."

From dog parks and swimming holes to picnic spots and close encounters with a llama, our favorite outdoor activities keep you busy year-round.

Texas Monthly Biz

On the strength of a simple if indelicate question—“Who’s the Father?”—Houston’s Caroline Caskey has made a big splash in biotech.

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