T he average age of a non-Hispanic white woman in Texas is 42. The average age of a Hispanic woman in our state is 28. And that pretty much sums up the future of Texas.
N early every day that she’s at her ranch, on the edge of the Chihuahuan Desert, Kathy Bracewell heads out on foot or by pickup truck to roam her spread. Her favorite times are dawn and dusk, when the light is just right for spotting the dark-gray and black patches of ground that let her know there’s a bed of agate lying there waiting to be discovered.
Just after seven a.m. on January 6, as Texans awakened to one of the coldest mornings in years, an email and social media alert went out from the Electric Reliability Council of Texas: “Reduce electric use now. Risk of power outages exist throughout Texas. Power warning in effect.” The last time a hard freeze gripped Texas so tightly, in February 2011, power blackouts rolled across much of the state as ERCOT, which operates the state’s power grid, struggled to meet the demand.
On Mockingbird Lane, just four blocks east of Central Expressway, in Dallas, is an unremarkable row of businesses that includes a Mobil 1 Lube Express and a Walgreens. In February 1970, however, 5734 E. Mockingbird Lane marked the spot of a popular pizza joint called Colombo’s, now long gone, where a homeless pregnant woman named Norma McCorvey first met two young lawyers, Linda Coffee and Sarah Weddington.
In 1968 a 24-year-old Johnny Winter was playing half-empty nightclubs in Austin when a Rolling Stone article announced his arrival as “a cross-eyed albino with long, fleecy hair, playing some of the gutsiest, fluid blues guitar you’ve ever heard.”
Kelly Siegler, a 21-year veteran of the Harris County district attorney’s office, was as dogged and passionate about her job as any prosecutor in recent memory, securing convictions in all 68 of the murder cases she took to trial.
Ever since Attorney General Greg Abbott called for seizure of the Yearning for Zion compound in Eldorado, in November 2012, most onlookers have remained cautious about the impending eviction of its residents, members of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (FLDS). Consider the unpredictable history.
Every story of a wrongful conviction is a story of lingering bitterness and lasting feuds. Consider Anthony Graves, who is filing a complaint with the State Bar against prosecutor Charles Sebesta, who has never admitted to the mistakes that led to Graves’s sitting on death row for twelve years.