Innovative center tries to save teen girls from prostitution
Getting her son out of state care was only the beginning of one mother's troubles
Seven months have passed since the polygamist raid in Eldorado, but for one mainstream Mormon, the effects linger
Zales Corp. smells sweet success in expanding Dunkin' Donuts
One mans attempt at slow food living in the Dallas metroplex
Old-school hog farming makes a comeback, thanks to some fine swine from Frankenstein.
Here's how you become one of those people who screams at his kid's coach.
Transgender hookers with rap sheets are successfully fighting deportation--by asking for asylum.
First, Houston's DNA lab became a laughingstock. Then its controversial director was murdered.
"We look at what kids are doing now—with drugs and sex and all the violence and gangs—and we wonder why. Well, it's obvious. We expect kids to make the right decision and then you tell them that they're nothing but evolved pond scum, nothing but an animal? And you wonder why their world view is basically one of 'me and now.'"
Before I left, I went back to the original museum to get a look at the fossils Baugh claimed to have dug from the river. Baugh's assistant showed me a duckbill dinosaur skull, some dinosaur eggs out of China and the fossilized print of a three-toed dinosaur. During the same dig, he said, they had also found the footprint of a prehistoric woman, size 7.
He said he knew this sounded crazy to a lot of people, and that he regularly fielded hostile questions from science teachers and the like. But he had numbers on his side. "More than 50 percent of Americans reject evolution and believe in some form of creationism," he told me. He also had power on his side. President George W. Bush had advocated teaching the "weaknesses" of evolutionary theory. Governor Perry had appointed a young-Earth creationist to head the board. And state Representative Warren Chisum, the powerful chair of the House Appropriations Committee, had gone so far as to distribute a memo to his fellow legislators attacking evolution as an anti-religious plot cooked up by an ancient Jewish sect. Perhaps the State Board of Education, being an elected body, was simply reflecting the will of the people.
As I was leaving, I thought of something Heffner had said: "If more than half the population doesn't believe in evolution, don't we also deserve equal representation in public schools? It's our tax dollars too, after all."
Last October, Chris Comer, then the director of science education for Texas public schools, got an e-mail inviting her to a lecture by a professor named Barbara Forrest. The name rang a bell. Forrest had testified in the much-publicized 2006 Pennsylvania case, Kitzmiller v. Dover, in which intelligent design had essentially been put on trial. After two weeks of testimony, which had included detailed discussion of topics such as bacteria flagellum and Galapagos finches, the judge ruled that intelligent design was not a scientific theory, as its proponents claimed, but "an interesting theological argument" that could not "uncouple itself from its creationist, and thus religious, antecedents."
Like the rest of the science world, Comer had closely followed the trial and had been interested in Forrest's testimony. As Forrest saw it, intelligent design was part of a covert strategy to get creationism into public schools. This view was based on a document she claimed to have uncovered called "the wedge," in which the leaders of the intelligent design movement outlined a 20-year plan to reverse "the stifling materialistic worldview" of which evolution was a part and replace it with "a science consonant with Christian and theistic convictions." Like a metal wedge splitting a log, they would introduce intelligent design into the classroom, which would open the way for creationism. Forrest had written an exposé on the movement, Creationism's Trojan Horse: The Wedge of Intelligent Design, and was coming to Austin to discuss the book.
Intrigued, Comer sent an e-mail to an online community of science teachers, notifying them of the lecture. Considering all the controversy over the teaching of evolution in Texas public schools, she figured the event could be enlightening.
According to Comer, an hour later she got an e-mail from a supervisor. She was told she shouldn't have sent the e-mail on a school computer. Comer apologized and then sent out another e-mail clarifying that her invitation had not been meant to suggest that she endorsed Forrest's views.
About a week later, Comer was told she could resign or be fired. Comer chose to resign.
Today, Comer says she's still not sure why she was fired, but she is almost certain it had something to do with the e-mail. For her, the episode is indicative of the power and influence of the religious right and how that has come to bear on the State Board of Education.
For most of its existence, the state board was not divided by political and religious ideologies. It occupied a sleepy corner of government, making headlines only when critics showed up to protest a sex ed book or the teaching of evolution. That began changing in the late 1980s, when the religious right began to realize the board's power. In addition to overseeing the $25 billion Permanent School Fund (a perpetual endowment established in 1854 to help finance public education), the state board also reviews curriculum and approves textbooks. In short, it determines what every public school student learns in every subject. For those interested in molding the minds of America's future leaders, there is no better place to start.
It wasn't until the election of San Antonio Republican Bob Offutt in 1992 that the Christian right's influence began to be felt on the board. Two years later, Offutt recruited five other far-right social conservatives to run. Their campaigns were ugly affairs and foreshadowed what lay ahead. In campaign fliers, Democratic incumbents were accused of promoting a "radical leftist agenda" that included homosexuality, lesbian adoption and condom usage. One flier included a picture of two shirtless men—one black and one white—kissing each other.

