Trial by Water
Marathon canoe racing is the toughest sport in Texas. It’s tougher than bull riding, more grueling than pro football. The canoeists say that’s why it’s fun.
Marathon canoe racing is the toughest sport in Texas. It’s tougher than bull riding, more grueling than pro football. The canoeists say that’s why it’s fun.
Why subject yourself to the dreariness of impersonal, prefab hotels when these country hostelries are just down the road?
The beat of a different strummer.
Some Texas funny people get serious about their jokes.
The Dalai Lama encounters Houston. He finds it good.
Texas Democrats run scared over Teddy; Arkansas bigwigs cry foul over gas lease; Mexican diplomats make waves over salt water.
A down-home journalist; the privileged pew; gas for a price.
The Recovery Room band is at home in Dallas and New York, too.
Copy cats.
Silence may be golden, but not to a stutterer.
Filmmakers flub: Schlesinger’s Yanks, Fellini’s Orchestra Rehearsal, and Jewison’s—And Justice for All.
There are two questions about John Connally: Is he good enough to be president? Is he too bad to be president?
Don’t both with séances or clairvoyants. There is a much better way to contact the shades of the past.
The leaders of Houston and Dallas symphony orchestras start off the season with two perplexing concert series.
Joining God’s army at Berachah Church in Houston; joining the fine families of Beaumont’s Trinity United Methodist.
A modest proposal for the eighties.
Institutional green walls and stuffy classrooms are not a part of Houston architect Eugene Aubry’s Awty School design.
What’s what and who’s who in Texas real estate.
Architect John Staub, the forgotten genius of River Oaks, transformed a few nondescript Houston streets into Millionaires’ Row.
Who turned off the melting pot? Vietnamese and Texans fight on the coast.
High-flyin’ and highfalutin.
ëTis the season for plays about the Viet Nam War. Louisiana’s Huey P. Long is captured (almost) by Texans.
Beneath certain Stetsons lies a crown.
How will Christo wrap up his trip to Texas?; pooh-poohing Three mile Island; the greatest train robbery of all; shake-up at Houston’s city hall.
South Padre defiled—and you were there; the joy of six hundred maniacal flute players; Dallas’ love-hate affair with Fair Park.
Nicaragua’s new junta may discover it’s easier to depose a dictator than to rebuild a ravaged country.
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!
Work is tarring rooftops in the scorching Texas heat, home is a falling-down shanty visited by rats and roaches, supper is boiled potatoes and tortillas. It's the good life for two illegal Mexican immigrants trying to make it in America.
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 ën’ roll.