Steve Tice in Camp Evans, Vietnam. Just returning from a mission. March 1969.
The military decision to stage a frontal attack of a well-fortified hill defended by entrenched troops from North Vietnam came under scrutiny because of the high cost of American lives sacrificed to capture the small rise near the border with Laos that lacked any strategic advantage. The controversy erupted when the hill was abandoned almost immediately after it was seized. The personal nightmare for Tice began on that spring day on Hamburger Hill when his right hand was blown off when he took a direct hit from a rocket-propelled grenade. He arrived at the field hospital with multiple stomach wounds and shrapnel in his head that was similar to the injuries that had killed many of his fellow soldiers. His wounds eventually led to the medical decision by his doctors to remove his right arm and most of his shoulder. Beyond the injuries to his body, the impact of PTSD removed portions of his life. He was forced to deal with an American public that turned away from him because of his service in an unpopular war. The ex-soldier suffered from years of sleepless nights that brought on paranoia and depression, as well as an inability to maintain personal relationships.
There were times—many times—he said it was just too much for a 21-year-old with a wife and young child to deal with. His first marriage ended in 1977. It was at that point that Tice began to work with a counselor at the Veterans Administration. Professionals with the VA inspired him to deal with his grief in a way that would allow him to face his deepest fears, especially the guilt of not dying along with his friends on that forsaken hillside in Vietnam. No more anger Tice never envisioned himself as a counselor. He was thrust into the position as part of his training to help his fellow soldiers deal with the mental scars of war. “My anger was used up,” said Tice. “Sadness was my primary emotion for many years. I was sad about the fact that people continued to suffer years after they had sacrificed so much for their country in rice paddies halfway around the world.” The key, he said, was working with his therapist at the VA and reuniting with his wife. “Being a counselor had never been part of the picture. I had always seen myself as in the role of a college professor,” Tice said with a smile. “I
“My anger was used up.”
Steve Tice, with his father Lee Tice, recovering at Letterman Hospital in San Francisco, circa October 1969.
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found it therapeutic to work with people who had suffered many of the same nightmares that haunted me since Nam.” He was trained as part of the VA program to help soldiers with PTSD. His most rewarding experience has been working with veterans of World War II who suffered through decades of undiagnosed mental anguish. His compassion for veterans from the Greatest Generation can be traced to his own father, who survived the Bataan Death March when soldiers of the Imperial Japanese Army forced 76,000