Once upon a time the His and Her Gift reflected a Texas that was extravagant and maybe a little gauche. Now the gift is no less extravagant, but it’s a lot less, well, innocent.
People who have watched a certain prime-time soap opera think they know what goes on at the Petroleum Club. They don’t.
My father had to have an answer for everything—adultery, spiritual crises, the pigeons defecating in the church gutter. No wonder I didn’t become a preacher. The miracle is that my sister did.
Darrell Royal’s supremely simple invention took Texas teams to the top and kept them there.
Forget about waltzing across Texas. Let’s two-step instead.
It’s the best nickname you could have, even if you’ve never been to Texas.
Today’s cowboy can thank Hollywood designers for the shirt on his back.
He left his parents’ house in search of a world where things were black and white, where there were heroes and villains. What he found in the slums of Port Arthur was a world that would tolerate people like him-and take advantage of them.
We’ve gone from one end of the state to the other to bring you the best-ever list of Texas Bests.
It began in 1952 as a nostalgic recreation of the old cattle drive. Now it’s a grand annual party stretching across Texas.
The great Texas ranches and how they got that way.
“When the cowboys on the 06 ranch talked about losing a way of life, they often pointed to their neighbor, Clayton Williams, as an example of what they meant. He was a millionaire and an oilman, and he represented everything they hated.”
After encountering this small brown barb, the wise Texas child learns to pick and choose his fights with the landscape.
It’s not quite a lie and not quite the truth. It’s a patriotic duty.
Life after the oil bust is fair-to-Midland; bad News, hard Times in Laredo; I hear a timpani; a coach who believes winning is everything.
What is it that makes them dance across the desert night? A trick of physics—or something stranger?
From lacquered debutante to fossilized ol’ gal, her greatest virtue is endurance.
Pompeo Coppini’s heroic sculptures and European air were just what Texas’ fledgling gentry was hungry for in 1901. Since then his name has faded from memory, but his works endure.
Why are we crazy for Cadillacs, silly on Suburbans, passionate about pickups? Because Texans love their cars, that's why.
There’s a world of difference between an icehouse and a convenience store.
On Sunday it is legal to buy beer but not baby bottles, screws but not screwdrivers, disposable diapers but not cloth ones. No place but Texas.
Whether it’s made of straw or ermine, this is the cowboy hat.
The death of Uncle Henry saddened my whole far-flung family, but the gathering at his funeral was an occasion for telling stories and recalling the joys of a small-town upbringing.
Texas’ morning glory by thirteen photographers.
You may have played on one when you were a kid, but it’s no fun for cows.
It wasn’t the classiest place in Pharr to grow up, but it had tough truckers, sassy waitresses, and some of the best fry cooks in the Valley.
If it wasn’t for the song, no one would remember Emily Morgan, but she launched a nation by diverting Santa Anna at San Jacinto.
There’s no point in grousing about Texas’ minor shortcomings. Why not just roll up our sleeves and make it perfect once and for all?
In the sixties a small company in Medina produced a wooden box decorated with rhinestones. It became a Texas tradition.
Yes, Virginia Sue, Texas really does have its own holiday traditions.
December 1941 in Clarksville was a time to celebrate peace on earth amid the rumblings of war.
They are the quirky enterprises that offer two things under one roof—like shrimp and guns, steaks and loans, or eggrolls and gasoline.
Texans are sometimes driven to drink.
These days it seems every five-acre ranchette flaunts a gate worthy of the XIT.
Life is tough all over, but especially for Juniors.
Kids, house, husband—these are the natural enemies of a well-ordered day.
Wearing one won’t make you a real live cowboy, but it sure will brand you as a modern Texan.
Sure it means water. It also means pride.
Most of the time you’re a nice, ordinary businessman. But for one brief, shining moment you were King Antonio, monarch of San Antonio’s Fiesta and semi-beloved ruler of the one Texas city that still loves a good king.
The last best way to see the real Texas.
West Texas was a desert when this little irrigation device came along. Now it’s a desert that produces more cotton than anywhere else in the country.
Can you picture Lbj in a Datsun?
It’s Houston's driveway, a twenty-mile kaleidoscope of bankers, punkers, strippers, surgeons, students, grackles, and cars.
Out of Texas’ ragbag history came the patchwork quilt, the product of cold winters, isolated homesteads, empty pocketbooks, and fertile minds.
The life and times of the cowboy-millionaire hero of a thousand postcards.
Sunny in the morning, sunny in the evening, freezing by suppertime.
Houston’s black elite have come a very long way to live in MacGregor Way, the swankiest black neighborhood in Texas, but they still don’t feel safe.
Between watching girls and getting a great tan, lifeguards occasionally have to save lives.
It looks fragile with its lacy leaves and fragrant flowers. Looks can be deceptive.
It symbolizes either the American dream or the American nightmare—one or the other of which is enveloping Texas.