Dick J. Reavis is a former staff writer at Texas Monthly. He has written about motorcycle gangs, undocumented immigrants, guerrillas, convicts, coal miners, security guards, and banks for publications as diverse as Soldier of Fortune and the Wall Street Journal. He is a professor in the English department at North Carolina State University.
Mexico in 2006 may not be Florida in 2000, but there are at least two similarities: The final results of its closest-ever presidential election are taking pretty long to determine. And however it comes out, a lot of people are going to be unhappy.
When San Antonio restaurateur Mario Cantú died last November, he left behind a legacy of political activism along with fine Mexican fare.
His election was historic for many reasons, not least because he embodies the stifled hopes of generations of his countrymen. Still, the obstacles he faces when he assumes the presidency on December 1 are considerable. Will he be able to deliver?
Just as congressional hearings are set to begin, an exclusive excerpt from a new book casts a different light on the government’s role in the fiery end to the siege at Mount Carmel.
In an affluent suburb of Monterrey, young Mexican professionals hunger for prestige and try to live like Americans.
An intrepid explorer searching out Mayan ruins in the Yucatan remains undaunted, despite the language, the unkind elements, and other tropical afflictions.
The parallels between Mikhail Gorbachev and Mexico’s Carlos Salinas just might end when it comes to their effectiveness at achieving reform in their nations.
Among the harsh mountains of Chihuahua, Mennonite immigrants and Tarahumara Indians maintain their ancient ways.
On the eve of the Mexican elections, the country’s dwindling middle class prefers fatalism o Fabianism.
The assignment was the chance of a lifetime to see the whole state once and for all. At times pure pleasure and at times a feat of will, it was always and foremost a writer’s dream come true.
A glowing beacon near Haynesville; broomweed royalties in Foard County; Archer City’s decorated dump; curative waters and a grand hotel in Mineral Wells; faux Alamo in Farmersville.
When a rural Texas says, “It looks like rain,” he’s really meditating on the nature of the universe.
Out itinerant reporter visits with a Lubbock man determined to preserve the American Way of Life; the doughty clan that brought beer to Levelland; a windy lady fascinated with the weather and a rusticated professor gone to seed.
In the Mesquite Kingdom, where the coyotes howl, the wind blows free at the MacArthur Academy of Freedom, an honest face gets you a phone and immigration throws mariachi parties.