THE “WHITE HOT MAMA” COVER [TM, July 1992] is the best yet. We will also vote for Ann Richards.

WE HAD OUT-OF-STATE GUESTS in our home when the July issue arrived with the “White Hot Mama” featured on the cover. What a laugh they had on Texas and our “illustrious” governor. Please spare us such humiliation in the future. As too the possibility of Ann Richards’ being our first woman president—I think not.

Ann Ascendant

I LOVED JAN JARBOE’S “ANN’S PLANS” [TM, July 1992]. Ann Richards is a heroine of mine, and I’m glad to hear I’m by no means the only one who thinks she would make a great president. If I could change her mind on one point, it would be on abortion, but overall I’m a total Richards devotee. She is such a refreshing change from what we have had heretofore in the governor’s office. I feel I can trust her to look out for teachers’ rights and for the environment—both important issues to me.

AS A CONSERVATIVE DEMOCRAT, I have every right to accuse the Democrats of having no backbone whatsoever. They have lost every election since Carter because they insist on nominating unelectable candidates. If Ann Richards were to run for president in 1992, even at this late date, I and many people I know would vote for her at the drop of a hat. If we have to wait until 1996 for her to run, so be it; I hope we still have a country worth saving by then.

ABOUT THE ONLY THING ANN has managed to accomplish thus far, besides defeating Claytie the corpse, is to pass a lottery that we don’t need. We still don’t have schools that teach, government agencies that don’t consume more than they produce, or state officials who can abide by legitimate ethics reforms.
Flower Mound

ANN RICHARDS IS DEFINITELY “riding high.” She should be high on every businessman’s and Texan’s hit list. As governor of Texas, she has done nothing to curtail the high cost of workers’ compensation. In fact, since she has been governor, our firm is far worse off than ever when it comes to paying for insurance. Do something, Ann, but hurry!

Soap Suds

MIMI SWARTZ’S “RIVER OAKS 77019” [TM, July 1992] is better than the ongoing coffee commercial! My imagination goes wild trying to figure out the next drama. Will Laura break down on the witness stand and admit that Robert has hidden his assets in her daddy’s trailer? Will Steve try to recoup his losses by writing an explosive epistle about Fergie’s favorite fetish in France? Will Oscar admit he needs money to support Ross Perot’s “Deep Throats”? And will Ann Sakowitz promise to reinstate Douglas in her will if he persuades his mother to loosen her hair curlers? Most of all, I love the style of the piece. Writing doesn’t get any better than this!
San Angelo

LAUGHED MYSELF SICK. Mimi Swartz needs to be on major stage and screen.

I THOUGHT THE ARTICLE WAS most interesting. I object, however, to the characterization of Oscar Wyatt as “one of the richest men in the world and one of the meanest.” Rich, yes—but mean? No, never. I will never forget what a good friend Oscar was to my family. When my mother died in 1965, only fourteen months after my father’s death, Oscar drove to Kingsville to call on me and sat with me for more than an hour, reminiscing about my parents. His kindness and compassion meant a great deal then and now. He is strong and tough and hard, but “one of the meanest men in the world” would not have driven ninety miles to console a middle-class family who were simply friends.


I AM SO GLAD THAT Skip Hollandsworth, in his “Possessed by the Devil” [TM, July 1992], reveals the Childress witch-hunt as the dangerous and disgusting charade it is. I had hoped that the 300th anniversary of the Salem witch trials would pass without Americans’ once again showing how superstitious and downright stupid we can be.

I SPENT THE FIRST SIXTEEN YEARS of my life in Childress, decamping for college with due dispatch once my high school diploma was in my hands. Apparently some things never do change, and the rumor mill in Childress seems to be not only alive and well but thriving.

Although I was not close friends with them, I went to high school with Terrie Trosper’s and Tate Rowland’s mother and father. I wish them and their families strength and courage not only to deal with their many losses but also just to survive the vicious, hurtful rumors and innuendo surrounding these events.

all the pretty pages

ABOUT ROBERT DRAPER’S “The Invisible Man” [Books, TM, July 1992]: The mail truck rumbled up the road to my hacienda and dust hung in the air like powdered dirt and the mail truck left the magazine they call texas monthly and it said cormac mccarthys new book was out and I got in my truck and drove through humid june heat shimmering on the streets and parked and walked through j c penney and out into the mall past victorias secrets and along the wide corridor where air conditioning exhaled never-ending on my skin and was cool. Like cave breath. I walked with thin muzak swirling in my ear past the gap and dillards and foleys. Just beyond the Julius they call orange I hooked left and hoof-reigned in at b Dalton. I found the book and toted it to the cashier and she said quiere usted este escritor cormac mccarthy except she said it in english and her nametag said she was called Tiffany and I said yes god yes and she took my american dollars and they were green and they rustled like paper money and she said su cambio except she said this also in english because she was anglo and had no spanish and I took my change and the book and walked out of the mall and high-tailed it home and commenced to reading the book hungrily turning the pages and they rustled like dry corn husks and at first I was ticked off because there wasnt no quotation marks and wasnt hardly no commas and I said who does this arrogant lazy non-punctuatin fool think he is anyways and wouldnt he get an f maybe a f-minus in any high school composition course? But soon I got saddle-wore to the style and it coursed along like words wrote on paper and I finished the book and was sad and ached with a lonesome yearning for the next installments of the trilogy and spread my soogan and laid down on the couch and slept and dreamt of nothing.

Pot Shots

IF DR. SAM GREER “ADMIRED HIS wife’s work—so much that he decided to share it”—what better way to do so than to place it in the public domain in memory of Dr. Georgeanna Greer [“Going, Going, Gone,” State Wide, TM, July 1992]? Instead, he plays down the importance of these great vessels as “old utilitarian pots” that “can look pretty dull.” Then why will collectors pay $1 million to get them? Obviously these historically and artistically important works belong to the tradition of the South, specifically to Texas, and should not be dispersed by some New York auction house. The pots should remain in the state at any cost.

Also, the pitcher at the right on page 66 is not a Carolina work but was made around 1860 by the great Henderson, Texas, potter John Leopard, whose lone grave I visited not long ago.
Painter, Professor
Meadows School of the Arts
Southern Methodist University