The car crash that killed four teenage girls in Tatum last September is an East Texas version of a Greek tragedy, one that has forced the tiny town's residents to address some of life's most agonizing questions: When the worst things happenwhen the most heartbreaking events come into your life
Good question, and everyone seems to have an answer: To be respected for her accomplishments as a U.S. senator. To help lead the GOP after its Election Day triumph. To be a mom, finally, in her late fifties. To come back home and run for governor—maybe. But, please, no psychobabble.
Why would a devoted wife deliberately run over her beloved husband three times? It’s quite simple, really. He was having an affair with a woman accused by her allegedly pill-popping ex-husband of carrying on a lesbian relationship with her best friend, whose ex-husband has been indicted for an illegal wiretapping
AS MUCH AS I LIKE to think of myself as a grand adventurer, an explorer of all things exotic, I have to admit that when it came time for my Mexican vacation, I headed straight for a beach resort. I’m not talking about a tiny hotel on a remote beach
Darlie Routier has been on death row for five years now, always insisting that she didn't kill her sons Devon and Damon. And as her lawyers prepare to head into court yet again, new information about her case raises the possibility that she may have been telling the truth all
Pat Green’s fans—and they are legion—love his songs about the joys of Luckenbach and Lone Star beer. His critics—also legion—think his lyrics are trite. But no matter how you feel about him, there’s no denying that he’s the hottest country music act in Texas. And that he has made the
On October 14, 1987, an eighteen-month-old toddler named Jessica McClure fell 22 feet into an abandoned Midland water well that was only eight inches in diameter. For the next three days, rescuers frantically dug a tunnel to reach her while the little girl sang nursery rhymes to herself, called
It was the great Houston murder mystery of the nineties. Who shot 46-year-old Doris Angleton, the beautiful, ebullient River Oaks mother of two young daughters and the wife of Robert Angleton, Houston’s top bookmaker? When Doris was found in her home in 1997—she had been shot thirteen times—their friends speculated
LeAnn Rimes was a marshmallow-cheeked thirteen-year-old when she made it big. Now, five years later, she is locked in bitter legal battles with both her estranged father and her Nashville record company, and her life and career are collapsing around her. Can America's country princess get back on track?
Can a savvy Hollywood dealmaker also be as down-home and unassuming as an old shoe? He can if he's Austin's Bill Wittliff, an award-winning screenwriter, an accomplished photographer, a collector with a passion for the pastin short, the nicest Renaissance man you'll ever meet.
It was a modern-day horror story: a little girl hidden away in rat-infested squalor for most of her life. When the authorities took her away from her mother and grandmother, the nine-year-old had never been to school or played outside.
Take one of the nation's wealthiest men, the enigmatic, Egyptian-born Fayez Sarofim. Add his socialite first wife and her brassy successor. Stir in River Oaks mansions and greedy lawyers, boatloads of money and oceans of booze. Mix it all together and what do you get? A hell of a mess
“When it comes to individual athletic superiority, few people in the world can touch long, lean, impossibly fast Carl Lewis, who came to Texas in 1979, qualified for the Olympics in 1980, and dominated his sport—the world of sports, actually—for the next sixteen years.”
Investigators in the coastal plain think so, and they’re doing what they can to tie the retired NASA engineer to the deaths of at least four young women there. But thus far the tangible evidence has eluded them. And, consequently, so has he.
From Harvard to Hesitation Hill, the nation’s most motivated motivational speaker is much in demand. And he’ll still see you at the top.
When you’re underpaid, inexperienced, and overloaded with files detailing allegations of child abuse, there is a limit to how well you can do your job. Eight months in the life of an investigative team in the Travis County office of Child Protective Services.