Rio Grande

When it came to the subject of biographies, Sigmund Freud was at his most implacable: "Whoever undertakes to write a biography," he said, "binds himself to lying, to concealment, to hypocrisy, to flummery and even to hiding his own lack of understanding. . . . Truth is not accessible; mankind does not deserve it, and wasn't Prince Hamlet right when he asked who could escape a whipping if he had his deserts?" How did Freud feel about autobiographies? Don't ask. In his latest book, newspaper columnist turned novelist turned screenwriter Pete Dexter has taken the literary-psychoanalytic bull by the horns and -- with characteristic and stylish aplomb -- blown smoke in its formidable face.

More than 60 years after scientists assembled the nuclear bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, lethal waste is seeping from mountain burial sites and moving toward aquifers, springs and streams that provide water to 250,000 residents of northern New Mexico. Isolated on a high plateau, the Los Alamos National Laboratory seemed an ideal place to store a bomb factory's deadly debris. But the heavily fractured mountains haven't contained the waste, some of which has trickled down hundreds of feet to the edge of the Rio Grande, one of the most important water sources in the Southwest.

When the government announced plans to build a new fence along portions of the Mexican border, residents of this sleepy town along the Rio Grande feared that the barrier would cut them off from their backyards and even destroy some homes. Nearly two years later, the project is almost finished, and the village of Granjeno has managed to hang on -- as have the illegal immigrants who still pour through town by climbing over or walking around the nearly two-mile barricade designed to keep them out. Instead of building a steel fence, the government agreed to turn an existing earthen levee into a stronger concrete one, which was supposed to both keep out illegal traffic and offer the village improved flood protection.

The U.S. Border Patrol has agreed to delay spraying herbicide near the Rio Grande until more talks are held with Mexican officials. U.S. officials say the herbicide, imazapyr, does not harm people or animals, but Mexican officials want to do their own review. Officials from the Department of Homeland Security and the binational agency that oversees the river met Tuesday to discuss the plan to test the herbicide on carrizo cane. The towering plants suck up river water and obscure the banks along much of the Rio Grande, making it difficult for agents to see people crossing the border.

The body of John Doe No. 95-036751, one of 14 undocumented migrants to wash up along this short stretch of the Rio Grande last year, was clad only in beige underwear with thin, red, checkered stripes. His trim, 20ish frame was bloated. His lips and eyelids had been devoured by turtles. Other than a dark oval birthmark on the right side of his chest, there was no way to identify him--no wallet, no jewelry, no tattoos--not even enough skin on his fingers from which to draw prints.

For hundreds of Mexican women, some here legally and some not, the cardboard stork outside Maria Elena Tafoya's birthing room signals the doorway to a brighter future. Inside, on a small bed with a rubber sheet, under a portrait of the Virgin Mary, their children enter the world on U.S. soil--a minor distinction in geographic terms but one that carries big advantages economically. Tafoya, 57, serves both as midwife and de facto immigration judge, conferring U.S.

Texas farmers, river rafters and environmentalists are frothing over a Rio Grande water shortage caused by Mexican farmers upstream siphoning off the scarce resource. Thousands of farmers in northern Mexico are struggling through a three-year drought that has killed 300,000 cattle and withered nearly a million acres of crops. The Mexican government says it needs the water to prevent further devastation. But critics on both sides of the border say Mexico's problems spring from poor planning.

In a bid to overcome angry resistance to the government's planned border barrier, federal officials have agreed to run a contested section close to the Rio Grande rather than slice through miles of private land. Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff announced the agreement with Hidalgo County officials Friday, hailing it as a precedent that could be echoed in other parts of the state where resistance to the barrier has been most intense. "It's a great model for what we can do," he said.

DORAL, Fla. -- A true attempt to beat Tiger Woods now takes consistent low scoring for four days, and sometimes even that isn't enough -- see Bart Bryant at Bay Hill last week. That's why the three players who outscored Woods in Thursday's first round of the CA Championship at Doral have good reason to remain patient. It's early. "I wasn't really interested in beating Tiger today," said Geoff Ogilvy, the co-leader at seven-under-par 65 with Miguel Angel Jimenez. "I would like to beat him after four rounds."

Fred Garza has been patrolling a piece of the Rio Grande for 16 years, usually riding solo on horseback, sometimes venturing to areas where his radio and cellphone have limited range. But Garza isn't looking for drug smugglers, human traffickers or illegal immigrants. He's looking for stray livestock that might be carrying a tick with a deadly disease into the United States. "If it doesn't have hooves, it's not our concern," Garza said. Garza is a veteran of the 61-member U.S.