Captain Michael A. Bell was a 30-year veteran of Farmington Fire Rescue. On the fateful morning of September 16, 2019, he responded to a call and just minutes after arriving on scene, a devastating propane explosion occurred, taking his life.
Mike loved being a firefighter. He was a third-generation firefighter and was fortunate to have served alongside his father, Captain John “Jack” O. Bell and his brother, Chief Terry S. Bell, for many years. Mike began his firefighting career as a volunteer firefighter in Mexico, Maine. After moving back to his hometown of Farmington in 1989, he joined Farmington Fire Rescue and worked his way up through the ranks to captain.
Mike was a plumber by trade and had recently semi-retired from his plumbing business to spend more time with family. He enjoyed building things and home improvement projects, often receiving help from his family and firefighter family or assisting them with a project. Mike loved watching football (Go Patriots!) almost as much as he enjoyed watching his grandsons play basketball, soccer, flag football, and baseball. Mike loved to travel and treasured time spent with his wife, family, and friends on trips to St. Maarten, Canada, Disney World, and Rangeley. He took great pleasure in time spent outdoors, whether it be hiking, fishing, canoeing, visiting his ‘grand horses,’ or even mowing his lawn.
Mike took pride in helping people and was an active member of our close-knit community, serving on numerous planning boards and committees over the years. Mike was understated and unassuming in nature. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke you listened. He was well-respected and admired by those who knew him. You experienced his presence and were better for it in the end. Most importantly, you could always count on him, whether you were family, friend, or fellow firefighter.
Michael will be deeply missed by his wife, Diana; daughters, Michelle, Danielle, and Sara; sons-in-law, Michael and Shane; grandsons, Ryan, Garrett, Camden, and Brennan; siblings, Bonnie, John, Terry, and Ronnie; longtime family friend, Dale; and many other family members and friends. On the morning of September 16, as he walked out the door headed to his final call, Mike’s wife, Diana, said, “I love you. Be careful,” to which he replied, “Always.” His family and friends will always remember the sound of his voice, his piercing blue eyes, his folded-arm stance, the warmth of his hugs, and his quiet confidence that made those around him feel safe and protected. He was our hero, not because of how he died, but because of how he lived.
An essay about my father, Michael Bell in 2005, 14 years prior to his death
I grew up believing my Dad was Superman. He even had the T-shirt to prove it. After all, he was strong, smart, and always there when I needed to be rescued. Incidentally, in my case, that was pretty often. For a little girl, those were more than enough reasons to love my Dad.
As I have grown older, and perhaps wiser, the rescuing has become less frequent and I have had the pleasure of getting to know my Dad, for the person he is not just the superhero I thought he was. I think the moment I realized that my parents were actual people with personalities, I started to understand where all of the love that I felt growing up came from. While the mere mortal side of my Dad may not be as exciting, I still learn from him, admire him, and respect him more every day.
I was fortunate to grow up in a home where we were all very close. Being the baby, I was definitely Daddy’s little girl. I was so enamored with my father, the mere thought of disappointing him would render me inconsolable. My mother used this to her advantage, as I alluded to earlier, I was a bit of a handful growing up. When I got myself into trouble, my mother would say “Well, when your father gets home, you’ll just have to tell him what you’ve done.” and I would burst into tears, promising never to do it again. I don’t know that my Dad was ever aware of this, but I do know that the thought of disappointing him kept me from making many stupid decisions in my life.
I find it interesting to look at the person I have grown to be, good decisions and bad, and see how much I resemble my Dad. We share the same black and white outlook on life, the same tireless work ethic, and the same love of adventure. My father, however, is a man of few words. He says he just doesn’t have much to say. I can remember, as a teenager, telling my friends, before they came to our house, that if my Dad picks on you, it means he likes you. If he doesn’t talk to you at all, that’s not good. With three daughters, my Dad suffered through many less than ideal boyfriends but, God love him, he never voiced his dismay to us.
While some of my Dad’s qualities are a little rough around the edges, there are so many more traits that I hope to still discover within myself, one of them being his courage. For the majority of his life, he has been a Firefighter. I have always been inspired by his commitment to the Fire Department. When the tone came over the scanner, it didn’t matter what he was doing or where he was, he would be out the door before he even heard what the call was. On one particular call, my Dad ended up at a structure fire most of the day. My mom and I went to the call to deliver coffee and sandwiches. It was an apartment building just outside of town where families were watching everything they owned go up in smoke. Luckily, all of the people made it out unharmed, but one family had a kitten that was left inside. My Dad thought he had seen it, so he went back in to look for it. A few minutes later, he emerged carrying a dingy, sopping wet, orange kitten. He asked me to bring it over to the family. I am sure he will not appreciate me telling this story, since supposedly he doesn’t even like cats. As a 16 year old, for the first time, I realized I wasn’t the only one my Dad felt compelled to rescue.
Given that my Dad is getting a bit older, and has taken on the role of Captain, he has been less cavalier in his firefighting. He doesn’t go in on the first team as much as he used to. He says he wants to give the younger guys a chance to gain more experience. Recently, at a firefighter gathering, I overheard a group of those young guys talking about who they’d go into a fire with. One of them spoke up and said “If I have to go in, I want to be right behind Mike Bell”, heads nodded in agreement. I was so proud. At 28 years old, there is no better feeling than knowing other people think your Dad is just as cool as you think he is.
My Dad has a new set of groupies now, my nephews are the boys he never had. Watching him with them brings back precious memories. I remember him playing all the same games with us and keeping us in line with the same “no whining” rule. Most of all, I recognize the look on my nephew’s faces, that shows how much they love their “Pa”. Occasionally, when they are wrestling around, I’ve even heard my Dad say “You can’t hurt me, I’m Superman!”
– Sara Bell