Keep those cards and letters coming in.
Coppola’s multimillion-dollar labor of love is finally finished. We think.
Can’t hull a strawberry? Can’t boil an egg? Can’t wash leafy vegetables? Relax. Help is on the way.
He believed in the American dream and it paid off.
World War II may be over, but the Confederate Air Force will rise again.
Even incomplete, Lulu was a great opera. Now it’s finished, and Santa Fe Opera got the stage the coveted U.S. premiere.
Hymns and admonitions for the best and worse bus services in Texas.
At St. Patrick’s in San Antonio they sing and dance—during mass. At Lakewood Assembly of God in Dallas they sing and sing and sing . . .
Give me land, lots of land . . .
In his new book Tom Wolfe poses this question: were the Mercury astronauts men or monkeys? Thomas Thompson changes his journalistic setting from Houston to the far East to produce a book about an astonishing criminal.
The best part of Texas high school football is that it’s the biggest thing in town—and still only a game.
Wise up: that insipid supermarket sugar-water you’ve been putting on your toast isn’t honey. The real stuff—Texas honey—is as full-bodied and distinctive as the nectars that go into it.
Faster than a speeding Master Charge, funkier than a garage sale, able to leap bad credit ratings at a single bound. Look, up at the sign! It’s a bank! It’s a store! It’s—Super Pawn!
Two men from Mexico inherit the legacy of all immigrants—grueling labor, low pay, and a bleak existence on the edge of the American dream.
To bid or not to bid; aye, there’s the rub.
Town and Country magazine came to Texas to record our sophistication, wealth, and savoir faire—and all hell broke loose.
Not-so-little leaguer finds fountain of youth; schools have to test and tell whether Johnny can’t read; Houston’s new shingle ordinance tries to lock the barn door.
Pickup basketball is not a pastime for the lily-livered or the lackadaisical.
B-a-a-d government meddling irks Texas goat and sheep raisers; something’s rotten in Rotterdam, and it’s driving up oil prices; and the world’s best gymnasts are coming to Cowtown.
Then grab your platters and step into the golden era of rock Ã«n’ roll.
Everyone in Austin loves sparkling Barton Creek—especially the developers.
Charles Mingus was a great jazz musician with a sharp mind, an impeccable sense of rhythm, and a mighty powerful fist.
Photo jock; teacher’s pest.
North Dallas Forty scores but misses the extra point, Dracula bites off more than it can chew, and Peppermint Soda recalls with accuracy the bittersweet days of adolescence.
Some have said that life is a dance, and Deborah Hay makes you believe it.
Welcome to Dallas’ first Baptist, the largest Baptist church in the world, with a pastor and a service to match; a more modest path to religious enlightenment leads you to Houston’s Emerson Unitarian.
Waltzing across Texas.
Charles Portis’ new novel belongs to the tradition of great frontier yarns, but this time the young man goes south.
Houston National Bank’s Ã¬Larger Canvas TwoÃ® takes it to the streets.
Don’t look now, but the rather odd gentleman with the suspicious accent and outlandish military getup may not be exactly what he seems.
Grab your beach towel and bathing suit, but leave your car in the garage.
How did we get into this sorry energy mess? By making sorry decisions.
Or, how we can all stop worrying and learn to love the crunch.
Stars and stripes forever.
Texas, our Texas, all hail the mighty state-audiences applaud history plays in Galveston and Palo Duro Canyon.
Dallas is both a television show and a city, but at the Cattle Baron’s Ball you couldn’t tell which was which.
Crying over spilt oil, greedy doctors, and disappearing millionaires.
At midseason, long-suffering Astros and Rangers fans were having visions of grandeur. We hope they weren’t delusions.
Valley politicos block minority TV; Dairy Queens reign in small-town Texas; woman diver yearns for Acapulco cliffs; Houston takes its lumps.
Were the words of Russian exile Georgi Vins heard over the din of the Southern Baptist Convention?
A cabal of eighteen.
Clint Eastwood makes a break from Alcatraz; Barbra Streisand makes another silly movie; John Wayne is remembered as a consummate actor.
When gasoline is scarce, it’s not the end of the world.
Straight talk about gasoline supplies, prices, and profits from Texas’ most famous wildcatter.
If you’re sitting in a gas line and wondering who to blame for all this, here are some candidates.
Houston police said they shot Randy Webster because he pointed a gun at them. Randy’s father set out to prove they were lying.
Houston Grand Opera’s spring festival of operettas proved that golden-voiced, handsome men aren’t out of style. Dallas Symphony Orchestra’s Mahler festival had its good days and its bad days.