“Noel’s gone.”
— Phyllis Koch, Morning of September 3, 2025
Then we just stood there, looking into those eyes that had brought us so much joy for so many years. Now lifeless. And as ours welled up with tears, we didn’t know what to do next. “Should I call Pastor Lyn?” “Should I call Kelli?” Minutes later, our doorbell rang. And there was Pastor Lyn standing at our door. I hadn’t called her. Nobody had called her. And it was one of a handful of miraculous events I noticed around the morning of September 3, 2025. Another was the appearance of Kelli, the hospice nurse who had cared for dad for two days prior. She was not scheduled to see us that day, but was traveling from Dorchester to Lincoln and happened to be at the Milford exit when she received the news. So within a few more minutes, Kelli was there, too. Not to mention, when Kelli was still a girl in pigtails and mom was Activities Director at Crestview Nursing Home in Milford, she helped my mom set up activities for the residents. Now a highly-skilled RN, and without pigtails, she reentered mom’s life to care for her husband of 67 years. And it made mom’s face light up the same as it is in this photo. Just to mention a few of the miracles that occurred on and around the morning of September 3, 2025.
Noel Dean Koch was raised on a farm near Winside, Nebraska, where his father applied lessons he’d learned at the University of Nebraska Ag Campus (it’s been around that long) and his mother taught lessons at a one-room country school. Otto gave dad a love for driving tractors and fixing them. Irene, who loved classic literature, no doubt gave her son a copy of her favorite book, Moby Dick, as well as copies of many other literary masterpieces. But he would have just hidden a Minneapolis-Moline shop manual between their covers and read that. I did once hear that “Noel” was inspired by writer Noel Coward and if that’s true it would have been Irene’s doing.
Noel was the real deal, as a mechanic and a human being. When he entered the Army, they saw his aptitude for understanding, diagnosing, and repairing mechanical things right away. And made him an aircraft mechanic. A mechanic who his pilot soon became adamant about having on his team. I suspect there was not a better-running Cessna L-19 Bird Dog in the entire U.S. Military. At one point, Noel was supposed to be transferred to Europe. But just before shipping out, had his arm broken arm wrestling an Army buddy named Bruno. The Bird Dog pilot was probably thrilled, but dad always lamented that he never got to go to Europe. And now it’s too late. If you take nothing else from this obituary, remember never to arm wrestle a guy named Bruno.
Dad would have loved Europe. It was the home of his grandfather, William, who came here from Germany at the age of 16 (William also died at the age of 90, coincidentally). Europe was/is also the home of dad’s favourite marques: MG, Austin Healey, Jaguar (spellcheck wants to change that to “favorite”, but no). In fact, when dad was in the Army, he took a side job setting up bowling pins at a local alley so he could buy a maroon MG TD on display at a local car lot. Right after his honorable discharge, he threw his olive-drab duffle bag into that MG and drove near top speed (likely 60 mph) all the way from New Jersey to Phyllis. Who he married in 1958.
The young couple soon moved to Fremont, where Noel became a mechanic at Diers Ford and Phyllis became a kindergarten-through-sixth teacher at District 42 (another one-room schoolhouse). They had a son by then and a daughter on the way, both of whom dad cared for like they were L-19s or MGs—only better. Noel received a “World’s Greatest Dad” trophy for the work he did during this time and it was still in his possession at the time of his death. The trophy will be taken from its basement shelf, dusted, and once again shown to the public on the day of Noel’s funeral (two words that are so sad to see together like that).
The wife, the son, the daughter, the trophy, and the gut-wrenching funeral will all be in Milford, Nebraska. Because that was the last stop on Noel’s travels around the United States (never Europe). While still in Fremont, a friend and neighbor and attorney sometimes called “Ironsides” because he had had polio and used metal crutches, suggested Noel take a road trip with him to Milford. To check out the highly-respected trade school. Dad agreed, met Bill White, interviewed with Jack Dedrick, and was offered a position as an automotive instructor. But of course he was. The trade school in Milford is chock-full of exceptional craftsmen. A college roommate of mine, who was a mechanical engineer at Detroit Diesel Allison, once said to me, after a long talk with Noel, “Your dad knows everything the engineers know, he just doesn’t have the degree.”
Noel once bought a basket-case MG TF, a car completely in pieces, and put most of it together in the basement and the rest of it together in the garage. He bought a 1967 Austin Healey and detailed it to such a degree that the founder of the company, Donald Healey himself, looked it over at an international Healey meet and said, “They didn’t look this nice coming off the assembly line.” Once on a trip to California (not Europe), dad ran into car trouble and stopped at a roadside gas station. Noticed a lift in their garage. And asked the sole person on duty if he could use the lift. The young man said “yes” then watched with great interest as dad raised the car and made the repair, getting whatever part he needed from a nearby NAPA. Noel did so much work on my 1973 Challenger that, in the end, it was as much his creation as Dodge’s. Ford had the Shelby Mustang. I had the Noel Challenger. Equally awesome vehicles.
When Noel needed a car fixed, he fixed it. When Noel wanted a tool shed in the back yard, he built it, made it look like a miniature barn, and constructed it so well Uncle Paul, who was in the lumber business, said, “You could park a tank on that thing.” When Noel wanted a pool table, he built one. And it’s perfect. When Noel wanted central air, he installed it. All but the high-voltage electrical. It was the one time I saw an unfamiliar technician at the house. Can you tell I don’t want this obituary to end? I despise endings at the moment. But prattling on isn’t going to keep dad alive, so here we go.
Noel Dean Koch was a good guy. Every bit as good as his childhood hero, Roy Rogers, who dad actually met on one of their trips west. Possibly the same trip where dad borrowed a hoist and impressed a gas station attendant. They stopped in Victorville and toured Roy’s museum and during one moment dad cherished the rest of his life, Roy Rogers himself came walking down the hall to meet them and give a short, personal tour. Dad’s hero gave my hero a tour.
Love you, dad. You are missed.
Noel is survived—but just barely—by his wife, Phyllis, son, Mitchell, and daughter, Marcia. Also by Marcia’s husband, Gary, and their children, Logan and Shea. As well as Shea’s husband, Chuck, and their children, Rosie, Finn, and Violet. Noel was preceded in death by his parents, Otto and Irene, and his sister, Donna, her husband, Paul, and their daughter, Kelly. Paul introduced Noel and Phyllis to each other at a roller-skating event in Mount Vernon, South Dakota. And when they parted, they were getting around with wheels again. This time attached to walkers.
In lieu of flowers, please take that money and use it to visit your aging family members. Hold their hands. Make them smile. Have a long look into their fading eyes while there’s still a twinkle. You won’t regret it.
Visitation will be Thursday, September 11, 2025 from 2 - 8 p.m. with family greeting and receiving friends and relatives from 6:30 - 8 p.m. at the Lauber Funeral Home, 101 C. Street in Milford.
Funeral Service will be Friday, September 12, 2025 at 1 p.m. at the Milford United Methodist Church.
Graveside Service: Burial will take place at the Blue Mound Cemetery, rural Milford, following the Funeral Service.
Arrangements are with Lauber Funeral and Cremation Services - Milford.
