This story is from Texas Monthly’s archives. We have left it as it was originally published, without updating, to maintain a clear historical record. Read more here about our archive digitization project. From 1983 to 1986, Texas Monthly’s regular feature, “Western Art,” highlighted artists’ takes on the
When cedars start to mate, Texans start to suffer.
Alice in Wonderland never discovered a mushroom half as exotic as Texas’ own native fungi.
The continuing saga of the Hermann estate scandal was a shocking lesson in how Houston’s most-respected philanthropists, civic leaders, and biggest deal makers had abused their power.
The rudest, crudest, and most obnoxious disc jockeys are on in the mornings. Here’s the best—or the worst—of the lot.
There are bass in Sam Rayburn Reservoir, and the gals were out to hook ’em. And Rhonda Wilcox hoped to hook the biggest one of all.
One of those places that a city has to have if it’s got any gumption at all.
Cradle Cap was nothing, diaper rash was a breeze. But when my son brought home head lice—well, it made the plague look good.
T. R. Fehrenbach’s Lone Star is now a series on public television. Watch it and sleep.
Some new recordings of old symphonies reveal how the composers really wanted things to sound.
Down and out in Beverly Hills is Mazursky magic; Clan of the Cave Bear is Sheena of the Stone Age; Trouble in Mind is—never mind.
“Hiiidee yodelo oh, hodeleh dee whoo,” sang Randy, and I knew I’d found the man for me.
Look into the Houston sky—those helicopters are full of commuters who are having fun.
How much will $15 oil coast Mark White?; two new R’s for school districts: resistin’ reform; the truth about those bank rumors.
Ted Krechel, honorary winter Texan mayor of Pharr, oversees a culture as arcane as a Melanesian cargo cult.
At the singles bar of the eighties, is it’s not love, it could still be a good investment opportunity.
Rio Hondo’s Broadway producer; Boys’ Life’s ripe old age; etiquette’s ups and downs.
