My father, Eric E. Bell was a Vietnam Veteran and served with the USAR/173rd., Assault Helicopter Co. SP4.

He was a “gunner” and enlisted voluntarily and completed three tours of duty. He was in the thick of it in the TET – Counter Offensive of 68′. After a few months on the ground, “in country “, Dad decided he was safer in the air and said he would rather be shot down then die in the jungle. His enlistment was in September 12,1967 with the USAR and toured until 1970, remaining a reservist after until September 11,1973. The photo of Dad in uniform was taken innocently in 1968 with the 173rd Assault Helicopter Co.

While a gentleman, a patriot, a poet and a joker at times, when he walked in a room his presence commanded respect and everyone noticed him. You either really liked him or not. Most people really liked him and his charismatic ways. He was his own man, a ladies man, and a man’s man too, a regular Tom Selleck. Dad loved to mud wrestle with the guys there in the jungle. They would get rowdy. He never talked much about his time over there but he loved a certain tee shirt that my mother got rid of because it became threadbare. I won’t forget that day the shirt was tossed or the hurt on his face. He was crushed.

As a child I knew he was over seas but it seemed normal not talking about it. It felt like a secret until the movie “Platoon” came out. Being the eldest, he took me to see the movie. It was then in a theater with so many other vets and others that I knew what happened to my father and his “pain” that he carried so quietly around with him. Many men wept and many got up and left to get a breather. The theater in R.I. had intermission. It was too much. I saw my Daddy, a man I was secretly scared of not only cry and sweat profusely, but a human being that like anyone else carried tremendous weight, burden and guilt mixed with pride was struggling. It was like something was exposed a scabbed was picked and was bleeding and it was a shock.

I grew up in Newport, R. I., for the most part. Dad was from Caribou, Maine. The three of us kid’s lived in a military town or community most of the time. So being with others that were military was not foreign. My uncle was a Captain in the U.S. Navy and of a war ship stationed in the port of which we lived. He too served during the Vietnam War at sea. My brother is six years younger than I and served in the U.S. Army during Desert Storm giving out vaccines to soldiers going to the Middle East as a medic. He was able to stay at base in the states because of my dads’ service earned him, or so I was told. My father had an aunt and uncle, both serving in WW2 as well as my mother’s father an immigrant from Portugal who served in WW1. He felt it was his duty for a country that gave him his freedom. Here is a picture of us when I was about three or four. He was a police officer in Connecticut at the time. I had just burned my hand on an iron that I was told not to touch. I remember that to this day!

Daddy’s worst part I think was how it changed him with he nightmares and fear of losing control. He did not want to be alone with us kids and told my mom at some point when he got back that she shouldn’t leave us alone with him. What a burden for her. What a burden for him. He was a strong person; a man, a husband and father, but wasn’t afraid of his shadow or the shadows that plagued him.

He always played and horsed around with us and identified a lot with teens. He was a manager of the football team in high school and I believe he was a kid still under that hard, angry and tough exterior that had to be suppressed. When I share with others some bits and pieces, they say he sounded like a hippy when he came back. He wasn’t. Many suffered from drug and alcohol addiction. Food suppressed it. Isolation was the norm, so we didn’t do too many crowds. But my parents liked to go to music festivals. Long hair and the smell of ‘pot’ was part of my life. At times my father wrestled with suicide. I caught him as a teen ready to take his own life. He carried tremendous guilt for so many things. Men, a lot of men, feel and believe that they have to fix everything that is broken. He was so broken inside and then there was no help being offered for that and we all suffered like so many other families. Our families at home became another casualty of the Vietnam War.
Dad was a police officer for quite sometime until the late 70’s. I would say that he found his niche. He also served as security to the rich and famous. He loved it! He was proud of this accomplishment. It was the one thing I believe that he could do with a pistol and not be told he was a baby killer or feel that he was wrong. He could serve in uniform with some dignity and respect and that is what men need. His needs were being met this way and with pride.

He in his way started to come around and was making peace with God. He left us on May 17, 2011 on a Tuesday. As the executor of my fathers’ estate, I discovered people whom I have trusted, took advantage of us. I have now started raising money for “Restoration for Bell Family” @ www.gofundme.com/sfy8k4 to help get back on our feet. The time leading up to Dad’s passing, he gave me with God’s help, a voice. I was the heavy in the family and the escape goat. My perspective as the eldest growing up in turbulent conditions most of the time; I was diagnosed with PTSD at 15 years of age. My dad and I had a conversation on the phone that shifted to me being the parent and not the child in a memory he recalled. I spoke up and left it at that with him and gave him time to think about it. As his child, you did not speak up too much. You just did it and kept quiet. I finally at 42 going on 43 years of age had a REAL voice and I took it back. My dad allowed me after all this time. He called me right back, but I let him own it.

After a week or so I felt a strong impression and hunch to go and see him. So I went with my granddaughter and everything was fine. What I will say is this and this should not be left out. My father, my dad, my daddy, made sure and was INTENTIONAL on giving me one of the biggest and longest hugs that I had received in a long time. He told me that he loved me and he did the same for my little girl. He made peace and I believe he was saying goodbye. He knew his time had come and he left this earth as my father, a gentleman and a survivor. The Vietnam War tried to claim him. Like so many they suffered diseases from Agent Orange, stress and being broken. He fought to the end and gave what he could in his own way. Thank you Dad. You have taught me so many other things and left an impression that cannot be expressed right now…

I love and honor you.
~Tanya Van Rose Bell

We are grateful for Tanya sharing her father’s service and story with Comes A Soldier’s Whisper, where we are all connected.
God Bless all who serve and keep us safe.

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