Monday, I wrote about trucks and the New York Times reporters who are mystified about the Texans who own them….

Texans love trucks. I know, I’m a Texan, and I own a truck. It’s a 2002 Chevy Suburban with north…

If you kept your sanity through 2016, you either paid no attention to the presidential campaign or you were heavily…

Since I graduated from college in 1978, I’ve spent virtually my entire career in publishing. Naturally, I was interested when…

The obligatory annum-ending column that traffics in fresh nostalgia (the stalest kind) gets a double-dose of it in 2016, the…

By now you’ve probably heard that a hapless gang of brain-dead students at the University of Pennsylvania — an Ivy…

When was the last time Benedictine nuns rocked your world? Well, since 2012, the Benedictines of Mary, Queen of the…

It may seem out of place as we approach a holiday celebrating the birth of the Prince of Peace to be reviewing a book on boxing, which is a good deal less than a peaceful activity. But within living memory of many Americanos — myself included — boxing was a popular and respected sport with a large following here and abroad. I know that while Ike was snoozing in the White House, my dad and I would never miss Friday Night Fights on that new-fangled gadget called television. (“The Gillette Cavalcade of Sports is on the air — look sharp, feel sharp, be sharp.”)

Washington When I heard that Bob Dylan had received the Nobel Prize for literature, I was mildly surprised. He writes…

Hillary Clinton lost the presidency. To salve the briny wounds, the left will have a winner, dammit. They will have…