. . . from teaching my fifteen-year-old daughter about her Texas roots. So when I realized I was failing to accomplish this most sacred of duties, I did what any well-meaning parent would do: loaded her (and her friends, of course) into the car and hit the road.
Bobby Jackson has taught students in the Aransas County school district about the Plains Indians, the Battle of San Jacinto, and Spindletop since the state celebrated its sesquicentennial. How he does it bears no resemblance to the class I took when I was stuck in middle school.
On tomboys, spiciness, and the end of the UT-A&M rivalry.
Welcome to the new Texas Monthly.
After years of bad choices and bad luck, Dennis Quaid—older, wiser, and emotionally raw—proves his mettle in a new movie and his first TV series.
Now that Texas A&M has opened a campus in the Middle East, can it hold on to its traditions? Can the Middle East?
1. “Goodbye to Texas University . . . Hello to the University of Louisiana State?”The trash-talking for Texas A&M’s first-ever Southeastern Conference game got off to an early start in May, when University of Florida head coach Will Muschamp took a shot at Aggieland. “You ever been to College
I walked into Underbelly the other night and straight into a bear hug from chef-owner Chris Shepherd. And I wasn’t the only one. Every woman that the extroverted Houston chef had ever met before, plus random strangers who were looking a little jealous, also received a hug. I’m not sure
Movie distributors of 2016: Obama's America, which is on track to be one of the five highest-grossing documentaries of all time, focused their initial marketing strategy on a Houston release. Why?
From Chris Shepherd, the chef-owner of Underbelly, in Houston.
Composite photograph by Randal Ford. Retouching by Gigantic Squid. Styling by Bonnie Markel.
Our July issue on drought and water in Texas was greeted with enthusiasm, though it was qualified by despair. “The package of articles is very informative,” wrote the San Angelo Standard-Times, “but for those of us who watched Texas dry up in the 1950s . . . those memories are