All of this would be much more interesting if we had some folks in weird robes chanting at a fire in the middle of some drawings done with salt, but sometimes we just don't get to have fun things. I guess if we're looking for actual portals to hell, we'll have to go to our local D.M.V.
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The Lord, he was crafty, the deal was arranged,
He laughed to himself as the deed was exchanged,
But the Devil was ready to go with his plan
To make up a hell, and so he began,
To make up his hell, he began.
The largest hell house in the country is run by Trinity Church in Cedar Hill, Texas. The organization was depicted in the 2002 documentary Hell House, which featured such horrific scenes as a girl spewing vats of blood from her vagina area after an abortion (ouch!).
"Get him a black shirt. They won't take him seriously if he's not wearing a shirt," shouts the large man in charge, wearing a military hat that reads "God's Army." One of his crew members runs off to get me an official Hell House T-shirt. Hell House opens in 20 minutes, and they're shorthanded. "You're going to be the bully," he says, utilizing hell-house-worker terminology. "You'll make sure people get into the room quickly and if there's people talking, you make sure to keep them quiet."
A girl in the audience begins to cry during the scene, solidifying that the actress portraying Abortion Girl is the queen of the hell-house ball. She knocks out a tour-de-force performance, hysterically screaming while being thrown to the ground by her angry boyfriend (who, of course, leaves her forever). I ponder if any famous actors have gotten their start on the Hell House circuit.
Returning to my post in the lesbian suicide room, I feel slightly insecure that my 14-year old hell-house co-workers don't like me. Trying to get on their good side, I mention to a cast member that I have some Broadway connections, and I could hook her up.
Soon, it becomes apparent: my Dante level of the hell house is seeing children reenact the exact same lesbian-suicide scene, over and over again, dozens and dozens of times, inside a wooden shed in Texas.
We're taken out of the coffins and pushed into darkened room, a.k.a. hell. A human sacrifice is taking place under a flickering light. Masked ghouls and demons taunt those in the room with horrific shrieks and screams, coming mere inches away from the petrified kids. Unearthly sounds bellow from the bowels of Satan. The smaller children cling to their parents; they are sobbing, screaming, and frightened. The message is pounded into our heads: everyone who is not saved tonight will end up here, in hell, when they die. They will be eternally tortured without any hope of mercy or release.
Emerging from hell, the emotionally broken-down youth groups are greeted by the cool pastor. In the brightly lit decision room, the cool pastor jumps up on a chair to play the role of good cop to Hell House's bad cop.
The Decision Room is like a scene out of Glengarry Glen Ross. The distraught and shattered youth groups' members emerging from the hell house are made to sign forms that state their commitment to Jesus Christ (keeping it legally, or at least celestially binding). Heads are bowed. Prayer is in our midst; there's much talk about casting away demons.
Compare:frequency feeling a sense of wonder about the universe among who believe in Hell by statefrequency feeling a sense of wonder about the universe among adults in Texas by belief in hell
Compare:belief in existence of standards for right and wrong among who believe in Hell by statebelief in existence of standards for right and wrong among adults in Texas by belief in hell
On the front side is "Texas," then the Texas Lone Star and "Lone Star State" in white. On the back is Davy Crockett's quote "You may all go to hell and I will go to Texas" and Davy Crockett underneath.
Available in Navy Blue and Dark Gray (pictured below).
Contains mature content and themes of sexual abuse, dominance and violence including instances of choreographed physical violence, mature language, weapons (swords/knives/maces), derogatory language and scenarios, implied and stylized sexual abuse and partial nudity (actors appear in undergarments). Suitable for ages 17+. Reach out to tadtic...@austin.utexas.edu for more information.
Paul "Bear" Bryant coached Texas A&M to a 25-14-2 record from 1954-57.Junction was a flyspeck on the Texas map when the two Greyhound buses made their way through the winding two-lane highway to this place that was nothing but rocks, sandspurs, rattlesnakes and turkey buzzards. No one knew what Paul "Bear" Bryant had in mind when the buses pulled through the front gate of the distant outpost in the rocky hills. He had been hired six months earlier as a kind of savior of Aggie football. And in the rugged country known as Junction, Texas, some three hundred miles from the A&M campus, the legendary coach took his players to hell and back. The Aggies were short on talent that season and, as Bryant said, he wanted to "separate the quitters from the keepers."
Over a period of two years, I interviewed all of the Junction survivors and many of the quitters for a book published by St. Martin's Press in 1999 titled "The Junction Boys." Gene Stallings, who would later coach the Cowboys secondary for fourteen years, and lead Alabama to a national title in 1992, uttered the most unforgettable line about the hell camp; "We went out there in two buses and came back in one."
On the ninth day of the hell camp, Bryant counted heads and learned that seventy-six players had quit. With the Aggies running short of centers with the departure of All-Southwest Conference standout Fred Broussard, Bryant was forced to issue a uniform to 150-pound student manager Troy Summerlin, thus reviving one of the grand traditions of Texas A&M -- The Twelfth Man.
Not once during the hell camp did a Junction Boy take a drink of water on the practice field. Today, water coolers dot every sideline. A doctor once told Bryant, "You don't pour cold water into a hot engine. So why would you pour cold water into a hot boy?" That kind of archaic thinking should have gotten somebody killed. But it didn't.
There will never be another Junction hell camp. The next year, the NCAA outlawed preseason camps beyond campus. Today, Bryant might be jailed for what he subjected the players to some fifty years ago.
"He just put us through hell," said one person familiar with the situation. "I've had the worst year of my life. Some of the happiest people in town are the spouses of employees. He made a lot of good people miserable."
Much of the problem, according to current and former UT employees, is that the athletic department is a shell of its former self because of dramatic staff reductions. Several of the Longhorn Foundation's top development officers, including two-time Olympic swimming gold medalist Ricky Berens and top fundraiser David Onion, left for other jobs. The department's communications office went from 10 employees to five under Patterson's watch.
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