Longreads

By by David RitzD Magazine MAR 2013 Last summer my father died in a nursing home adjacent to Central Expressway, the road that, some 57 years ago, he, my mother, my two sisters, and I took to Dallas…

2013 is going to be incredible, if for no other reason than because this will undoubtedly be the year the cultural discourse shifts from simple discussions of "race" or "racism" to the majestic land…

By by Peter SimekD Magazine SEP 2012 On September 26, 1997, on a small Wisconsin high school football field, Tony Romo played the game of his life. Fifteen years later, opposing players still talk…

The story pours out of Harvey Lacey quickly, an avalanche of fresh grievances crashing down the mountain of previous slights and avoidable mistakes that have accumulated during his time in…

By by Michael J. MooneyD Magazine JUL 2012 When Bill Fong approaches the lane, 15-pound bowling ball in hand, he tries not to breathe. He tries not to think about not breathing. He wants his body to…

When the baby cried, I knew it wasn't gonna die. They had just pulled my son out of my wife and whisked him over to one of those fancy hotel pans that you put newborns in, and there was a brief…

I took the SAT a grand total of one time when I was in dipshit prep school. This was 1993. Like any other kid, I wanted to do well on the test, primarily so that I would NEVER have to take it again,…

During the death throes of Herbert Hoover’s presidency in June 1932, desperate bands of men traveled to Washington and set up camp within view of the Capitol. The first contingent journeyed all the way from Portland, Oregon, but others soon converged from all over—alone, in groups, with families—until their main Hooverville on the Anacostia River’s fetid mudflats swelled to a population as high as 20,000. The men, World War I veterans who could not find jobs, became known as the Bonus Army—for the modest government bonus they were owed for their service. Under a law passed in 1924, they had been awarded roughly $1,000 each, to be collected in 1945 or at death, whichever came first. But they didn’t want to wait any longer for their pre–New Deal entitlement—especially given that Congress had bailed out big business with the creation of a Reconstruction Finance Corporation earlier in its session.

For seven days and seven nights in mid-March of 1995, David Foster Wallace took a cruise. He did not have a very good time. The results of the voyage are recorded in Shipping Out, an extended essay,…