A Mentally Ill Man Terrorizes Churches
(“Holy Terror,” Forensic Files)
The Forensic Files episode about Richard Dean White’s bomb attacks ends with a suicide rather than a trial and a prison sentence.
White’s death saved Vermilion County the expense and drama of prosecuting him for planting explosives in two Illinois churches in 1997 and 1998.
“Holy Terror,” the episode about White, explains that he committed the crimes out of disgruntlement after one of the religious organizations denied him membership. But the show leaves another question largely unanswered.
Suspicious box. How did churchgoers react to sudden terror and contend with what happened in the aftermath?
For this week, I looked for some answers, so let’s get going on the recap of the episode along with information from internet research:
On Dec. 30, 1997, a popular Sunday School teacher named Brian Plawer noticed a green object outside the Oakwood United Methodist Church. He had been helping with the church’s newsletter that day.
Drama outside. Brian, a 46-year-old father of three who worked as a superintendent of Kickapoo State Park, touched or moved the item, triggering an explosion that killed him.
The blast was quiet enough that the attendees listening to Rev. Bill Adams’ sermon inside didn’t know anything had happened until a messenger whispered the news into Adams’ ear.
“We went out the back door and immediately saw Brian lying on his right side,” the victim’s wife, Wanda Plawer, told the News-Gazette. “I could see that he had wounds on his left arm, but there wasn’t any blood. I knew his heart had stopped. I ran over to him and knelt beside him.”
Sourced from Walmart. If there’s anything fortunate about a homicide caused by an explosion, it’s that local authorities can get help from the Feds.
Agents from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives identified a green fragment of plastic at the scene as part of an Igloo 12 cooler model sold only at Walmart. The remnants of a pipe bomb included 30-gauge blue insulated silver-coated copper wire that probably came from a local Radio Shack (Mark Hoffmann, David Copenhefer).
Meanwhile, the police had received an intriguing anonymous tip: They should check out Oakwood High School students Jimmy Morris and Phil Ryan (it’s unclear whether those are their real names or pseudonyms used because of their young ages).
Powder-keg potential. A Radio Shack employee recalled seeing Jimmy, 18, in the store but couldn’t remember what he bought. In their police interviews, Jimmy and Phil, 16, changed their stories about their whereabouts at the time of the bombing, then ratted each other out. Each said that the other owned a green cooler.
Investigators found out Jimmy and Phil enjoyed Dungeons and Dragons, a role-playing game sometimes scapegoated when its devotees commit crimes.
A story about homicidal teenage D&D enthusiasts could have turned into a global sensation, but before any serious hype ignited, there was a new attack with a larger and louder bomb.
Mess and mayhem. On May 24, 1998, an explosion tore through the First Assembly of God Church at 428 N. Walnut St. in Danville.
One member said at first he thought lightning hit the roof.
“I heard all this screaming and praying,” church youth group member Amanda Brady told the Chicago Tribune. “Everything was white at first and you couldn’t see too well. It was all in my mouth. It was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Apocalypse not yet. Nicole Lewis Miller recalled that she was praying with her eyes closed when all of a sudden the sun shone through a 20-x-20-foot hole in the western wall.
“I’m thinking it’s the rapture or the end of the world. Then, I saw my friends bleeding and it dawned on me that something’s not right,” Nicole told the Commercial-News in 2018. She herself suffered a fractured temporal bone and severed nerve; she needed a blood transfusion and multiple surgeries.
Rev. Dennis Rogers, who found himself thrown to the floor, managed to reach his microphone and instruct everyone to leave via the back doors.
Kids all right. In all, the blast injured 33 people, some of whom had shrapnel embedded in their faces; one girl had a nail travel through her leg. A boy suffered hearing loss and said he periodically found splinters in his shoulder years after the incident.
This time, teenage suspects Jimmy and Ryan had solid alibis. The two said their previous accusations against each other were just an extension of D&D.
Meanwhile, investigators started getting reports about a suspicious individual spotted near the first bombing site. He was Richard Dean White, a 39-year-old man with a German Shepherd for a best friend.
Weighty subject. White, who weighed 300 pounds, had a history of struggling with paranoid schizophrenia, which led to his discharge from the army, where he reached the level of sergeant. Over the years, he checked in and out of a number of psychiatric treatment facilities. An unnamed associate who appeared on FF said White imagined demons beneath the floor.
A neighbor would later describe White as a “weird” man who wore flip-flops to ride his motorcycle and didn’t seem to have a job, the Associated Press reported.
Some other churchgoers recalled White as strange and withdrawn and neighbors described him as melancholy and depressed, according to a Chicago Tribune account.
Short marriage. “He was an okay guy until he shorted out, then he’d go on a rampage,” an unnamed acquaintance told the Journal and Courier.
Nonetheless, at one juncture in his life, White got his illness under control for long enough to snag a spouse and find work at a General Motors plant.
But his wedded bliss lasted only six months and he lost his job.
Car thievery. At some point, the First Assembly of God Church turned down his bid for membership, although he reportedly continued to attend services there off and on. An unidentified source interviewed on FF said that White’s psychiatric problems probably contributed to the rejection.
Even before the bombings, White had a troublesome legal history. He got two years of probation after attempting to steal a Corvette from a Chevrolet dealership in Danville in 1987. A weapons charge prompted the state to revoke his gun permit. He sometimes used the name Richard D. Shotts in order to get around firearms laws.
White lived with his mother (or grandmother, depending on whose version of the story you read) and his teenage daughter at 203 Grace Street in Danville.
Best friend goes with him. Soon, the law began to close in on White. According to a Chicago Sun-Times account, when police called his home, White’s grandmother answered, saying, “He’s here now. Why don’t you come over?”
She woke up Richard to let him know company was on the way.
As authorities knocked on the Whites’ front door, they heard a bomb go off in the garage. They found a decapitated Richard Dean White with his arm around his dog.
Dress rehearsal. In the rubble, they discovered pipe bomb components that matched those from the explosive device found at the Danville crime scene.
They also uncovered a second, intact explosive device in the wreckage.
Investigators believe White’s goal was to bomb the First Assembly of God Church because of the rejection and that he planted the smaller device at the Methodist church first as a test or perhaps to divert attention from his real target. White’s ex-wife belonged to the Methodist church, but police ultimately concluded that White had targeted no specific victim in either attack.
Widow’s grief. But what about the emotional toll of the bombings on the victims?
For the wife of the only person killed, the pain stayed fresh over the years.
“No matter how good of an imagination you have, if you haven’t experienced it, the reality is 100 times worse,” Wanda Plawer said of Brian Plawer’s death at the Oakwood United Methodist Church. “You just force yourself to get through each day… but the hole that’s left by Brian is still there. You just learn to live around it.”
Remorse for bomber’s treatment. Citizens of Danville, the town where the second bombing happened, reacted with shock, an “eye for an eye” sentiment, and paranoia, according to a St. Louis Post-Dispatch account published a few months after the bombing.
Or, as Journal and Courier reporter Mark Rahner put it, “The town’s face has gotten a few more lines on it.”
Nonetheless, members of the First Assembly of God Church, which had dozens of injuries but no fatalities, dealt with the attack via reconstruction, forgiveness, and regret for not helping White before he turned to violence and terror.
“Here’s a man raised in the city of Danville and I wonder what our church and other churches could have done or should have done to have given him a better perspective on life,” said First Assembly of God’s Rev. Rogers, as reported in the Chicago Tribune.
Good will. Rogers officiated at Richard Dean White’s funeral and told the St. Louis Post-Dispatch that White’s family deserved sympathy regardless of his guilt or innocence.
“The kids that were hurt were saying prayers for the person who did it,” church member Nancy Richards told the Post-Dispatch.
After the bombing, church members increased their donations to pay for $30,000 in repairs. They managed to salvage a stained-glass window with a large dove image.
Membership intact. On the 10-year anniversary of the bombing, Rev. David Rumley told his congregation, “We want to be remembered as not the church that was bombed, but as the church that has compassion and does things for other people,” according to a News-Gazette account.
The church has since maintained the same number of members but changed its name to The Assembly.
No word, however, on whether it’s changed its membership policy, which some Forensic Files viewers decried on YouTube.
Prejudice amid the pews. As Mike Aftos wrote:
“You need a membership to join a church! Goes to show how misled Americans are.”
Or as Chris Fox typed:
“And then Jesus said, ‘You must fill out form 2-7b in order to be a member of my congregation.'”
That’s all for this post. Until next time, cheers. — RR
Watch the Forensic Files episode on YouTube
