Rick Bragg

Recent Posts By Rick Bragg

Take Your Medicine, Boy

The boy was trouble. You could see that as he pushed through the door, then came stomping past the booths in the Huddle House in his toddler-size cowboy boots. He was wearing a strawberry-jelly scowl, his shirt had ridden up his belly, and his hands, which I am sure were sticky, were touching everything. His tired mother noticed, too late, […]

Read More

Cowboys are Her Weakness

On cold, winter days, my mother and I love a good shoot-‘em-up Western. ‘Now wait a minute, Shep. We don’t want to kill us no ol’ ladies, ’cause I like ol’ ladies’ — The actor Dennis Hopper, on Gunsmoke, just before shooting the train conductor My mother is not a panicky woman; she is a Southern one. She was born […]

Read More

From the Magazine’s Pages: Summer Snow

  It was long before Katrina, in those hot, sticky, normal years when people complained how dry things had been. The drought made the already insubstantial dirt weak and powdery, and the piers of the shotgun houses sank into the earth. It is not unusual in New Orleans for an old house to lean, drunkenly. My favorite story was about […]

Read More

When Fireworks Go South

Festivities involving fire, smoke, and gunpowder—what could possibly go wrong?

Read More

Wheels of Time

Cars will always carry us back through the years, on the back roads of our memory.

Read More

Pretty Girl

  To most, she looked like she didn’t stand a chance. But they looked at her and saw different.

Read More

Saving Face

I’ve been peeling labels off my mother for years. First through the words inside the books. And now from their covers.

Read More

All-Night Gospel

Sung late into the night, the words stayed with the boy who didn’t think he was listening. I have reached a place in life where I do not think clearly about the present, or the future. What I do, mostly, is remember, my thoughts triggered by some flyer flapping on a telephone pole, or a scrap of a song.

Read More

Dixie Snow

Where I live, a light snow is a big event, to be wondered at rather than plowed.

Read More

O Christmas Sock

Instead of red velvet trimmed with fur, ours came with a sporty stripe. But what matters most is what’s inside, and ours stretched to hold more joy.

Read More