Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, March 12, 1991 TAG: 9103120327
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: DWAYNE YANCEY STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
The 25-year-old Army lieutenant from Vinton was buried on a windy day not far from his mother's house, with a crowd that some said made it the largest funeral in the town's history ringing the grave site.
And, when it came time to offer words of comfort, the words the Rev. Dr. William Ross used were ones Plunk himself had once delivered - when he preached a Youth Sunday sermon seven springs ago.
"Someone sent me his notes," Ross said.
It had been a lesson from Philippians, in which the apostle Paul urged his followers not to dwell on the past but to keep "straining forward to what lies ahead."
"Don't ever look back," Plunk had said then, but "strain forward" - for what lies ahead is eternal life with Jesus.
And that, Ross told the mourners, is what they should do.
But looking ahead has been difficult for many in Vinton these days. Plunk died two weeks ago today while clearing mines - the only soldier from Western Virginian killed during the Persian Gulf War - and his hometown is still trying to comprehend its loss.
It has been a long time since the valley has had to grapple with the death of its sons in war.
Plunk is the first Roanoke Valley man killed in action since John Davis Harvey of Roanoke died in another part of the Mideast in 1980 - during the failed attempt to rescue the hostages in Iran. And Plunk is the first Vinton man killed in action since 1969, when William F. Silver Jr. became the fourth, and last, of the town's Vietnam dead.
Plunk also was one of Vinton's favorite - and best-known - sons. At William Byrd High School, he was an all-everything: star athlete; class valedictorian, with a 4.0 average; prom king.
Vinton florist Frances Obenchain once remarked that, in a town the size of Vinton, just about everyone has some contact with the high school. So if they didn't know Terry Plunk, they at least know his mother, Doris, who works there as a teacher's aide. That intimacy is what makes the town's grief so personal.
Around Vinton, flags flapped Monday in a stiff March breeze, still conspicuously at half-staff.
Mourners filled the 900-seat sanctuary of Vinton Baptist Church to overflowing. Some sat in the choir loft, others occupied plastic chairs in the aisles, still more stood in the back, or even in the narthex. Some church members said it was the biggest funeral they could remember.
Among the crowd were uniformed cadets from Virginia Military Institute, where Plunk graduated in 1988. Rep. Jim Olin was there, too, as was a delegation of state legislators. A white-gloved honor guard from the 82nd Airborne - Plunk's unit - stood beside the flag-draped casket, offering an eerie, slow salute to their fallen comrade.
But mostly it was a crowd of friends and neighbors, folks who knew Plunk not as a soldier, but as a schoolboy - and quite an exceptional one at that.
The Rev. William Hungate recalled Plunk as an exemplary youth who excelled at everything he did, from study to sports, from church work to the military.
Although Plunk lost his life in war, he gave his life to the Lord, Hungate said. "He lived his faith. He was an unabashed Christian. He proved you could be an All-American young man and still be a follower of Jesus Christ."
Hungate ticked off a list of church activities Plunk took part in as a boy. But the one he remembered most was a church mission to Maine to work with other youngsters, were Plunk befriended a Vietnamese child who knew little English.
Ross cited a more recent example of Plunk's faith. It was a letter he wrote to his mother from the Persian Gulf, a letter that made reference to his father, who died suddenly in 1985. "Mom, I want to come home," Plunk wrote. "But if something should happen, before my body hits the ground, I know I'll be in Jesus' arms, with Dad helping me."
The crowd at the church was so large, it took 45 minutes for the funeral procession to make its way to the cemetery less than a mile away.
There, on the gusty hillside, words were few.
Scripture from 1st Corinthians, a prayer to commend Plunk's spirit to God. The honor guard fired a final salute. A lone bugler tooted "Taps." With an awful, quiet precision, the honor guard folded the American flag that covered the casket and, on bended knee, one of the soldiers presented it to Plunk's mother.
Beside the grave were stacked the floral displays. One spelled out "VMI." Another came with a sash that read: "To Our Fallen Brother Rat," using a term for the school's first-year students.
There also was a small, discreet mound of fresh earth.
After the family had departed and only a few mourners were left milling about, a woman with graying hair approached. She scooped up a handful of the dirt, kneaded it in her hands for a while, and then tossed it toward the grave - her own silent, personal goodbye.
by CNB