“They’re not going to do this to us, damn it, do you hear me?” Fritz yelled into the receiver. ![]() From a far corner of the mansion, I could hear him booming into a telephone, his gravelly voice reverberating down the hallway like the sound of a freight train. A reporter from Penthouse magazine had been in Dallas the week before, asking a lot of questions about the Von Erich boys, and Fritz, who can be intimidating enough even when he’s calm, was in an uproar. This was not the best time to visit the Von Erichs. I know you’ll think this is funny, but we consider them family. “It’s amazing for him to believe that they will make their way back to our one little pond. ![]() “He looks for the geese almost every day,” said his mother, Doris. The wind had come up unexpectedly, making a hollow sound as it scurried through the pines. ![]() When I drove out to the Von Erich’s 500-acre East Texas spread one chilly day last fall, I saw Chris, who’s 18, out in the yard, staring at the sky. Early last spring, fully grown, they had flown off to the north. Fritz had bought the geese a few years ago when they were still goslings, and Chris, the youngest son, would feed them by hand. All through the autumn, the Von Erichs had been waiting for the Canadian geese to return to the little pond behind their ranch house.
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