A Memorial Celebration and “Linger Longer with Vince” potluck for Mr. Vincent Plocha, Jr., 82, was held Sunday, May 29 at 1:45 p.m. at The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1704 Bunting Drive, North Augusta, SC.
Vincent “Vince” Plocha, Jr. cast his last line on May 15, 2022, slipping gently into eternal peace. He leaves behind his forever love and wife of 62 years, Barbara Frances (Buda) Plocha; his son and best friend, Matthew R. Plocha; his sister who raised him, Dolores (Plocha) Stawinski; his adopted daughters (in-law) Lara and Maribeth; his grandchildren Ashley, Emily, Adam, Yvonne, Vincent IV, Laysha, Jerika, Lucas, Ryan, and Gerad; and 12 great-grandchildren.
Vince was born on November 17, 1939, in Elizabeth, New Jersey. His parents, Vincent Plocha and Viola Paczkowski Plocha, emigrated to America from Poland, making Vince a first-generation American. He joined the United States Army after high school and found his future. One night at the USO, he encountered a young woman with a beautiful voice singing 1940s hits. Enchanted, he strode up to her and said: “I’m Vince Plocha. Remember the name because it will soon be yours. I’m going to marry you.” His brash announcement became reality on September 30, 1960. The overarching theme of their ensuing 62 years would be a line from Vince’s favorite band, The Turtles: “I can’t see me lovin’ nobody but you.”
From New Jersey to Massachusetts to Florida to South Carolina, Vince plied a variety of trades over his eighty-three years. However, his work didn’t define his life. His passions did. Vince was a true artist in an array of mediums: one month he would be hand-tying intricate fishing flies, the next painting landscapes on antique saws. Garden plots, scraped out gourds, koi ponds, and trout streams were his canvas. Storytelling was in his blood, which he channeled into 12 endearing novellas. Fly-fishing every stream and pond he could find was his obsession. He fished every fishable inch of his favorite river, the Beaver Kill in New York. And Vince never met a stranger; newcomers were friends who just didn’t know it yet. He and Barbara opened their home with the mantra: Friends don’t knock, they just enter.
Granddaughter Ashley shares a glimpse of Vince’s spirit:
“One could be easily intimidated by Papa: his height, of course; his booming voice that took up the room; his often sarcastic attitude. After just a few minutes with him, you’d realized he was truly a gentle bear. His size meant he gave great hugs, his loud mouth kept dinner guests highly entertained. And I always felt that his penchant for poking fun at people meant that his compliments were that much more sincere and significant. Papa loved telling stories, and it was hard to know where he blurred the line between fact and fiction. Did he steal my grandmother away from a nunnery and convince her to marry him? Did he lose his ring finger in an alligator fight? Did he contract a glowing foot fungus while fishing in the Amazon? I’ll often wonder what parts of his books were inspired by his life, what truths were peeking out of his stories. Papa was a fisherman, a writer, a painter, a mechanic, a baker, a gardener, a craftsman, a PEZ collector, a jam maker, a husband, a father, a Papa, a Dziadzi. Papa would want you to remember him every time you cast a line. 10 and 2. Here fishy fishy... And I sure do hope he’s up there throwing a ball with Schuy guy.”
Vince’s final wish was for his ashes to be scattered along the rivers and pools he loved to fish in New York’s Beaver Kill River. In lieu of flowers, please consider helping make this wish a reality by visiting his GoFundMe page at: https://gofund. me/58178e5e.