Two very different fates at the Chicago Marathon.

It was the worst AIDS crisis in years—until it wasn’t.

On the modern era’s answer to James Baldwin.

Tracking down the very best in Grateful Dead concert concessions.

A jailhouse interview.

Doing mushrooms in space.

A reporter returns to My Lai.

How Sherwin Shayegan pulled off a 3,000-mile, piggyback ride-fueled road trip.

On rongorongo, which no one can decipher.

The paper spiked a #MeToo story. Why?

A critique of Davis Guggenheim’s Waiting for ‘Superman’.

“Someone has sliced open soccer’s hourglass, and the sand has come pouring out on to the streets.”

Catching up with the controversial radio host, who recently returned to the air after years away.

The man who killed John Wilkes Booth was a eunuch. By choice.

Catch shares are touted by the government and environmental groups as the solution to overfishing. But for a new generation under the system, the economics consist mainly of “absentee landlords, brokers and bankers, [and] fish quota that costs more than your house.”

HEMINGWAY: You go to the races? PLIMPTON: Yes, occasionally. HEMINGWAY: Then you read the Racing Form . . . . There you have the true art of fiction.

It was the middle of the day in the steamy Philippine jungle and the sun was merciless. Director Francis Ford Coppola, dressed in rumpled white Mao pajamas, was slowly making his way upriver in a motor launch.

“They have effectively claimed the progressive causes of the left – from gay rights to women’s equality and protecting Jews from antisemitism – as their own, by depicting Muslim immigrants as the primary threat to all three groups. As fear of Islam has spread, with their encouragement, they have presented themselves as the only true defenders of western identity and western liberties – the last bulwark protecting a besieged Judeo-Christian civilisation from the barbarians at the gates.”

The Mennonite women of the Manitoba Colony would awake with blood and semen stains, dried grass in their hair, and tiny bits of rope on their wrists and ankles. Their rapists, armed with a veterinary tranquilizer converted to spray form, were eight young men from their own community.

Justin Vivian Bond found downtown fame as Kiki DuRane, decrepit drag chanteuse and comedic prophet of gay rage born out of the AIDS era. Then he killed Kiki to try to become the woman (and man) he always wanted to be.

Chris Earnshaw began taking photographs of Washington, D.C. more than 40 years ago. By the time he paid a visit to a museum to tout his work, he had in his possession—in plastic bags and filing drawers—3,000 Polaroids of a city long gone.

The British artist, a contemporary of Damien Hirst and Tracey Emin, has been called “the most unabashedly all-balls-out, rock ‘n’ roll” of her generation.

Her disclosure of classified documents in 2010 ushered in the age of leaks. Now, freed from prison, she talks about why she did it—and the isolation that followed.

An in-depth history of the most important pop innovation of the last 20 years, from Cher’s “Believe” to Kanye West to Migos.

One cyclist rides west, another rides east. They meet on an empty stretch of road in a Kazakh desert.