3 results for author: Chris Daigle


A Historic Schoolhouse Needs a New Home

Commuters whizzing by on North Shepherd hardly pay a glance to the foliage covered red house near West 15th Street. They are more interested in getting in and out of Heights Veterinary Clinic next door. After all, it's been there forever, nothing to see here. Bypasses by the naked eye at 40 miles per hour, however, is a forgotten piece of Houston's history. When you look close, the flagpole out front reveals that this was once the Lowell Street School, a traditional little red schoolhouse that has waited at this spot to be the classroom of Houston's famous and not so famous since about 1918. When this was built, the Heights was just annexed by ...

A Million Words Are Not Enough

The inside of me is a journalist. The outside of me is a curious human being, just like everybody else. The difference is, I was trained to bring the outside of me to the inside of me, and put it into words. That's a big task right now. August 26, 2017, as I watch Houston being devastated by a flood that has not happened in this size in recorded history. This event is happening as I write, and as much as I want to jump out and help, writing is the only safe thing to do right now. The scale of this is almost beyond words, because it is beyond belief. This has happened before, and it will happen again, that's the only way to get a grip on this right ...

Our History is Becoming History

Houston doesn't have much patience for memories. The only permanent thing here is change. Houston tears down, Houston starts over. And then Houston tears down again. Remembering the Houston that used to be is a cherished community tradition, like compulsively bragging about diversity, or pretending you frequent Discovery Green. Once in awhile, a building evades the wrecking ball and suffers the indignity of gradual decline, turned into a pawn shop or storefront church, or just left for dead with vandals and varmints and the relentless weather orchestrating a slow demolition by neglect. It sits, sun bleached and forlorn, like the President For Life ...