Mark Kinsler

Well, I wrote a book. And I got married. I had fun going to graduate school (electrical engineering, research in lightning!). Was in the professoring business for years, and the audio repair business for years before that. I tend to collect old Sears catalogs, and we seem to have all these cats running around the house. The beloved 1964 Econoline van is running once again, and it would be nice if I painted the garage this summer. We think our house was built in around 1885, but nobody knows for sure.

http://www.amazon.com/Hanging-Gardens-East-Mulberry-Street/dp/1494781360/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1394125154&sr=1-2&keywords=kinsler

Update: The book sold fairly well, and I'm supposed to be working on another one, only I'm not because I have gone into the antique clock repair business and I'm currently buried in priceless family heirlooms. So that's what I spend my time at: fixing clocks, tutoring physics (on line, through a tutoring company), and writing my weekly columns for the Lancaster Eagle-Gazette, a stalwart member of the USA Today network.

I just came back from Cleveland to visit with my old friend Rob Kaplan, with whom I last spoke maybe forty years ago. And while recovering from the trip I brought up clevelandheights1965.com, which in turn motivated me to send notes to one or another classmates, including several young ladies who demonstrated their good judgement by spurning my feeble advances.

Well, everyone in Cleveland Heights was supposed to be a child prodigy, and while I spent lots of time in the orchestra, I also took machine shop, so there.

I did get to go on two orchestra tours, one of which featured the Kazoo Incident. I had one of these versatile instruments concealed on my person on the tour bus and as we rode along I took great delight in playing the solo parts from _Cappricio Espagnole_. The soloists in question were not at all pleased, nor was the administration when, during a stop at a Michigan music store, the Cleveland Heights High School Symphony Orchestra bought up their entire stock of kazoos.

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It was well known that Monticello Junior High School's leading scholars could hit a speeding car or bus with a snowball at ninety paces. And then one day a bright red ambulance, displaying lights and siren, wailed past our alma mater. It had barely crossed the intersection when the forward batteries opened fire.

A somber assembly convened in the auditorium the next day.