The Fort Bend County District Attorney’s Office announced last week that it spent the nation’s 250th birthday doing what prosecutors across Texas often do on major holidays: preparing for drunk drivers.
Working alongside local law enforcement, prosecutors staffed the county’s annual “No Refusal” initiative, obtaining search warrants that allowed judges to authorize blood draws from drivers arrested on suspicion of driving while intoxicated who refused testing.
By the end of the holiday weekend, prosecutors had prepared four warrants, while officers obtained consent for three additional blood draws.
Seven cases.
In a county the size of Fort Bend, that may not sound like many. But behind every DWI arrest is the possibility that someone else doesn’t make it home.
It happened in Fort Bend a few weeks ago.
According to 2024 data from the Texas Department of Transportation, Fort Bend County recorded 286 alcohol-related crashes, leaving 173 people injured and 11 dead.
Also.. what the heck is going on in El Paso?
Those numbers are sobering but they indicate there is hope.
Drunk driving has steadily declined over the past several decades. So has alcohol consumption. Younger Americans are drinking less than previous generations, ride-share apps have made alternatives easier, and public attitudes toward drinking and driving have shifted dramatically since the 1970s and 1980s.
The progress is real, even if the problem remains.
Alcohol shapes more than crash statistics. It has shaped careers, reputations and, at times, the course of Texas politics.
George W. Bush was arrested for driving under the influence in 1976. He later acknowledged the mistake, quit drinking in 1986 and often spoke publicly about his sobriety while serving as governor of Texas and later as president.
Beto O’Rourke was arrested for DWI in 1998 after crashing his vehicle. He has repeatedly described it as “a serious mistake for which there is no excuse” and later reminded supporters at campaign events like “Beers with Beto” to plan for a safe ride home rather than drink and drive.
Former Gov. Ann Richards never received a DWI, but she publicly battled alcoholism. After entering treatment in 1980, she remained sober for the rest of her life and never hid that chapter of her story.
And before Texas had cars, there was Sam Houston.
The Cherokee called him “The Raven.” During the lowest point of his struggle with alcohol, they reportedly gave him another nickname: “Big Drunk.”
Houston’s relationship with alcohol became part of Texas political lore. During his first term as President of the Republic of Texas, his administration was dubbed the “Bachelor Republic”, as Houston and his colleagues were known to drink heavily and routinely. Thankfully for him and others, he was more likely to be found intoxicated on a horse than behind the wheel of a giant pickup truck.
Like Bush, O’Rourke and Richards, Houston’s story wasn’t defined by alcohol. He got sober, embraced the temperance movement and went on to become one of the most consequential figures in Texas history.
I personally love the symbolism. Long before there was a Falcon, there was the Raven.
We know that politics has always been filled with imperfect people trying to leave behind something better than their worst mistake.
I know that because, seventeen years ago, at age twenty-three, I found myself sitting in the back of a police car convinced my own political story had just ended.
The patrol car was parked within sight of the beautifully lit Maryland State House.
I’ll never be able to run for office now,” I told the police officer.
He looked at me through the cage separating the front seat from the back and shrugged.
“I arrest politicians for drunk driving all the time.”
In that moment, I thought he was just trying to make me feel better.
The longer I spent in the capital the more I realized he was telling me the truth.
And now it’s my turn to tell mine.
It was 2009 and I had just moved to Maryland after dropping out of Texas A&M University – Corpus Christi.
My college room mate was in town. She was dating a Marine pilot she had met thanks to Naval Air Station Corpus Christi being on the same road as our island university. I however was on the hunt for my next short term Navy boy-toy and I was in a very good place to do it, Annapolis — home of the United States Naval Academy.
Two Texas girls got cute and went to McGarvey’s, Pusser’s, and Dock Street (which we affectionately termed Dick Street). Hopping from bar to bar, Sara played wingwoman as I scanned crowded rooms for a regulation haircut and compatible genetics.
Not finding the exact coordinates I was looking for or an after party, Sara and I decided to go to the 24-hour diner for food. We did the responsible thing and took a taxi there. I assumed by the time we ate and took a taxi back to my car I would be good to drive home after a night of Shiner and shots.
I remember wanting to drive Sara by the state house before we headed to my parent’s house. My love for politics, once again, bit me in the butt.
The cop that pulled me over said I didn’t stop completely at the flashing yellow lights. I’m sure I did a “California stop” as it was the middle of the night and there were no other cars on the road.
I spent the night in a holding cell in an absolute state of panic. I had blown a .09 BAC. My father was going to kill me. I would never work again. I could have hurt someone.
Sara’s boyfriend called a Coast Guard pilot buddy and he came and picked me up from the station the next morning. It took weeks for me to work up the courage to tell my parents.
My dad, the pragmatist, looked up how many people had DUIs and gave me the statistics. We charted a path forward.
The state’s assigned defense attorney recommended I plead guilty and in exchange the state dropped the charges and gave me probation before judgement. It was my first offense and I was determined to keep it that way. But I carried deep shame and guilt for years for the decision I made that night. It dictated my choices for years. I couldn’t forgive myself and beat myself up whenever I thought of it. But it didn’t stop my complicated relationship with alcohol. In fact it only exacerbated it.
I moved into downtown Annapolis, in walking distance of all of the bars. Drink driving solved!
When I became a news reporter that covered the Maryland legislature I would tell myself so many lies about alcohol. Lies like I need to be in the bars during the legislative session so the politicians and lobbyists and staffers will be loose lipped. It worked for a while but then I would get so drunk I wouldn’t remember the things my sources told me.
The other story I told myself was that I was a sailor in college and I was in the sailing capital of the United States and it was perfectly normal for me to drink a Sailor Jerry’s rum and coke on a daily basis. Five at a time. It was my twenties after all.
It led to me sleeping with delegates. Something legislative reporters should never do. It led me to sleeping with lobbyists which is just a terrible idea and also yucky – lobbyists as a species shouldn’t even exist.
I made an absolute ass of myself so many times in the years I was in Annapolis. At one Sine Die (last day of session) party, I ended up sitting on a state senator’s lap in a room full of the entire legislature. I then went outside to smoke and fell, smashing my head on the hitch of a car. Funny enough that restaurant changed hands and named itself Black Wall Hitch. I had a scar on my hand from that night that took years to heal. I held shame in my body that I only recently got out.
Did I learn my lesson? Yes. No. Eventually. I moved back to Texas and cut back tremendously on drinking. But when I began a relationship with a man whose own relationship with alcohol was longer and more complicated than mine, I let the rot seep back in.
That’s when I did one of the worst things I can think of when it comes to alcohol, I normalized it in front of my step children.
My step children whose mother had been in rehab. Instead of being a good example to kids who had been traumatized by alcohol, (kids whose parents owned a bar at their resort in the Caribbean, kids who didn’t always know if they would be fed or taken care of, kids who had to tape up cabinets to know if their mother had broken into it) I started an information campaign (I’m good at those) to compare our drinking with her drinking.
Of course it wasn’t that bad, we are studying for our WSETs (Wine Sommelier certificates), we are studying for our Texas Wine Certification – Advanced Level, I’m enrolled at Texas Tech’s Wine Business school. We spit when we drink. We eat when we drink. We don’t black out.
We would course correct from time to time. But the drinks flowed. I made so many excuses, to kids who could see through them. My body is reacting to writing this now, a pit in my stomach, heat in my shoulders. Like Beto said, “a serious mistake for which there is no excuse.”
I drink a lot less now. I don’t enjoy it like I used to. Also… I turned 40 last month and hangovers are days long affairs. I’ll drink red wine with a steak or a burger. I love Tempranillos, Tannats, and the Italians our Texas producers are making. I keep the bubbles to celebrations. I stay away from the porch pounders.
Why humans drink copious amounts of alcohol is complicated. For me, it was a mixture of calming nerves, numbing feelings, dampening inhibitions (ha!), lies on lies I would tell myself about why I needed a drink. Habits that started in college, heavy drinking at our sailing regattas where the hosting team was expected to obtain a keg, the social drinking aspect of the legislative session, a partner who made excellent botanical cocktails, I am literally a sommelier. But drinking doesn’t rule my life anymore, I can go months without touching the stuff. I’ve got six bottles of THE BEST Texas wine under my bed and I won’t open those until I have a huge reason to celebrate, something like a book advance, or a resolution to our county judge conundrum.
It took therapy and a hard, honest look at myself to get here. I still have regrets. But I chose to forgive myself so that I can move forward. I’m neither attached nor detached from drinking. I define me.
There are resources if you are struggling with alcohol. The Fort Bend Regional Council On Substance Abuse is a great place to start. There is no shame in asking for help. The only shame is your own and you can process it and move on. It is worth doing. You and your future are worth the work.
https://www.fortbendcouncil.org/need-help/
Late last year I met an old Navy pilot buddy and his wife for dinner in Galveston. You can read that story here. Before we met I text and asked if they would drink that night. Years of partying with Navy pilots had me conditioned to have a plan. They cannot drink 12 hours before they fly. My friend responded that his wife may drink but “I don’t drink at all if I’m going to drive.” As simple as that.
I’m recommitting to Navy pilot rules. One sip means absolutely no driving. No alcohol 12 hours before any event. Be a badass daily.
If the Raven can go from “Big Drunk” to Governor of Texas. So can the Falcon. So can you.
All my love,
All my light,
All my best,
Jess