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When Star Trails explores the life and character of a
member of our large astronomical family, the idea is to learn
more about the richness and diversity of the people who love
the sky. Our story this month begins around a swimming
pool on a sunny day in southern California. A group of
seventh graders watch their teacher as he projects an image
of the Sun and sketches some sunspots. It's 1971, and the
Sun's rays are about to ignite a lifelong interest in the sky for
12-year-old Mark Coco.
"That first look at the Sun was unbelievable!" Coco
remembers that one view that hooked him. Although his
high school interests in other sciences like Geology also
captured his imagination, Coco never forgot the rush of
adrenalin that first view of a spot marching across the face of
the Sun gave him. Ray Hedgpeth, his teacher, insisted on
giving the class frequent looks at the Sun, as often as once
each week.
As Coco's looks skyward increased during the
seventies, he bought a small telescope and used it often in
the clear sky of southern California. But he was mostly a
lone wolf, keeping his interest to himself until he took out a
subscription to Sky & Telescope. "I suddenly realized," he
admits, "that there was more to it than just Mark Coco at the
eyepiece."
After he finished high school, Coco attended El Camino
College for two years and was awarded a liberal arts degree.
He worked at a sporting goods store before realizing that his
interest in astronomy was serious enough to merit working in
the field somehow. In 1980, he entered that grey area that
separates amateur astronomers from their professional
counterparts when Celestron hired him to work in its
customer relations department. He worked there for two
years, then spent the next four to launch a computer business
with his brother. He returned to Celestron in 1988 as
manager of consumer relations, a position he held until the
end of 1993. Spending time handling customer complaints
and problems did not hinder his basic love of the night sky.
"My philosophy was that in the end, the customer was
always right," Coco says. "I tried to give as much personal
attention to each customer who called. I wanted to keep
them happy with the sky as well as with the telescope they
bought from Celestron."
During his last two years in high school, Coco had a
crush on a classmate named Colleen Carroll, but he couldn't
bring himself to speak to her. With graduation coming he
felt that it was either now or never. He wrote her a note, put
the wad of paper in an empty Dr. Pepper bottle, and left the
bottle on her front porch. Half an hour later, he walked by
Colleen's house again and saw the bottle nicely set up on a
tray. Colleen was interested! For the next week and a half
he left flowers and cookies, till finally Colleen invited him
over. They married four years later, and have four children,
Kymberly, 12; Jennifer, 10; Lisa, 5; and Travis, 3.
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Although Colleen has not acquired her husband's love
for the sky, she does enjoy accompanying him on his annual
visits to the Riverside Telescope Conference. Two years ago
I spent an afternoon with Kymberly and Jennifer when Mark
brought them for a afternoon tour of the telescopes at
Palomar. I was more than impressed with the enthusiasm the
girls showed for the big telescopes despite their having to
walk round the 200-inch catwalk in bitter cold and wind.
They asked intelligent questions and thoroughly enjoyed the
outing. They belong in the Smithsonian as examples of how
well-behaved children can still show excitement about a
subject.
Both Mark and Colleen recently pursued full
undergraduate degrees part time, which is amazing
considering that they had four children and both had jobs.
Mark attended Cal State Long Beach, where he edited the
University Magazine for a semester, and in 1991
he earned a degree in Journalism. The articles he wrote
during this period included subjects like eyepiece projection
photography, but the best article he wrote was about an
utterly different sort of vision. Coco had investigated a little
known part of the tragedy of the war in Cambodia, and wrote
an insightful piece on hysterical blindness among women
who had witnessed atrocities. "Their children," Coco noted,
"were not allowed to love their parents or associate with
them. Instead they were encouraged to torture them and kill
them." Their blindness was real, though temporary.
On December 11, 1993, the Coco family was sitting in
Rolling Hills Covenant Church, a nondenominational church
packed that day with 1800 congregants. Mark was holding
his daughter Lisa when suddenly he blacked out. The service
stopped. An ambulance was called and Mark was moved to
a pew in the back. When he came to after a half hour, he
found himself in an ambulance under the eye of an
emergency medical technician.
A week later the Cocos learned that he had a malignant
brain tumor.
This last year has seen a cycle of radiation therapy, and
on June 30 a surgeon was able to remove most of the tumor.
To try to control the grape-sized mass that remains, Mark
still undergoes a regimen of chemotherapy. The treatment
has changed his appearance and has affected his ability to
concentrate. He no longer is able to work at Celestron. But
Mark continues an active writing schedule at home, tackling
astronomical issues from the Green Flash, of which he has
seen many, to philosophical subjects like the meaning of the
Christmas Star.
In early March Coco gave a talk about the Green Flash
at the Winter Star Party in the Florida Keys. "I've wanted to
come here for many years," he began. "A year ago I was
diagnosed with a brain tumor. Despite that, I was able to
make it this year and hope to come back again." Before he
said another word the audience applauded his honesty and
bravery.
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