In 1974, one year before Steven Spielberg became a household name with the release of Jaws, the director made his feature film debut with The Sugarland Express. The plot centered on the May 1969 kidnapping of a Department of Public Safety trooper named Kenneth Crone. Fugitives Robert and Ila Fae Dent took Crone and his patrol car and led law enforcement officials on an O. J. Simpson-style chase from outside Port Arthur, through Houston, up to Navasota, and on to the small town of Wheelock, north of Bryan.
In 1985 Georgette Mosbacher appeared on the radar screen of Texas high society like some dazzling UFO. But the flame-haired beauty and cosmetics entrepreneur—who was then the new wife of Houston oilman Robert Mosbacher—didn’t remain unidentified for long. Together the couple pursued their respective careers and their mutual avocation, Republican politics.
From the pulpit to the chile patch, the career path of Joel Gregory has been a singular one. Between 1990 and 1992 he was one of the best-known Baptist preachers in Texas. Possessed of an incisive intellect and a deeply resonant voice that could arouse a sleepy Sunday morning congregation like a sonic boom, the 42-year-old minister seemed poised for a brilliant career as the head of the monolithic First Baptist Church in Dallas.
If there was ever a person with a reason to hold a grudge, that person is Stephen J. “Tio” Kleberg. Three years ago the man who was the living, breathing embodiment of the King Ranch found his world upended. He had clashed with other descendants of Richard King, the founder of the historic South Texas spread, over how best to run the King Ranch corporation’s vast petroleum, cattle, and other holdings, and he had lost. Ousted from his position as the head of the organization’s U.S.
On a sultry July afternoon, she steps into my motel room. “So you’re the one who wants me,” she says in a deep, cigarette-stained voice.
The greatest Texas export of the late twentieth century isn't Dell computers, Willie Nelson's music, or fajitas. It's the celebration of Juneteenth. Once a rural folk holiday specific to the state, Juneteenth—shorthand for "June nineteenth," the date in 1865 that African Americans in Texas learned of their emancipation from slavery—has become an international phenomenon, thanks to a catchy name and the boosterism of expatriate Texans.
Here's to the Pearl Brewery, a San Antonio institution right up there with the Alamo and cheese enchiladas. Although its namesake beer was never as memorable as its wedding cake of a building, the Texas brewery held on for 115 years. Finally, though, its historical charms could no longer compensate for its limited profits. With neither the trendy appeal of a microbrewery nor the streamlined efficiency of a macro-plant, this spring the Pearl Brewing Company went dry.Pearl drinkers need not fear: Only the brewery is closing.
Last August, Wylie veterinarian Michelle Glover got an unusual call: Can you see seven tiger cubs? The next day the two- to four-month-old animals—cuter than stuffed toys—arrived at her Northeast Texas clinic. Five of the cubs were in good enough shape to be released to a local animal sanctuary that had agreed to take them. But the two smallest ones were in a bad way. "Those two couldn't even hold their heads up," says Glover, who has experience treating exotic cats.