POLITICS: They gathered for the memories. Most laughed. Some cried. The premiere of the HBO documentary "All About Ann: Governor Richards of the Lone Star State" attracted a mixed lot to the Lady Bird Johnson Auditorium and, later, the Great Hall of the LBJ Presidential Library for a post-party. You had the late governor’s associates and family, including Ellen Richards, who spoke after the film about the legacy of opening up the state’s government to people of all backgrounds. She also reminded folks about the school for young women leaders that bears her mother’s name and just graduated its first class of 52, all headed to four-year colleges. You had the LBJ crowd, captained by library director Mark Updegrove, who led the post-show chat with his usual dignity and probity, then acted as gracious host for the party upstairs. Then there were the University of Texas leaders, such as Don Carleton, who described the 14-year push to land Richards’ personal and political papers at the Briscoe Center for American History that he heads. Access to these papers make such historical projects possible. Also on board were the press, the filmmakers and customary dignitaries. The film? Excellent. (Leaves out some things, but now we have Jan Reid’s book, Holland Taylor’s play and this fine, thoroughly researched movie to flesh out our vivid memories of this unforgettable woman.)

NIGHTLIFE: This is not a Moontower Comedy Festival rant. I have nothing but admiration for the renowned merrymaking sparked by the Paramount Theatre’s shrewd Jim Ritts. It fits the personalities of Austin and his side-by-side Congress Avenue venues like a glove. Yet, after spending a long day interviewing, researching and writing, followed by the Ann Richard documentary and reception (see above), I swung down Congress to see what was buzzing at Moontower. The lines at the Paramount and Stateside were long, reminding me of the 90 minutes I spent at South by Southwest on the same corner waiting to get into the Swedish House Mafia movie. I spoke with affable volunteers who estimated the waits. I just couldn’t do it. Call it social exhaustion, or what you will, but I headed back to South Austin for a long-postoned binge on "Game of Thrones." (If long lines at every event are the future of Austin, I might be spending more time at home.)

LAW: What’s to become of Jovita’s? From Jazmine Ulloa’s story in the Statesman: "Before the chic cafes and vegan eateries, neon lights and traffic, there stood a one-story wooden panel house on South First Street that would become Jovita’s. Its greasy enchiladas were never the draw, its enthusiastic regulars recall. No, people flocked to the Tex-Mex restaurant and cantina beside East Bouldin Creek in South Austin for the scene. Under the leadership of the late Amado "Mayo" Pardo, a rugged, polarizing figure and convicted felon, the bohemian beat hangout was a community center, dance hall and music venue, a sanctuary for artists and poets, for history and political causes. Yet since Pardo’s death at age 64 in January 2013, only weeks before his trial in a notorious heroin trafficking case, multiple claimants — including the government and his children — have been locked in a legal battle over rights to the prime real estate. With plans to sell it falling through last month, all parties have asked for more time to continue their negotiations. For now, the building stands abandoned, its murals fading, its windows tagged with graffiti and its future in limbo. "Jovita’s was a big part of a lot of people’s lives," said Todd Sanders, owner of Roadhouse Relics art gallery down the road. "It’s just tragic that it ended the way it did." http://shar.es/T9Y7m(Richly textured story. Well worth the read.)

MEDIA: Robert Heard, newsman injured in UT Tower shooting, dies at 84. From Ralph K.M. Haurwitz’s story in the Statesman: "In the annals of Texas journalism, Robert Heard stands out for many things: a biting wit, a prolific career, a lawyer’s understanding of lawmaking, a determination to get the story even at considerable personal risk. It was the latter trait that catapulted him from news reporter to news figure on Aug. 1, 1966, when he was shot in the shoulder during Charles Whitman’s bloody rampage from the top of the University of Texas Tower. Heard, a 36-year-old Associated Press reporter, had followed two highway patrolmen on a wild sprint across a parking lot, but he forgot his Marine’s training to zigzag. Heard was among more than 30 people wounded by Whitman; 16 others died from their injuries, some years later. From his hospital bed that day, Heard dictated a story that ran in newspapers around the world. He described his close call this way: "Six more inches and that would have been it." Heard, 84, of Austin, died April 15 at St. David’s Medical Center of complications following surgery on a broken hip, according to his wife, Betsy. In recent years, he had also suffered from pulmonary fibrosis, a condition that makes breathing difficult." http://shar.es/T9j0k(Another richly textured story.)