Fort Worth Weekly // December 21-27, 2022

Tumblin’ into Tannahill’s

Mule Alley’s newest hotspot delivers upscale dining, live music, and tasty cocktails — all under one big ol’ roof.

BY EDWARD BROWN

METROPOLIS

It’s almost 12 years for former cop Aaron Dean for fatally shooting Atatiana Jefferson.

BY EDWARD BROWN

SCREEN

Early Hollywood comes to life in all its wild, raucous, completely zonked glory in the untidy Babylon.

BY KRISTIAN LIN

STUFF

Don’t look at Dak. There’s more than enough blame to go around for the Cowboys’ recent Cowboys-ish loss.

BY PATRICK HIGGINS

MUSIC

Veteran rapper Dru B Shinin’ hopes you can relate on his new album.

BY PATRICK HIGGINS

Justice for Atatiana?

While many applaud Aaron Dean’s 11 years, some question why it wasn’t longer.

By Edward Brown

By Jennifer Bovee

Cowboys vs. Cowboys

They only have themselves to blame for their Florida meltdown.

By Patrick Higgins

STAFF

Anthony Mariani, Editor

Lee Newquist, Publisher

Bob Niehoff, General Manager

Ryan Burger, Art Director

Jim Erickson, Circulation Director

Edward Brown, Staff Writer

Emmy Smith, Proofreader

Michael Newquist, Regional Sales Director

Jennifer Bovee, Marketing Director

Stacey Hammons, Senior Account Executive

Julie Strehl, Account Executive

Tony Diaz, Account Executive

Wyatt Newquist, Digital Coordinator

Clintastic, Brand Ambassador

Dru B Shinin’ Through

With his new album, the Korean-American rapper opts for soul-searching instead of boasting.

By Patrick Higgins

CONTRIBUTORS

Megan Ables, Christina Berger, E.R. Bills, Jason Brimmer, Sue Chefington, Buck D. Elliott, Juan R. Govea, Patrick Higgins, Bo Jacksboro, Laurie James, Kristian Lin, Vishal Malhotra, Cody Neathery, Wyatt Newquist, Linda Blackwell Simmons, Madison Simmons, Teri Webster, Ken WheatcroftPardue, Cole Williams

EDITORIAL

METROPOLIS

Eleven Years an Inmate

Despite Tarrant County’s inept and corrupt criminal justice system, 12 jurors provided a semblance of justice for Atatiana Jefferson, her family, and democracy supporters everywhere.

BY EDWARD BROWN

After two days of deliberations, a 12-member jury sentenced Aaron Dean to 11 years, 10 months, and 12 days in prison for fatally shooting Black woman Atatiana Jefferson in 2019. The white former cop’s manslaughter conviction is historic, not only as the first instance of a peace officer being found guilty of manslaughter for an on-the-job shooting in Tarrant County but also as the first time national viewers witnessed how far our criminal justice system will go to protect rogue cops.

Longtime defense attorney Lesa Pamplin, who sat throughout most of the trial, believes Judge George Gallagher mishandled the case from beginning to end. His dereliction of duty did not surprise her, given Tarrant County’s predominantly white male power structure. During the second week of the trial and sentencing, Gallagher allowed Dean’s relatives to console him in front of jurors — a form of open fraternization typically prohibited during criminal trials, she said.

On Friday, Dean defense attorney Miles Brissette surprised court watchers when he called citizen journalist Manuel Mata from the gallery to be sworn in as a witness. Based on livestream footage of the hearing, the summons shocked Mata, given his lack of first-hand knowledge of the case. Pamplin alleges the unlawful arrest was likely orchestrated by Tarrant County’s power brokers.

“When Mata entered the courtroom, a bailiff nodded” to defense attorney Brissette, Pamplin alleges, meaning the bailiffs and possibly Gallagher were colluding with Dean’s defense team.

How Gallagher knew about Mata’s seven outstanding misdemeanor charges, most of which stem from retaliation from peace officers who did not like being filmed by Mata, remains a mystery. Mata maintained his composure as Gallagher asked whether the citizen journalist would take the oath. Mata, citing his need for an attorney and not understanding why he was being summoned, declined to testify and was arrested and taken to Tarrant County Jail, a move that prompted one Channel 8/WFAA reporter to call the proceedings a “clown show.”

Gallagher’s reckless actions garnered more than 400,000 views on the YouTube channel Law and Crime Network. The judge’s revoking of Mata’s jail bond and the slew of sworn complaints and potential lawsuits now coming Gallagher’s way, Pamplin said, aids the defense because they can now

cite irregularities of the court when seeking a retrial.

Pamplin’s alleged observations of court bailiffs nodding at attorneys may well have been part of a larger concerted effort by District Attorney Sharen Wilson, the Tarrant County judiciary, and the Fort Worth police union to throw the case. The Weekly was the only news outlet to publish original reporting showing Gallagher’s history of using bogus prosecutors, including Brissette, to cover-up documented acts of public corruption (“Clown Show,” Dec. 17).

The long delay in the trial was no accident, as several legal experts and social justice advocates told me. Those setbacks typically favor the defense, as alleged victims potentially die or refuse to testify, witnesses become less reliable, and general community apathy grows. When the trial did begin more than three years after Dean killed Jefferson, prosecutors initially brought a weak case.

In other large counties, said Minister Dominique Alexander, who follows po-

lice shooting cases with Black victims, DA offices usually allocate vast resources to prosecutors. When those cases do go before a jury, he said, it is common to see four or five prosecutors working the final trial. DA Wilson placed two prosecutors on the case who closed their arguments in less than three days, a move that stunned many legal experts. The prosecutors, Alexander said, failed to humanize Jefferson as the loving sister, aunt, and aspiring scientist she was.

Supporters of justice for Jefferson called for nothing less than a murder conviction, and the outcome of manslaughter — a charge typically associated with DUI fatalities — fell short of justice in the eyes of many. Former Fort Worth mayoral candidate Deborah Peoples said convicting a white police officer of murdering a Black person was a stretch for Tarrant County.

“I sat and watched in sadness as so many rushed to breathe a sigh of relief that Aaron Dean was found guilty of manslaughter,” she continued in a public statement. “They were quick to say justice was done. Our people have been raised to expect so little from our justice system.”

During the trial, locals were reminded that Fort Worth police serve the interests of the wealthy and well-connected when an anonymous group of justice activists placed a coffin on Mayor Mattie Parker’s front yard. Inscribed on the casket were the names of Black men and women killed by Fort Worth police over the past several years. Within hours, Fort Worth police announced they were looking into the political stunt as a terroristic threat, a potential Class B misdemeanor charge.

Four days after Mata’s unlawful arrest, Gallagher ordered his release, possibly to calm national backlash at the judge’s misconduct. Mata took to the Facebook Live show of local history buff Larry O’Neal to say why he believes he was arrested.

“My arrest has to do with my YouTube channel,” said Mata, referring to his popular online outlet for documenting police misconduct. “This judge protects cops. I’m not the only who has found out that this dude will spin stuff and cover up” corruption.

For supporters of justice, something good came from the past two agonizing weeks. The legacy of the Dean trial may be how it brought a national spotlight to the systemic problems in Tarrant County that our magazine has reported on for more than 26 years. If locals can watch and follow our court system even when there isn’t a high-profile murder trial, Tarrant County just might one day be able to expect more from its justice system. l

Former mayoral candidate Deborah Peoples on the sentencing of Aaron Dean (shown): “Our people have been raised to expect so little from our justice system.”

Wasn’t Me

Not gonna lie. When I saw the headline, “Man Runs Off with Baby Jesus Stolen from Sundance Square Nativity Scene,” I was a little bit scared.

I don’t get out much, but when I do, I become a Chuck Bukowski-esque nightmare. Insignificant moments take on hidden meanings, mysteries unfold, and puzzles I’ve troubled over for weeks or months are solved or cheerfully obliterated in alcohol-soaked revelry. As the electro Brit-band Faithless puts it, “God Is a DJ”— and I become mighty worshipful.

We started early at a friend of mine’s rock ’n’ roll show at a blues bar in Arlington. Then, before I could get my groove all the way on, we were back in Fort Worth, a slurry blur, dance floors, spilled drinks, “Rock Me Amadeus,” new friends, old friends, and forgotten (now clumsy) dance moves. “When Doves Cry” indeed.

By then, it’s too late. The music is too loud to hear my liver screaming, and my lovely, longsuffering wife — code name: Stays — is telling me to go easy, but it’s water off a duck’s back, and my webbed feet are moonwalking. I’m already breaking down another double TX Whiskey, quacking up. All the sudden, the dance floor is less crowded — because I’m an inebriated whirl of careless appendages, flailing unpredictably, or the couples around me are afraid I’ll puke on them

But I hold my mud. My bro DJ Outlaw gets all hare and tortoise, saying our alcohol consumption is like running the 400 meters. He says I’m in a wild-ass sprint and that I should pace myself, but when I hit the ribbon, he’s nowhere in sight

I came, I saw, I conquered — at least in my foggy perception of the disjointed timeslips of the space-time-continuum I inhabited that night. I was feeling no pain, no strain, and no single gesture seemed to be performed in vain.

And then I was gone, a wisp of tequila vapor

My subconscious — devolving, monosyllabic id — was at the wheel, and I was passed out in the metaphorical backseat. Still making the rounds in the bar or club we were at but less openly philosophical, I was a lower primate on an unknown and unknowable mission. Madly focused on a distant shore I could only grasp at while I was unsteadily sinking. Several travelers helped along the way, in awe, slightly afraid or snootily disapproving. But I was on to the next crowd or couple or dance floor. God was the DJ.

When I saw the headline the next day, I almost checked the trunk of my car.

My lady, Stays, though. I know she would have curtailed any notion I might have harbored of visiting the sweet Baby Jesus that night. She’s lived with me for over 20 years. She knows I’m the ghosts

of Christmases past, present, and future all stuffed into one heady, moody, irascible elf. And since my id was king for the wee hours of my dim sojourn, I knew anything was possible — but hardly plausible.

On the other hand, however, I really feel for the Kid. And if I’d have seen Him, I might have snatched Him, too.

Everyone knows His name, but hardly anybody remembers what He stood for. Peace, love, turning the other cheek — hippy stuff. We have conservative igmos from Cali actually moving here for “God and guns,” and nobody truly familiar with the little bae Jesus really believes He would ever have picked up or carried a gun, much less shot someone. In fact, He would rather have been shot than shoot someone else. But here in Texas, we love the idea of pumping hot lead into people, even — or especially — children.

It’s who we are, really. A part of our overstuffed legends and comic book lore, a bummer and a bore to the Child, who knows our 10-gallon hats are as empty as our faith.

Who are we kidding?

Little baby Jesus and real Christians aren’t safe in Texas.

But hey *sweaty brow wipe* the photo with the stolen-baby article proves that — yes, yes, praise that little, stolen, holy cherub — it wasn’t me. But it sure got me to thinking.

Maybe the guy who grabbed our Baby Jesus in Sundance Square wasn’t stealing Him. Maybe he was saving Him from us.

Tytus Berry

Texas native Tytus Berry shuttles back and forth between his hometown of Fort Worth and his cabin off the grid in West Texas. A former journalist, he now writes fiction and the occasional editorial piece.

This column reflects the opinions of the author and not the Fort Worth Weekly. To submit a column, please email Editor Anthony Mariani at Anthony@FWWeekly. com. He will gently edit it for factuality, clarity, and concision.

Let’s get this party started right.

It’s a Wonderful Lie

BY E.R. BILLS

You won’t find many pictures of Lenora Ivie Frago, even on the internet. It’s mostly the same photo of an attractive young woman of perhaps Hispanic descent, incredibly grainy but still suggestive of beauty, unfocused, unnoticed, and forgotten. And that’s definitely the case. Frago has been forgotten, intentionally or conveniently. She doesn’t fit our narrative. Her death is an affront to our insane ideals and flagrant hypocrisy. Oh, and she’s also actually Native American. And we definitely don’t like to go there unless Kevin Costner or Daniel Day-Lewis provides us with White Savior magnanimity. It’s not how true stories play out in Texas.

It was the wee hours of Christmas Eve, 2009, and 27-year-old San Antonio resident Ezekiel Gilbert decided he wanted to play It’s a Wonderful Life via an escort service on Craigslist. He contacted the E-Street Girls Inc. “hotline” and made an appointment to “lasso the moon” in his Camino Real apartment in the 12200 block of Blanco Road.

At approximately 3:45 a.m., a 23-yearold single mother of one, Frago, transported by her manager, Christopher “Topher” Perkins, showed up at Gilbert’s door. Perkins waited in his car.

Gilbert paid $150 for 30 minutes of Frago’s time, and he chatted her up before attempting consummate what was no doubt his idea of a Christmas miracle, but something went awry. Gilbert wanted sex, but the original fee didn’t include sex or whatever special kind of attention he felt he was due. Gilbert and Frago disagreed, and Frago decided to leave. Maybe it was a grift perpetrated by Perkins and Frago, but Gilbert never indicated such to investigating detectives. Perhaps Frago didn’t feel safe (Gilbert’s gringo machismo was noted during his trial), or maybe Gilbert simply made Frago’s skin crawl. It’s even possible that Frago pressed Gilbert for more money for whatever might improve his Christmas spirits. It was hardly a rated G-rate transaction.

The dispute resulted in Frago’s exit of Gilbert’s apartment without him having experienced anything approaching It’s a Wonderful Life, and he wasn’t happy. In fact,

Gilbert got all Mr. Potter about forfeiting his ill-conceived investment to procure illicit pleasures and confronted Perkins, a former nightclub bouncer. The conversation didn’t go Gilbert’s way, and Perkins and Frago started to leave. Gilbert did what so many other white, male Texas versions of Mr. Potter do when they feel they haven’t been treated like the belle of the ball.

Gilbert moseyed over to his BMW and grabbed his AK-47.

If Frago was going to abandon him after he got hard, someone was — you guessed it — going to die hard (which Frago may not have known because she was only 2 years old when Die Hard, another “Christmas” classic, came out).

When Frago and Perkins got in the car, Frago screamed, “He’s got a gun! Go! Go! Go!”

Perkins pressed the proverbial pedal to the metal, but it didn’t get them out of range soon enough. Gilbert fired two shots and one hit Perkins’s car and ricocheted, lodging in the back of Frago’s neck. She was paralyzed and passed away in a matter of months.

Gilbert was charged with aggravated assault until Frago died. Then he faced murder charges, and his case went to trial two and a half years later. His lawyers, Bobby Barrera and father Roy Barrera Sr., argued that Gilbert was simply trying to prevent the commission of a crime (theft), even though the property that he alleged was stolen ($150) was handed freely to the victim to make her an accomplice to another crime, according to Texas Penal Code 43.02 — prostitution. The Barreras’ defense of Gilbert’s murder of Frago while attempting to commit the offense

of soliciting prostitution was very clever. In his opening statements, the junior Barrera said Frago “was there to rip” Gilbert off and that Gilbert had fired only to shoot out the tires of Perkins’ vehicle. Then the Barreras dusted off a 50-year-old statute — Texas Penal Code 9.42, deadly force to protect property — to trump their defendant’s violation of 43.02. Essentially, 9.42 states that a person can utilize deadly force against another to protect land or property, especially when it is immediately necessary and, in particular, at nighttime and specifically if the land or property cannot can be protected by any other means or if it would expose the wouldbe protector (or, in Gilbert’s case, recoverer) to serious bodily harm or death.

Not much has changed since an escort was murdered with a semiautomatic weapon nearly a decade ago. In fact, things are probably worse.

The ploy was an asinine farce, but the Barreras managed to keep straight faces, Gilbert feigned innocence, and the jury was extraordinarily gullible or favorably predisposed. Gilbert’s eventual ‘not guilty” verdict was an unflinching triumph of sexism, racism, and classism, all at the same time, but no one except almost everyone outside of Texas seemed to notice. After all, our entire border with Mexico was treated like a whorehouse for over 100 years and well into the 20th century. How dare Frago reject Gilbert’s advances? Especially after Gilbert paid $150 to get what so many good Texans’ grandfathers got for three pesos in the good ol’ days.

No wonder so many old-timers want the wall so bad.

How could something like this happen, you ask

Your quandary and disbelief were echoed across the country. The webzine Above the Law put it bluntly, stating that Gilbert got “off on a technicality — the technicality in this case being that he didn’t get off,” and the jury ruled he could get away with killing Frago because she didn’t get him off.

The Huffington Post headline read, “Ezekiel Gilbert Acquitted of Murdering Woman Who Wouldn’t Have Sex.” Gawker’s headline said, “Texas Says It’s OK to Shoot an Escort if She Won’t Have Sex with You.” And even Guns.com expressed or bragged about the sheer inanity of the decision: “Man Acquitted of Killing Hooker Who Would Not Give Him Sex.”

An article in Tits and Sass, a website devoted to “service journalism by and for sex workers,” suggested the Gilbert acquittal had broader implications:

This precedent is exceptionally deadly for women, both in the sex industry and not. Sex workers who feel uncomfortable when arriving to see a client and choose to not have sex with him have the threat of legally sanctioned death hanging over their head. But this can expand past that. Imagine the woman who answers a vague house cleaning post, babysitting post, or secretary post (all jobs I’ve seen listed on Craigslist that have carried an insinuation that sex was expected) and the man hiring her decides that sex is a mandatory part of the position. Her options now are: 1.) have sex she does not want to have, 2.) not be paid for her time/work, or 3.) get shot.

Most of the headlines passively suggested that members of the jury were mouth-breathing cretins, and legendary journalist Kirk Eichenwald — who was educated at St. Mark’s in Dallas — demonstrated this notion by exploring the absurdity of Texas Penal Code Sec. 9.42 itself in a June 7, 2013, piece in Vanity Fair:

Under Texas law, if I see some kid getting ready to spray-paint his name on an un-

derpass after dark, I can kill him. Criminal mischief at night can be a Class C misdemeanor involving less than $50 in damages, but in Texas, it effectively carries the death penalty. (Unless — and I can say this for damn sure — the youngster is a wealthy white boy. Then the murder charges will come raining down.) The enraged shooter can also kill anyone fleeing with a piece of property that isn’t his.

Still, Gilbert’s case seems ridiculous. Essentially, he is claiming that he is able to compel the commission of a crime — prostitution — if he simply believed he was paying for sex or demand his money back for the service he was promised and did receive. (On the other hand, the cops testified in the case that Gilbert never suggested he was stopping a theft of his money.)

Think of the possibilities. A guy buys some pot from a drug dealer, but it turns out to be oregano. If the drug dealer attempts to drive away — at night, of course — the purchaser can kill him. Or suppose someone buys something for what is advertised as the best price in town, later finds a lower one, goes back to the store manager, demands his money back, and is refused. Can the buyer then legally shoot the manager as he heads home that night? I don’t see why not — at least that transaction involved a dispute about a legal transaction, rather than the crime Gilbert wanted performed.

This section of the penal code — which implicitly permits individuals to stand their ground while engaging in criminal activity — is stupefying, and even presiding Judge Mary Roman alluded to this point after the verdict.

“It needs to be amended,” she said. “It was just unfortunate. I don’t believe that was the legislative intent at all.”

Is she right?

Well, Gilbert obviously believed he was

After his amazing though expected acquittal in San Antonio, Ezekiel Gilbert went on to get arrested in Vegas — and get off once again.

“dispossessed” of his cash and the act of prostitution he assumed said dinero would purchase. But this isn’t quantum physics. There was no evidence that Frago perpetuated this “dispossession by using force, threat, or fraud against the actor.” In the police interview conducted with Gilbert after the incident, as homicide detective Raymond Roberts told the court, Gilbert “never mentioned anything about theft.”

Regarding Gilbert’s determination that deadly force was immediately necessary, couldn’t he simply have called the police and given them the make and model of the car and maybe even the license plate number? Isn’t that a reasonable assumption that might make a demonstration of potentially deadly force irresponsible if not criminal?

Oh, right.

If Gilbert had called the police, he obviously would have incriminated himself.

Unquestionably, however, nighttime is the right time, and that was where the Barreras really earned their angel’s wings. It was “nighttime” — 4:15 a.m., to be exact — and Gilbert clearly considered Frago’s Grinch-like rejection of his version of It’s a Wonderful Life a theft of sorts, and she did abscond with the funds he believed would secure it.

Call me crazy, but is firing an assault rifle at someone’s car over $150 reasonable, and is $150 in any way, shape, or form worth

risking killing someone over, even if you have no recourse or means of replenishing the kitty for future escapades in the skin trade?

Shouldn’t Gilbert simply have done what most other lonely, horny gun-nuts in this state do? Masturbate in their favorite recliner while thinking about escorts or staring lovingly at their semiautomatic rifles?

with tubes for feeding … these patients are prone to have complications. She was in this situation because she was shot.”

During the trial, Gilbert was on his best behavior and cleaned up pretty well for the proceedings. It was a far cry from Perkins’ description of him the night he shot Frago. “His whole posture was about him trying to appear bigger than he was,” Perkins testified, indicating Gilbert’s face was “stone cold” and that he comported himself with a kind of “gangster swagger.”

“second chance.” But he didn’t stop there. “I sincerely regret the loss of life of Miss Frago,” he said. “I’ve been in a mental prison the past four years of my life. I have nightmares. If I see guns on TV where people are getting killed, I change the channel.”

Not so coincidentally, I think I’ve been in a “mental prison” ever since this blatant travesty of justice. Back in those days, we didn’t have semiautomatic slaughters every other month. It was fairly new, but it seemed to portend things to come.

The bullet that lodged in Frago’s neck left her bedridden and dependent on a respirator. Some months after, the respirator became disconnected, and the resulting deprival of steady oxygen left her brain damaged, never to recover. Frago was taken off life support in July 2010.

The shameless Barreras argued that Frago’s delayed death wasn’t Gilbert’s fault, but neurologist Augusto Parra disagreed.

“When you are bedridden like” Frago, Parra stated, “with mechanical support,

The San Antonio jury who weighed in on Gilbert’s guilt or innocence for 11 hours over two days, however, saw through the facts, looked past the tragic death of an unfortunate or perhaps imperfect single mother, and crowned the white guy innocent. It’s a common Texas theme, but Gilbert earned it. He put on a command performance. He hugged the Barreras and confirmed the bamboozled jury’s intuitions. He thanked God, the Barreras, and the jury for seeing “what wasn’t the truth” and giving him a

I recently reached out to two of the most prominent members of the prosecutorial team. One never returned my call, and the other said they didn’t know if their current employer would approve of them commenting on the trial — they said they would check but never called back. I also reached out to one of Frago’s brothers, who cared for his sister while she was in the hospital and was heartbroken when she died and crushed when Gilbert was acquitted. I didn’t get to talk to him, but I did speak with his wife. She told me her husband finished raising Frago’s daughter and told her to tell me that he didn’t want to talk about it, presumably because he wasn’t up for revisiting the entire nightmare again.

But I fear it’s too late for that. To suggest that the Barreras and Gilbert perpetrated a Texas-sized line of bullpucky of the highest magnitude isn’t enough.

A little less than a year before Gilbert’s

How dare Frago reject Gilbert’s advances? Especially after Gilbert paid $150 to get what so many good Texans’ grandfathers got for three pesos in the good ol’ days.

trial, the bond company that posted his $250,000 bail asked to be released from their contract on the bond because Gilbert was living in Las Vegas and frequently changing his cell phone numbers and the bond firm was receiving reports that he intended to jump bail. In fact, bounty hunters were eventually enlisted to bring him back to stand trial. And now, just nine years after the declaration of Gilbert’s innocence, here’s the sickening punchline.

After an Alamo City jury acquitted Gilbert, he returned to Las Vegas and used his second chance to resume his posture of “gangster swagger.” He’s had run-ins with the law involving drugs and domestic battery, and, in early September 2017, for using Snapchat to recruit a young woman into prostitution. Gilbert’s girlfriend, 20-yearold Wynter Nicole Fowler, sent the woman pictures of Rolex watches, Versace purses, and a Rolls Royce along with claims of earning thousands of dollars in Sin City.

The gullible woman fell for Gilbert and Fowler’s pitch and relocated to Vegas, where she was soon working as a prostitute for Gilbert. About a month into her “employment,” however, she decided to quit. Gilbert threatened her and boasted that he’d already “gotten away with murder” in Texas.

On Sept. 12, 2017, Gilbert and Fowler were arrested and booked on sex trafficking and conspiracy to commit sex trafficking charges. When police searched Gilbert’s residence, they found several guns and more than $400,000 in cash.

Gilbert and Fowler both worked with investigators and received plea deals that reduced the charges against them and mitigated their sentences. And, even better, Gilbert had clearly liberated himself from his “mental prison” and mastered his fear of guns. His attorney portrayed him as a repentant, hard-working average Joe recently diagnosed with cancer and only dabbling in servicing Johns as a desperate side hustle.

Gilbert delivered another command performance, informing the judge that he fully accepted responsibility for his actions. “I’m sorry and I just wish, if granted, I could live life and continue with my credit repair and take care of my health.”

Gilbert was sentenced to probation and 12 weekends in jail, so he could still work and seek treatment for his malady. He obviously had a guardian angel, and perhaps he got his “wonderful life,” after all.

He doesn’t want to talk about it, one way or another — because I called him earlier this month.

When a man answered the phone, he said he was not Ezekiel Gilbert and said the phone no longer belonged to him but that he could take a message. He asked me my name, and I gave it. Then he asked me what the call was about.

“I wanted to talk to [Gilbert] about a case he was involved in here in Texas a while back,” I said.

“Oh,” he replied. “What kind of case? Are you a police officer? I’m sorry. I’m trying to write down notes.”

“No,” I said. “I’m a writer. I’m writing about the death of Lenora Frago.”

“Oh, OK,” the man replied. “This isn’t his number anymore. He actually called me a while back and said I could take messages for important stuff or whatever. I reckon this is important. … I can give him the message and have him give you a holler back. This is ‘Mills’?”

“Bills,” I corrected. “B-I-L-L-S. I was wondering if I could get his side of the story. Obviously, I’m aware of his legal issues in Las Vegas, which mirror in some ways some of the stuff that went on in Texas and don’t lend credence to his original acquittal, so I just wanted his opinion. I mean, I heard he has cancer or was being treated for cancer, and sometimes people become repentant or they remember things differently … or look at things differently. Sometimes, they don’t.”

There was a long pause, so I said, “So give him my message.”

“Pardon me?” the man said. “So give him my message,” I repeated.

“You should ask a little nicer than that,” he said. “Lose this fucking number, homeboy.”

I haven’t lost Gilbert’s number.

I’ve actually thought about giving it to Patrick Crusius, the Dallas man who drove

from Big D to El Paso on August 3, 2019, to gun down 23 Mexican-Americans with a semiautomatic civilian version of the AK47. Maybe Gilbert could be an expert witness on protecting one’s property — which, in Crusius’ case, could be argued was all of Texas. White men are, after all, being told by Fox News, Alex Jones types, and 2020 election loser Donald J. Trump that they’re being dispossessed. Maybe Gilbert could even do a photo op with the Barreras, fearless gun rights advocate Gov. Greg Abbott, and Texas transplant Kyle Rittenhouse.

Today, Lenora Ivie Frago is almost entirely forgotten in San Antonio and Texas, and her outrageous murder and Gilbert’s preposterous acquittal aren’t on anyone’s radar. Had Frago received Gilbert’s second or third chance, she would have been 36 this Christmas Eve, and she may have gotten to spend it with her 20-year-old daughter. But, again, that’s not how true stories play out in Texas.

We all know they’ll be more guns than books under Lone Star Christmas trees this year. And more El Paso Walmarts, Santa Fe high schools, Uvalde elementary schools, and other gun massacres in the months to come. Because in the Lone Star version of It’s a Wonderful Life — though our Mr. Potter is also a wheelchair-bound reprobate — Christmas is a wonderful lie.

So, images of victims like Frago will continue to fade, appear grainy, and recede in our collective memory. l

Fort Worth native E.R. Bills is the award-winning author of several books on Texas history, mysteries, and travel.

If Lenora Ivie Frago were alive today, she’d be 36 years old and able to spend Christmas with her 20-year-old daughter and other family members.

There was no evidence that Frago perpetuated this “dispossession by using force, threat, or fraud against the actor.”

Hollywood Endings

Damien Chazelle loses control in this epic about the movie industry.

BY KRISTIAN LIN

My favorite film of all time is Singin’ in the Rain. It doesn’t take a film historian to see that Damien Chazelle holds that 1952 musical in similar esteem, so you’d think I’d be the ideal audience for his latest movie, a three-hour gloss on Singin’ in the Rain — hell, it ends with one of the characters sitting down to watch it. And yet I walked out of Babylon dissatisfied, for reasons that include that three-hour runtime. Don’t get me wrong, Chazelle creates some great things amid the welter, and he’s never boring, which is an achievement in such a long epic. Even so, this overstuffed exercise bites off more than it can chew.

The story picks up in 1926, with Jack Conrad (Brad Pitt) one of Hollywood’s biggest stars and drug- and gambling-addicted starlet Nelly LaRoy (Margot Robbie) living in poverty while dreaming of making it big. Manuel “Manny” Torres (Diego Calva) is a day laborer who falls into the movie business after he delivers an elephant to a lavish party and then saves an obese comedian from disgrace after an underage girl OD’s in his bedroom. Over the next eight years, Jack’s star loses its luster, while Nelly takes the town by storm until the advent of sound films exposes the Jersey accent that she can’t lose. Manny becomes an executive and starts to hide his heritage, telling outsiders that his family is Spanish rather than Mexican.

If Chazelle hasn’t been sniffing cocaine, his movie sure feels like it has. He really lets rip here after the discipline of La La Land and First Man, with Nelly arriving for her first day of work to find four different movies filming in the same space, each of them with its own live band providing different mood music. Manuel is dispatched to negotiate with several hundred heroin junkies acting as Viking extras on a film, and they try to lynch him before fighting one another for real with the cameras rolling. They murder both humans and horses alike while the German director hurls curses at God and furniture at his crew members, and Jack brushes off a spear narrowly missing his head.

Nelly’s first day of shooting a sound film devolves into similar chaos, as she, her director (Olivia Hamilton), the assistant director (P.J. Byrne), the sound guy (Carson Higgins), and random flunkies scream obscenities and ethnic slurs at one another while they ruin repeated takes. The party

sequences involve so many naked people that you lose track of what gender they are, and there is a hellish set piece when a mob boss (Tobey Maguire, with white makeup that makes him look like a rotting clown) drags Manny into a pit of iniquity where he’s forced to kill or be killed.

I know enough about film history to know which real-life people the characters are based on. Manny forces a Black jazz trumpeter (Jovan Adepo) to darken his skin with burnt cork for the camera, and if Black performers wearing blackface strikes you as unrealistic, let me assure you that it really did happen. Chazelle floods the screen with recognizable faces (Jean Smart, Flea, Olivia Wilde, Katherine Waterston, Eric Roberts, Max Minghella), and Robbie look-alike Samara Weaving portrays a British actress who plays Nelly’s sister and takes an instant dislike to her.

It’s all just so, so, so, so much. Chazelle wants to capture all the glamor and the squalor of early Tinseltown, and he ranges so far that he loses track of his main characters’ arcs, though Robbie’s wildly physical performance puts Nelly across. Her dance into the darkness on a poorly lit L.A. street is a lovely image, but still, the impact of these characters’ tragic endings is muted. (And if Chazelle is saying that Hollywood ruthlessly chews up its stars and moves on, that point doesn’t come across properly, either.)

It doesn’t flatter this movie that The Artist said pretty much the same stuff in a much more efficient way. Babylon ends with the aforementioned character watching Singin’ in the Rain in 1952 and glimpsing the entire past and future of cinema — including Avatar, wouldn’t you know — and for all of this film’s achievements, it hasn’t earned that kind of tribute to the medium’s history. l

Margot Robbie is the wildest thing at this Hollywood party in Babylon.

Scott Garfield

Babylon Starring Brad Pitt, Margot Robbie, and Diego Calva. Written and directed by Damien Chazelle. Rated R.

Their Own Worst Enemies

second-half

Through the first two quarters of the game, it appeared that Dallas was. Quarterback Dak Prescott trotted off the field at the half boasting a stat line of 15 of 16 for 137 yards and two touchdowns. The 93% completion percentage pointed to likely the best statistical half of his career. The Cowboys, with a cushy 21-7 lead, seemed comfortably on their way to their eleventh win of the season.

Then, halfway through the third quarter, the wheels came spinning off and Dallas began to succumb to the contest’s truer opponent: themselves. It played out like a runback of the Week 9 matchup in Green Bay, when a middling Packers team capitalized on the decisively better Cowboys’ inability to stay out of their own damn way. Kaiser Söze and the rest of Dallas’ Usual Suspects all showed up to take over the direction of the game. Leaky Run Defense, Vulnerable Corner Play, Horrid Game Management, and Untimely Turnovers all got their requisite screentime. The decision to air it out on third-and-10 in the game’s final minute, especially while holding the lead, should get someone fired. The incompletion allowed Jacksonville to retain their final timeout as the Cowboys punted the ball away.

The only thing worse than that call was the embarrassingly uncatchable ball Dak threw on the play. With a timeout in hand, the Jaguars would send it to overtime just three plays later.

ception game in four of Prescott’s last six outings. The 11-pick figure is just two shy of his career season high of 13, a stat line way back from his sophomore campaign in 2017. What’s more alarming is that he’s run his current troubling total up in seven fewer games, nearly half a season less.

The O-line bears some responsibility. Several of the throws have been tipped at the line of scrimmage or Prescott has had his arm hit during his throwing motion. Such a play cost him five games earlier in the year due to a broken thumb, an injury that could also be playing a role in his current issues. His receivers aren’t helping him out either. From letting balls bounce out of their hands or simply running the wrong routes and leaving behind only the welcoming arms of defensive backs, the wideouts own at least half of those picks. It’s a reality that is no doubt feeding the front office’s obsessive pursuit of receiver help, i.e. T.Y. Hilton, and the still lingering courtship of Odell Beckham Jr.

Prescott isn’t blameless. The same aggressiveness that has helped him lead the offense to averaging nearly 36 points per game since his return has obviously contributed to some very poor decision making, especially at extremely inopportune times. (The near fatal interception late in the fourth against the Texans and the walk-off one this past Sunday against the Jags come to mind.)

BY PATRICK HIGGINS

The theme dominating local sports talk heading into Sunday’s game against the Jacksonville Jaguars was that the Cowboys needed to avoid falling into the quintessential trap game. With a huge, potentially division-deciding matchup against the leaguebest Eagles on Christmas Eve, the worry was that Dallas would be looking ahead and letting it draw their focus away from the lowly Jags. After barely escaping the dumpster-fire Texans the week before, it seemed especially important that the ’Boys take care of business against the nauseating, ’90s-relic-teal-and-gold-uniform-donning, if-Florida-Man-was-a-football-team Jags.

The Dallas defense would make up for much of their second-half meltdown by managing to force a Jags 3-and-out on the OT’s first drive, setting up Dak and Co. for only a field goal to win. Yet the self-inflicted wounds weren’t over yet. Jaguars’ safety Rayshawn Jenkins would snag a tipped-ball interception out of the air and return it 57 yards to the endzone, stunning the Cowboys and dropping them to 10-4 on the season, all but ensuring the lid is nailed shut on an NFC East title and glorious first-round playoff bye.

As soon as the ball flew off the hands of Dallas receiver Noah Brown (again) and into Jenkins’ gentle embrace, you knew the rabble would be dragging Prescott. That pick was Dak’s second of the game and eleventh of the year. It also makes for a multi-inter-

With the interceptions piling up, haters and fans alike are taking aim at their favorite target: Dallas’ controversial QB1. The water cooler talk on Monday morning, call-ins to sports talk radio, memes on social media, and those unwatchable screaming-head sports “debate” cable shows (seriously, who watches that shit?) all have been dominated by Dak trashing.

There seems to be no more controversial figure in all of sports than a Cowboys QB, and with Prescott’s salary, his oftentimes questionable accuracy, and his stubborn lack of literally being Troy Aikman or Roger Staubach make him all the more so. Don’t get me wrong, the mounting INT figures are certainly disturbing, but if you look at the bulk of them, the blame shouldn’t fall on Dak alone.

Yet I think there are other issues with the team as a whole that are far more concerning: namely, the side of the ball that carried Dallas in Dak’s absence earlier in the year. There have been a handful of games over the last several that have seen this defense that many, including myself, had proclaimed “elite” show signs of fading. A once unstoppable pass rush can’t seem to get home, a still suspect run defense continues to allow yards on the ground, and an injury-depleted secondary is starting to give up big chunks through the air. These are problems that need to be addressed as much or more as Prescott’s present recklessness.

They’re also issues that a QB playing like he’s out for blood can help overcome as easily as he can potentially exacerbate them. I definitely want Dak to rein it in a bit, but I prefer his aggression to the scared, panicky Prescott we saw several times last season. I’m still of a mind that if the Cowboys have a chance at competing for a Super Bowl this season, it will be because of Dak Prescott, not in spite of him. l

The

meltdown in Jacksonville proves once again that the Cowboys’ fate depends on themselves more than any on-field opponent.

Is Dak trash? A certain vocal contingent of Cowboy fans certainly seems to think so.

Courtesy of the unmatched genius of the internet

Promotional support provided by

Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, Two Women at a Window, c. 1655–60, oil on canvas. National Gallery of Art, Washington, Widener Collection, 1942.9.46

This exhibition is organized by the Kimbell Art Museum.

The Kimbell Art Museum is supported in part by Arts Fort Worth, the Texas Commission on the Arts, and the National Endowment for the Arts. This exhibition is supported by an indemnity from the Federal Council on the Arts and the Humanities.

With New Year’s Eve coming up next Saturday, I’m still undecided about even leaving the house. If I go out, I know I will be hungry before, during, and possibly after. Luckily, I found some great event choices involving food. Mangia!

1.) ESO Mimosa Bar (2150 E Lamar Blvd, Ste 120, Arlington, 682-812-7760) invites you to “re-live your prom night as an adult, with a high-fashion flair for urban taste and a full, upscale dining experience to pair” at NYE Adult Prom: Trap Ball Edition. Come dressed to impress, as there will be a Prom King and Queen crowned at midnight, plus fashion-designer host Korto Momolu (of Project Runway fame) will be the judge of a Best Dressed Competition in which the winner receives a $500 prize. There will also be a Trap Waltz at 11pm with dance lessons

the day prior. For details, visit Facebook. com/ESOMimosaBar. The general admission menu includes chicken and waffles, shrimp and grits, or a vegan option of an Impossible burger with fries/greens, and it just keeps getting better at the VIP level. Tickets range from $75 to $750 on Eventbrite.com and include a champagne toast at midnight. Formal attire is required for entry. No tickets will be sold at the door.

2.) Byblos Mediterranean Restaurant (1406 N Main St, 817-625-9667) is serving up dinner and a show on New Year’s Eve Ring in 2023 with a buffet, belly dancing, party favors, and a champagne toast at midnight for $45 per person. Seating is available from 9pm to 1am. Make your reservations at ByblosTX.com.

continued on page 15

Meet Project Runway Allstars alum Korto Momolu and enjoy some chicken and waffles at ESO Mimosa Bar’s NYE Adult Prom.

Courtesy Facebook

3.) Along with a pizza buffet that includes dessert pizzas, enjoy unlimited arcade-game play, a personal confetti cannon, and a midnight toast with a champagne-style cider at Cidercade Fort Worth (813 W Bowie St, Ste 101, 817-264-2835). Tickets are $40, and the party starts at 8pm. For $10 more, you can purchase VIP early-access tickets, arrive at 7pm, and beat everyone to the games and grub. You must be 21+ and have a presale ticket from Eventbrite.com. While ins and outs are allowed, there will be no admission sales at the door.

4.) New Year’s Eve marks the seventh anniversary of Division Brewing (506 E Main St, Arlington, 682-276-1276), so it’s a dual celebration with food, prizes, and music from Freeze Sucka and Hotcake Hand Grenade. Admission is $40 per person and includes commemorative glassware and four beer fills. Either pay at the door or secure your ticket ahead of time at Eventbrite.com.

5.) Every Saturday at noon, Patrick Mikyles presents Drag-with-Me Brunch featuring a full bar, food menu, and an award-winning drag show at Red Goose Saloon (306 Houston St, 817-332-4343). On Sat, the event will be a special NYE Pregame Brunch with party favors and a “brunch countdown.” Tickets are $30 at PatrickMikylesPresents.

com/Tickets.

6.) Fort Brewery & Pizza (2737 Tillar St, 817-923-8000) is hosting a ’90s Hip-Hop Party 7pm-1am for its New Year’s Eve celebration. Along with DJ Con the Baptist spinning hits from that decade 9pm-1am, start with the dinner buffet 7pm-10pm and

then end the evening with a complimentary Luc Belaire Champagne toast with party favors at midnight. Tickets are $25 per person on Eventbrite.com.

7.) Given that Ol’ South Pancake House pumps out everyone’s favorite late-night

grub, you can head to the 24/7 location in Fort Worth after NYE festivities. But, first, Ol’ South has some Christmas goings-on. The Burleson location offers a special ham dinner on Christmas Day to enjoy as dine-in only. For future updates on the side dishes and the pricing, visit OlSouthPancakeHouse.com. Also, Santa Claus is coming to town this weekend! He will be at Ol’ South Burleson (225 E Renfro St, 817-989-9090) 9am-1pm Fri and then at Ol’ South Fort Worth (1509 S University Dr, 817-336-0311) 9am-1pm Sat.

8.) For its New Year’s Eve 2023 House Party Edition, Pour Decisions (2800 Bledsoe St, Ste 200, 682-203-0726) features a few inhouse amenities. The party is 5pm-1am on Sat, featuring DJ music. Five Lucky Golden Envelopes will be randomly handed out for complimentary bottle service throughout the evening. Up to $1,000 in cash prizes will be awarded to the first 100 guests who arrive after 9pm. Of course, there will be a complimentary champagne toast at midnight, but there will also be a complimentary breakfast buffet in the downstairs restaurant at 1pm. For questions or VIP reservations, call the restaurant or visit PourDecisionsFTW.com.

Check out next week’s Crosstown Sounds column to find out where your favorite bands are playing for New Year’s Eve. To submit your events for our consideration, email Marketing@fwweekly.com.

By Jennifer Bovee

Enjoy a Mediterranean buffet and a belly dancing show at Byblos for NYE.

Courtesy Byblos

Tumblin’ into Tannahill’s

Mule Alley’s newest hotspot delivers upscale dining, live music, and tasty cocktails — all under one big ol’ roof.

Tannahill’s Tavern & Music Hall, 122 E Exchange Av, Ste 200, FW. 11am-10pm Sun-Thu, 11am-11pm Fri-Sat.

STORY AND PHOTOS

BY EDWARD BROWN

The Stockyards are lit. On a recent frigid night, large crowds of revelers (most with frosty beers in hand) sauntered to and fro

under the historic Northside district’s brightly lit oak trees. Not eager to linger in the cold, my guest and I darted inside Tannahill’s Tavern & Music Hall for warmth and to place our names on the waiting list for dinner. With about 40 minutes to kill, we perched at a longish bar inside as a singer-songwriter strummed away nearby.

The new establishment is part of an always growing portfolio of destinations

by Chef Tim Love, the restaurateur behind several award-winning concepts, including Stockyards favorites Caterina’s, Lonesome Dove, Love Shack, and Paloma Suerte. Unlike them, Tannahill’s is a major music hall that presents national, regional, and local acts. The 1,000-seat venue was hosting a show that evening, but we couldn’t hear any of it, a sign that the space is acoustically insulated to not infringe on non-concertgoers.

My first libation that evening, the Tumbleweed, was citrusy and light. The fizzy bright-red drink was heavy on strawberry flavor but, unfortunately, light on the bourbon. For $16, I was hoping for more of a buzz. I switched to beer only to find $8 Modelos at the bar but more reasonably priced ($6) cans of macrobeers at our table once we were seated.

Revelers packed Mule Alley on a recent weekend evening.

Although the noodles fell flat, the rich boarbased ragu was decadent.

The first dish up, Tostada of Tuna, was a delicious if slightly salty medley of tuna, bacon, sliced jalapeños, diced cabbage, and thin cuts of carrots, all served on a large tostada slathered with guacamole. The real treats were the thick chunks of sashimi-quality raw fish.

The waiter recommended the smoked crab and green chile dip, and we obliged. Served on a wooden paddle, the appetizer appeared with a dozen pieces of grilled pita that were hot, chewy, and lightly charred. The generous lumps of crab and smoky bits of green chiles combined into pure seafood heaven.

The double cheeseburger exploded with flavor. The dry-aged beef patty was supremely tender, and the accoutrements (sharp cheddar, lettuce, tomato, shaved red onions) added a nice complement in zest and texture to every bite. The accompanying small mountain of golden skinny fries were addictive, and the extra order of housemade potato chips, coated in a dense powder of chile seasoning, kept us coming back for more.

The pappardelle, a semi-flat pasta similar to fettuccine, came bathed in a richly spiced ragu. The centerpiece of this main course was the meaty sauce with ground boar that was similar to beef in both flavor and texture. I learned that night that I’m not a fan of pappardelle, well-crafted as it may have been. The flat noodle was too supple and soon became lost in the sauce.

Tannahill’s, named after one of Love’s children, offers a respectable spread of familiar dishes and creative takes on classics. There’s plenty of space in the single sprawling room that holds dining tables, two bars, and lounge chairs, and the staff was prompt and polite throughout the evening. The music hall, which I’ll come back for, occupies a separate room to the north.

Customers can forgo the sticker shock of $16 cocktails by ordering drinks from the table, where cans are $6 apiece (the first time I’ve seen cheaper beverages set aside for diners only). After all, there are enough concertgoers on most nights to keep the Tumbleweeds rollin’. l

The kitchen didn’t skimp on the mouthwatering crab in this dip.

Still Real

On his latest album, self-reflective rapper Dru B Shinin’ opens up about middle age and when life isn’t living up to expectation.

BY PATRICK HIGGINS

Hip-hop is a genre often dominated by rappers spitting endless verses about how great they are or how great being them is. How much money they have or how many women — a cartoon caricature of a perfect music video lifestyle. So, it’s refreshing when an MC cuts out all that exaggerated extrava-

gance and writes about real life — mundane, frustrating, unsatisfying, messy life.

Fort Worth rhyme mason Dru B Shinin’ has made a career of doing just that for two decades.

On his most recent album, the Korean-American takes his most honest look at life yet. This Iz 40 is about heartache and disappointment at falling short of where one is “supposed to be” during middle age.

For the newish long player, Dru again employed his longtime beatmaker EyeJay for the basic tracks and laid down the vocals with Grammy award-winning producer Ty Macklin (Erika Badu, India Arie) at AOE Recording Studios. Electronic/dance music producer Ish D mixed and mastered the effort. This Iz 40 stands as Dru’s first solo venture in nearly two years. In 2020, he dropped a mixtape with fellow Fort Worth rapper A-Roy and also collaborated with friend and fellow self-reflective rapper Wrex on the celebrated ’70s kung fu/blaxploitation-inspired BRUCELEEROY project, but This Iz 40 is his first proper solo album since.

“It wasn’t a planned decision,” Dru said of the gap in his normally steady recorded output, “but I think after those two projects, I kind of wanted a second to just chill. That second turned into a whole year. It’s the longest I have gone without writing since high school. Toward the end of the year, I started to feel depressed because I hadn’t done anything musical besides a few shows with Wrex, so this year, I made a New Year’s resolution to start writing again. I planned to start by writing four bars a day.”

On This Iz 40, Korean-American rapper Dru B Shinin’ tackles middle age with the introspective finesse he’s become known for.

Rene Gomez

Dru said that he must have been pent up because one he got rolling, the verses kept flowing. That first day’s four bars quickly became 16, and before he knew it, he had most of the lyrics for what would become This Iz 40 written before the end of January.

“I started writing the album with no concept in my mind,” he said, “just writing about what I’d been going through: trying to get over my ex, dating in middle age, all kinds of different traumas and issues that were on my mind, some of the things that I went through being in the streets when I grew up back in Topeka, Kansas. I looked at what I was writing and thought, ‘Damn, my life is kind of a mess.’ Like, at 40, we are supposed to have our stuff together. But I don’t.”

Dru B Shinin’ has always put himself into his writing. His last solo album, 2018’s Spilt Paint 3, was largely about the split with his longtime partner, a challenging experience he admits he’s still not quite over. On This Iz 40, the track “Can’t Even B Friends” revisits the subject. In addition to being a document of self-reflection, This Iz 40 is also, at times, an evaluation of a society failing its purpose.

“There’s been some things that have been bugging me about society and how we are treating the earth and other people,” Dru said. “I have always written some political and social songs, and I [do] on this album,

too. I talk about two specific things that help me make a living but also contribute to the exploitation of people and the destruction of the earth or our ecosystem, like plastic consumption [‘Food Storage Bags’] and batteries [‘Li-Ion (Lithium Mines)’], how we all kind of sacrifice our morality in order to make a living. Those things make it on this album. Some things that are probably what a 40-year-old thinks about,” he added with a laugh.

As a whole, the album is just the latest in a discography that Dru B Shinin’ has been meticulously building to stand as a testament to the merit of open and honest writing in a genre replete with performative grandstanding. It’s an addition he’s proud of.

Emotion, pain, and hearing about an artist’s real life are the things that are most important to him, he said. “Also, a consciousness about society and the world and a genuine love and respect for hip-hop culture and the community that created this music we all love. Music is how I communicate with my friends and loved ones. It’s like I’m able to say what I want to them in the most perfected way. You know when you’re trying to tell someone something and it comes out all wrong? With music, I can perfect it and make it come out exactly how I want it. I think people like that from me. Different rappers give you different things. Wrex is going to give you some wisdom. I’m going to give you my real life, no matter how messy it is. I put genuine love into this one, and that’s exactly what I have been getting back

EMPLOYMENT

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Travel Accommodations:

According to the New York Times, the following companies have said they would cover travel expenses for employees who need abortions: Airbnb, DoorDash, JP Morgan Chase, Levi Strauss & Co, Netflix, Patagonia, Reddit, Starbucks, Tesla, and Yelp. Additionally, NowThis has listed the following companies also offering the same assistance to employees: Amazon, Apple, BuzzFeed, Citigroup, Comcast, Dick’s Sporting Goods, Lyft, Mastercard, Meta, Microsoft, Paramount, Sony, Tesla, Walt Disney Co, Vox Media, and Zillow. (JMB, FWW)

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MIND / BODY / SPIRIT

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OREGON

From Mt Hood to the Oregon Coast, Explore Oregon with the official tourism at: TravelOregon.com

MAINE

Take the Guesswork Out of Planning Your Getaway at: VisitMaine.com

MARYLAND

If you thought Maryland was just battlefields and Old Bay, think again! VisitMaryland.org

MASSACHUSETTS

Find countless fun things to do from Boston to The Berkshires at: VisitMA.com

MINNESOTA

MN is the place for extraordinary, eye-opening adventures likr camping under the stars in a Dark Sky Sanctuary. More at: ExploreMinnesota.com

NEW HAMPSHIRE

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CALIFORNIA

From its celebrated coastline to its broad heartland and granite Sierra peaks, CA offers a lifetime of vacations in one Golden State. CaliforniaTouristGuide.com

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ILLINOIS

Places to go, things to do, the best places to eat and drink, must-see Chicago, trip ideas and inspiration for your travels at: EnjoyIllinois.com

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NEVADA

Outdoor recreation, exciting events, and stories for days. Plan your next trip to Nevada. TravelNevada.com

RHODE ISLAND

RI is 400 miles of New England coastline, with beaches and freshfrom-the-ocean seafood. It’s also public art, charming villages, and more. VisitRhodeIsland.com

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Our cities and towns welcome visitors with their rich history, eclectic shops, farm-to-table dining establishments, and recreation areas. VermontVacation.com

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Emerge yourself with things to do in Washington from fishing, tours, volcanoes and more. StateOfWATourism.com

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LEGAL NOTICE

CARE AND PROTECTION, TERMINATION OF PARENTAL RIGHTS, SUMMONS BY PUBLICATION, DOCKET NUMBER: 22CP0075LO, Trial Court of Massachusetts, Juvenile Court Department, COMMONWEALTH OF MASSACHUSETTS, Middlesex County Juvenile Court, Lowell Justice Center, 370 Jackson Street, 4th Flr., Lowell, MA 01852 TO: Emmanuel Ortiz, father of Joshua Ortiz and Caleb Ortiz: A petition has been presented to this court by DCF – Lowell, seeking, as to the following children, Caleb Ortiz, Joshua Ortiz, that said children be found in need of care and protection and committed to the Department of Children and Families. The court may dispense the rights of the person(s) named herein to receive notice of or to consent to any legal proceeding affecting the adoption, custody, or guardianship or any other disposition of the children named herein, if it finds that the children are in need of care and protection and that the best interests of the children would be served by said disposition.

You are hereby ORDERED to appear in this court, at the court address set forth above, on the following date and time: 02/16/2023 at 08:30 AM Status Hearing

You may bring an attorney with you. If you have a right to an attorney and if the court determines that you are indigent, the court will appoint an attorney to represent you.

If you fail to appear, the court may proceed on that date and any date thereafter with a trial on the merits of the petition and an adjudication of this matter.

For further information call the Office of the Clerk-Magistrate at 978-441-2630.

WITNESS: Hon. Gloria Y. Tan, FIRST JUSTICE, Elizabeth Sheehy, Clerk-Magistrate, DATE ISSUED: 12/02/2022

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Now Hiring CDL Drivers with Tanker & Hazmat preferred. Health Insurance and other benefits. Per Diem Paid. 1-830-833-4547 EOE

EMPLOYMENT

American Airlines, Inc. has openings in Ft. Worth, TX for: Sr. Analyst, International Co-Brand Partnerships (Ref #984): Lead mgmt,growth, & profitability of AA portfolio of Co-Brand Credit Card products in the assigned countries. Req: Bachelor’s deg in Mgmt, Analytics, Industrial Eng, Bus Admin or a related field plus 3 years’ exp in data analysis & demonstrated exp. To apply send inquiries &/or resume to Gene Womack using email address: Gene.Womack@aa.com; please include Ref #984 in Subject Line.

FOR SALE

SILVER DOLLARS

Over

Party Clean, Keep On Truckin’. More at thegaspipe.net

Hannah in Hurst, LMT

Serving the Mid-Cities for over 25 years. Massage for Better Sleep, Pain Relief, and Deep Relaxation. MasseuseToTheStars.com (MT#4797) Call 817.590.2257

HISTORIC RIDGLEA THEATER

THE RIDGLEA is three great venues within one historic Fort Worth landmark. RIDGLEA THEATER has been restored to its authentic allure, recovering unique Spanish-Mediterranean elements. It is ideal for large