Our most iconic oil and gas man, lately a water marauder and now a celebrated windcatter, has saved himself a couple of times in his eighty glorious years. Who’s to say he can’t save America?
On September 10, Charles Dean Hood will receive a lethal injection. Perhaps. Four times before, the convicted murderer has had a date with the executioner only to have the criminal justice system grant him a reprieve—most recently (and most famously), twice in the space of a few hours on the night of June 17. Here, in missives to senior editor Michael Hall, he describes what it’s been like to live on death row—and to have your life spared when you thought the end had come.
My friend Keith Carter is famous not just in his native East Texas but the world over for his discriminating and artful eye, having learned long ago that photography can d o far more than the simple recording of external fact.
How my husband, Ferdinand, and I lost everything in the historic hurricane and then found a new life in the Lone Star State.
Die-hard fans of America’s Team are debating that very question as we speak—and also wondering if the kid from Wisconsin with the buxom distraction can take them to the Super Bowl any faster than, say, Gary Hogeboom did.
Increasingly so. Surprise, surprise.
My little gambling problem.
Who better to diagnose John McCain’s woes than the man who used to be his Karl Rove?
The birds and the bees and my kids and me.
Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship, Dallas.
How the West was fun.
The gay cliché.
The Dallas symphony; The Color Purple; the Nasher at five.
Chapter Nine of “Twin Wells.”
Guns up! Way up!
“When I was playing in college and the pros, most of the articles called me a ‘future Hall of Famer.’ So you get that idea in your head. You feel secure and confident that you’ll be elected to the Hall of Fame, but it’s different when it actually happens.”