The History Press [new releases]

In the days after 9/11, the country was on high alert. So when an alarming incident occurred just off the Texas coast on the early morning hours of September 15th, authorities immediately assumed another terrorist attack had taken place. A towing vessel collided into a support pillar of the Queen Isabella Causeway, causing an 80-foot section of the bridge to tumble into the ocean. Unfortunately, the gaping hole left in the bridge was not visible to cars traveling to and from South Padre Island to the mainland city of Port Isabel, Texas. Robert Espericueta, along with his cousins, happened to be in the only other boat on the waters that night. Espericueta collaborates with author Juan Carmona to track the extraordinary events of a bewildering catastrophe and a heroic rescue.

On March 14, 1940, a train heading west along Highway 83 from Donna to Alamo struck a truck driver turning north from the highway onto Tower Road. The horrific crash killed twenty-nine of about forty-five farmworkers who were on the truck. A one-day investigation faulted the truck driver and led to meager court settlements for the devastated families. In the wake of these events, several of the victims' children and grandchildren became lawyers and some of the first Mexican American judges in South Texas. Juan Carmona and Taylor Seaver De La Fuente revisit the deadliest traffic accident in Texas history, while seeking to preserve the stories of Mexican and Mexican American farmworkers and their relatives whose backbreaking contributions continue to feed our country to this day.

Every mass grave in Texas offers morbid proof that at one time, in that place, something went very, very wrong.

Texans have resorted to mass graves out of necessity, desperation and appalling indifference. These sites mark natural disasters or hide unnatural crimes that tested the limits of human endurance and empathy. Because of this, memorializing those who lie in mass graves can be controversial. Not everyone wants to dig up the darkness of the past, much less admit that the dirt is still fresh. Nevertheless, to honor those whose bones lie mixed with others, their stories must be told. In so doing, Kathy Benjamin exhumes essential shards of Lone Star history, from the Alamo to the present day.

A powerful vibration, a deafening noise and a swell of thick dust brought residents of McKinney pouring into the public square on the afternoon of January 23, 1913. What they saw was horrifying--an entire building had collapsed, demolishing two popular retailers, the Cheeves Mississippi Store and Tingle Implement Store. Their contents, including many shoppers and clerks, spilled out into the streets, where layer upon layer of debris settled into a massive, ragged pile. In spite of a herculean rescue effort, eight people perished. Carol Wilson sifts through the disaster and its aftermath, dredging up some troubling facts about how the tragedy might have been prevented.

A fire of frightening magnitude was not a question of "if" but "when" in young Prescott, and on July 14, 1900, the feared conflagration found its spark. After several years of drought, a candle slipping from its holder was all it took to utterly destroy Prescott's business district, red-light district and famous Whiskey Row. People grabbed what they could to rescue it from the flames, but the party didn't stop. Even the piano from one saloon was moved to a new location, and people continued to play. Author Bradley Courtney explores the conditions leading up to the disaster, the surprising details of its effects and the amazing recovery that shapes the town today.

Since 1821, when Jean Lafitte sailed away from a burning Campeche, the history of Galveston has often been wreathed in smoke. Over the next century, one inferno breached the walls of Moro Castle, while another reduced forty-two blocks of the residential district to ash. Recognizing the importance of protecting the city, concerted efforts were made to establish the first paid fire department, create a city waterworks and regulate construction standards. Yet even with all the forethought and planning, rogue fires continued to consume architectural gems like Nicholas Clayton's Electric Pavilion. Author James F. Anderson explores the lessons that Galveston has learned from its fiery past in order to safeguard its future.