Andrew Kreider

Michiana Chronicler

Andrew Kreider was born and raised in London, England.  He moved to Elkhart over twenty years ago, but somehow never totally lost his accent.   Most weeks you will find him somewhere in the bowels of the Lerner Theater in Elkhart, where he works as a tech and as the audio and lighting designer for Premier Arts.

Ways to Connect

Car Donation

Jun 30, 2017
Andrew Kreider

So what exactly happens when you donate your car to Public Radio?  Like you, I had heard the heart-warming promo spots during Morning Edition and All Things Considered. Tales of beloved pickup trucks or hard-working family ox-carts, banged-up, french fried, and loved to death, finally put out to pasture for a good cause. The owners always sounded so wistful, yet so happy - finding an uplifting way to be shot of an old rust-heap they had loved for too long. How perfect.

Andrew Kreider

Evelyn Kreider was my grandmother.  When she died earlier this month, she was 102 years old.  She was a remarkable woman, a devoted listener to WVPE and possibly the most passionate critic, for good and ill, of my work on Michiana Chronicles.  She will be missed.

It’s Monday morning, and I have just survived an entire weekend at downtown Elkhart’s first ever Comic Con.  What’s a Comic Con, you ask?  Well,  it is a comic book convention – thus the name – at which thousands of fans gather to meet celebrities, buy collectibles, listen to guest speakers, watch movies, network with other fans, and dress up as their favorite comic characters. 

The Dutch Luthier - WordPress.com

The trouble with teaching is sometimes your students force you to learn things you never wanted to learn.  For some, this can mean new forms of exercise – like piloxing – for others, mastering technical terms in foreign languages. For me, the unsettling territory into which I have been thrust this month is… the banjo.

Dear Mum,

Greetings from Plymouth.  Not the one from my childhood on the south coast with the ships and the ocean breeze, the fish and chips and the fog.  The other one – the one here in Indiana.

Checking the organ

"Bat Man"

Jul 30, 2016

Bat man

At two am, my cell phone wakes me.  It’s my daughter.  She is calling from her bedroom.  Dad, there’s a bat in my room, she whispers.  What do I do?  I imagine her standing bravely on top of her bedspread, staring into the eyes of a mammal hanging from her ceiling fan.  She is no coward, my girl.  But the sound of beating wings and the feathery touch of passing skin would concern the bravest of us all.  She knows: somehow this incident must be contained.

This call may be recorded

For the record, I like foreigners.  But it’s been forty-five minutes now.  I certainly hope they are recording this call for training purposes.  But more likely the HR department is just saving it to replay later over drinks. 

    We’re learning to speak French at our house.  Or, rather, we’re learning to speak French-ly.  

"2 Dog Night"

Feb 5, 2016

Its two p.m. and the band is late.  This is gonna be a close one.  My work in the theater means regular encounters with the crew from different shows on national tour.  Essentially this becomes a form of 101 first dates.  We are thrown together for an afternoon, consummate our relationship that evening, and then part most often without even exchanging phone numbers.  Tonight’s date, a rock band, had better be good, because we don’t have time to waste.

Star Wars Day

Jan 7, 2016

Andrew Kreider talks about Star Wars Day.

"Coffee"

Oct 30, 2015

Andrew Kreider and coffee.

Gimme Shelter

Apr 3, 2015

My daughter is building a shanty. 

She comes from a long line of shanty builders.  In our family, we have been building these makeshift dwellings since our oldest child first set foot in Central High School.  It's a project for World Geography -- normally sometime in ninth grade.  And it's a great opportunity . . . for procrastination.

It's time.  The New Year is in full swing, already a little frayed around the edges.  What resolutions were hastily made at the end of December are by now already achieved or have accommodated themselves to reality.  The snow, which arrived so unceremoniously at the beginning of the month, has seeped under every door, laying salty waste to carpet and hardwood alike.

Outside, one of our giant inflatable lawn ornaments last week simply gave up and lay down.  Ollie the penguin, my trusty glow-in-the-dark companion, is now no more than a few strings connected to a puddle of vinyl.

Christmas Cookies

Dec 12, 2014

Thirty-five years ago, my Grandmother Graber - from Goshen, Indiana - sent me a birthday card.  A simple yellow card with a picture of some flowers and a duck.  Inside was folded a well-worn ten-dollar bill.  For some reason, probably because we were living in England at the time, the card was put aside, together with its contents, and came to rest in a box of old family letters.  And there it stayed.  For decades.  Only this fall did the card, and the money, finally make its way back to me. 

This is what she said:

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