Mark Pischel, Roving Reporter

Devastating loss of Mark
Pischel felt throughout area

Services will be held Thursday at St. Wenceslaus

At approximately 1:45 p.m. on Friday, August 24, Mark Pischel, 54, of Verdigre was driving his motorcycle north on Hwy. 13, 4½ miles south of Creighton when the back tire blew and caused him to lose control. He was wearing a helmet. Mark was transported to Avera Creighton Hospital and then life-flighted to Mercy Medical Center in Sioux City. The Nebraska State Patrol and the Antelope County Sheriff’s Department investigated the accident.

On Saturday, August 25, a precious life was lost – that of a son, husband, father, family member and friend. The shock of Mark’s death has traveled through the local area and abroad. He left his mark on all who met him. This special man with a ‘larger than life’ personality will never be replaced or forgotten. Please keep his family in your thoughts and prayers.

Funeral services for Mark Pischel will be held at 10:30 a.m. Thursday, August 30, 2012, at St. Wenceslaus Catholic Church in Verdigre. Reverend Garry Welsh and Reverend Doug Scheinost will serve as Concelebrants. Burial will be in the Pischelville Cemetery, rural Verdigre. Visitation will be held Wednesday from 5:00 to 8:00 p.m. at St. Wenceslaus Catholic Church with an 8:00 p.m. Wake Service. Brockhaus Funeral Home of Verdigre is in charge of arrangements.

In memory of Mark Pischel – Facebook

Brockhaus Funeral Home Obituary

Video tribute to Mark Pischel

“Mark Pischel Memorial Pressbox” fundraiser underway

From Glenna Pavlik, Co-publisher/Publisher of The Verdigre Eagle 1966 – 2011, taken from “Around Town” column, Aug.30, 2012 issue:


It’s no surprise that we have a bunch of ‘walking zombies’ around town. Actually around this whole area and wherever there are people who knew Mark Pischel.

His sudden, tragic, untimely death was such a shock to everyone. And I think he knows what he’s done to us. He’s gone through some of these shocks himself. I wonder what he would say…it would be something to brighten the mood.

Mark was our Pishelville Roving Reporter and so many of you enjoyed his column. Wherever Mark was, there was fun. He had a gift for gab and a great way of expressing it. Sometimes he poked a little fun at someone – especially ‘The Mrs.’ But she took it in stride – they were definitely meant for each other.

It was amazing how he could come up with topics of interest every week, and then, finally, he just couldn’t seem to anymore. I know he was working on a story and had taken Bud and Evelyn Lanman out to an area and taxed their brains for all the information he could get.

The first clue that something had happened to him was at Friday’s soap scrimmage. He ALMOST ALWAYS announced the football games for the Hawks and now the Cougars. As I recall, Coach Konopasek used Mark to fire his teams up by saying….Pischel doesn’t think you can beat —. I think it helped sometimes.
Besides, the whole Mastalir family was missing from the game! They, too, are always there – at least Mitch with the rescue unit.

It was announced then at the game that Mark was in a serious accident, and then word spread like wildfire. Mark was riding his motorcycle home from Norfolk when the back tire blew between Creighton (Hwy. 13) and Hwy. 20. He was life flighted to Mercy Medical Center in Sioux City.

The loss of this ‘family member’ is a big one. Surely, they’ll enjoy his humor Up There!

May he rest in peace and may God spread His comfort and love with all of Mark’s wonderful family and friends.

 

Pischelville’s Roving Reporter Contacts Daughter with Report

By Jacey Pischel, Daughter of theLate Mark Pischel

September 6, 2012 issue of The Verdigre Eagle

My dad used to call me with the Roving Reporter’s weekly testimony before submitting it to the paper before almost every issue. This was always a good thing because between his unusual spelling and poor punctuation, it was a lot easier than reading it on my own from the weekly ‘Pville News mass email’ I was included in. I must say it was always quite humorous and entertaining for me (and sometimes the friends I was with because I’d put him on speaker phone). He always did enjoy a good audience, especially when he was praised for his fine writing skills and clever quips.

Well, since I am reminded on countless occasions from everyone that I am my father’s daughter, I would like to inform you that I’ve received one last phone call from the big man upstairs, and I’m not talking about our Holy Father…Yes, I’m talking about the Roving Reporter himself, MY father, my daddy, Mr. Mark Pischel. And I would like to share with you his final report that he so graciously called in to me.

Heaven Really IS for Real
‘Blinded by the light’ was an understatement this week as Pischelville’s roving reporter made the big trip to the heavenly kingdom in the sky. I knew for sure that this could quite possibly be my greatest adventure yet, but nothing could have prepared me for what awaited on this unexpected and remarkable assignment. My editor, Glenna, is going to have to consider a wage enhancement after this masterpiece!

As I approached the pearly gates I was pleased to see that there were no signs of clothing restrictions posted at entrance. So, seemingly appropriate, I figured I’d better GIT ‘ER DONE and took it upon myself to honor the Good Lord and wear exactly what he put me in when I came into the world. This was attire I felt quite accustomed to and frequently exhibited anyway – whether present company consented or not. Needless to say, I was promptly provided with a hefty fig leaf from a nice young couple. Probably a good thing; wouldn’t want The Mrs. gettin’ jealous of all the young gals checking out the “Pischelville Stud”…I sure didn’t get that CB handle for nothin’.

I struck up a conversation with the gentleman in line behind me and, wouldn’t you know, it was the man on the moon himself, Mr. Neil Armstrong. Unfortunately, the opportunity to add to my collection of celebrity photos was botched, due to my lack of photographic equipment. I decided to pick his brain about the view from the moon overlooking the earth. He went on and on about how he’s never witnessed such beauty before or ever again since his voyage. Obviously, this nerdy engineer has never been to Pischelville.

Being next in line I advanced toward St. Peter and he informed me that we must go through a list of some of my qualifications to see if I’d be a good fit before entering into this empire. “Okay Mr. Pischel, let’s see here…” he said as he started to list off what I assumed were just rather generic titles that most good folk heard before proceeding in… “loving husband, father, son, brother, uncle, friend…” he then paused looking a little hesitant and continued “correctional officer, township board treasurer, experienced bartender, aspiring gardener, qualified poker and black jack dealer, proficient greens keeper, casual hunter, Voice of the Cougars – formerly Hawks, acknowledged Kolach Days parade announcer, knowledgeable exotic berry and wild fruit picker, flood transportation expert, fine cuisine extraudinar, local roving reporter, master catfish hunter, 2011 Miss Tootsie runner-up, recreational kayaker, skilled euchre and cribbage player, the Mayor of Pischelville, distinguished bargain shopper and wardrobe specialist, amateur golfer and softball player, professional mushroom hunter, canning connoisseur, casual antique collector, Captain of the Pischelville rescue squad, well-known comedian, and practicing nudist.” He stopped and looked at me, a bit exhausted and said, “Mr. Pischel, I’m gonna just stop there and let you head on in; otherwise, we might be here for an eternity.”

Doin’ as I was told, I headed on in. As I sauntered off into this paradise I was shortly put at ease when I saw a table filled with old familiar faces. There was my father Joey, Grandma Josie, Grandpa Bill, Uncle Billy, and, oh yes, the Reverend Andersen himself waiting for me. These anxious folks must have been expecting me as the table was set and ready for an exhilarating afternoon of cribbage play and some long, overdue conversation.

After I gave the good ol’ folks a run for their money, it was time to explore this hereafter world as I knew my readers would want a full report. Nomadically, I journeyed ahead and found myself in a somewhat calming familiarity. Could it be? After all these years I’ve been trying to tell the public?…

All around me were recognizable sounds and sights. Bittersweet and box elder trees lined the surroundings of the peaceful waters of what seemed to be similar to the Niobrara River. Set lines were already in place which brought to mind the tasty morsels of fried catfish Mother had made for me on several occasions. Geese were landing all around me, honking their heads off—close enough that I could hear their wings flappin’ as they set down in the cornfield a couple hundred yards away. A rustlin’ in the nearby timber caught my attention as I could hear a faint sound of turkeys squawkin’ in fear. And wouldn’t you know, there appeared this ‘man’s best friend’…Fritz! He looked like his old self again chasin’ after them gobblers! Yes, my faithful readers, I have just confirmed it, Pischelville really IS a little slice of heaven.

Gradually and most unexpectedly the common ground below me started to disappear leaving only clouds beneath my feet. The fluffy haziness parted a bit and as I looked through the dimness, amicable faces appeared on the earth below. It was The Mrs., Dustin, the ‘Prince of Pischelville,’ and my little dolly, Jacey, looking up at me with looks deprived of reassurance and advisement. Finally, these little throbas are interested in listening to what I have to say…you can bet you’re purdell I’m gonna take advantage of this…

Stella, or as most of you know her as The Mrs.—keep up on the push mowing, I’ve got Grandpa Joey lookin’ out the kitchen window of heaven with shotgun in hand ready to apprehend the first mountain lion in sight. Also, the deep freeze is stocked with enough frozen plums and delicious beef from the DeKay Ranch processed by the world famous M&M Lockers in Bristow to keep you fed for the upcoming winter.

Brother Love, Fred, Bruiser, Dusty-make sure you’re mother keeps the unsupervised shopping trips to a minimum. Let her know that shoes are a lot cheaper at the bowling alley, not the mall. Your sister is gonna need someone to snuggle up with her on a bus trip to a Twins or Vikings game…so make sure you sit extra close to her, as much as she tried to fight me off I know she loved it. Also, I’m gonna need you to take the lead on keeping the kayaking and 4-wheelin’ adventures going.

Dolly, heifer calf, my baby Jacey-You’re gonna have to get your mother accustomed to staying up until the wee hours of the morning with you watching movies to accommodate your night-shifter lifestyle when you’re home. Also, lock your doors, don’t be out alone late at night, don’t talk to strange men, or any other dangerous act I’ve warned you of before…or else you’re just gonna have to move home to Pischelville so you’re mother can keep a better eye on you. And Ben, if you’re listening to this—make sure you keep Mom dancin’ and profiting off them buffaloberries she loves to pick so well.

Well, my loyal readers, that’s all I can report for now…for my adventure here has just begun. I’m not one to get too mushy on goodbyes so I’d like to leave you with a simple and appropriate quote that my good ol’ neighbor Otto Hrbek said everytime we parted…
“We’ll talk again.”

Observations of Mark

By Mitch Mastalir – September 13, 2012 issue of The Verdigre Eagle


Mark makes the Norfolk Daily News in Jan. 2013

 

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