Frederick Curtis Marsh was born on March 7, 1940, to William and Elsie Marsh. He was born in Philadelphia, PA, and attended schools in Bristol, PA, and St. Emma’s Military Academy in Powhatan, VA. The ten years prior to his death, he called Egg Harbor City, NJ, is home. His home of record is Egg Harbor City, NJ.

He had seven brothers and two sisters – Willis, Alice, Paul, Joel, Bobby, Harlan, Kevin, Beryle, Wendel, and Rodney.

He served in the US Army and attained the rank of Sergeant (SGT). He was assigned to the 25th Infantry Division as a door gunner. After completing his first tour in Vietnam, Marsh was a survival training instructor at Ft. Rucker, AL.

Marsh was killed in action on April 17, 1970, when the helicopter he was in crashed into a river. He was serving his second tour in Vietnam.

Memorial services were held at Wimberg Funeral Home, Egg Harbor City, followed by church services at St. Nicholas Church, also in Egg Harbor City. He is buried in Egg Harbor Cemetery. He was survived by his wife, Barbara.

Frederick (Paul) Curtis Marsh was my big brother, to say the least. I was stationed at Ft. Rucker, AL. Prior to his return to Vietnam; you might say I am the reason he returned. We were stationed in different company areas, partly because he was a Sergeant and I was a student in the process of becoming an aircraft mechanic for the Army, so I was put in a training company.

Before I can tell his story I feel I need to “fill in the blanks”, for my family as well as the rest of the world. Paul was, in my eyes, a very highly educated man. He put into me the need to educate myself to the fullest. I was supposed to be trained as a Warrant Officer, to fly aircraft, and even though I passed all the required tests with better than average grades, I was told “you failed because you wear glasses.” I didn’t think to appeal this, what the hell did I know? I had been lied to and didn’t know it.

So I was stopped from OCS and given the choice of infantry or aviation school, I felt that at least I would still be in the air. During my training I moved in with my brother, Paul and his wife. It was a small little trailer in Enterprise, AL, just outside the gate. It was at this time I discovered who my brother was, and I began to understand what the US Army really meant to Black Servicemen.

Before receiving orders to Vietnam, the Army base fell subject to Racial Disorder; I can remember being given weekend passes and traveling to Troy, AL with my brother and a few others for the weekend. When I returned to the barracks, my locker had been broken into and everything was taken, all my belongings as well as every other person of color who had gone on a weekend pass. Not a single white locker was touched even if the locker was located between two colored lockers.

This presented a problem for those affected, no uniforms to fall out in, which was equal to failing to follow a direct order to fall out for formation. We received Article 15s, extra duty, restriction to base, and so on. This was not only happening to the training areas, but all over base. Soon the punishment turned to pay, pay for new uniforms, pay for Article 15s, pay for refusing to pay because there wasn’t enough money to pay other debts for which we already had allotments for.

WE HAD, HAD ENOUGH! The word was passed that we would start looking out for ourselves. No one was to leave the barracks unguarded, and to show that we were totally solid in our efforts, we began to wear black bootlace bracelets. When this was finally noticed, the punishment was harsh, remove the bands or go to the stockade. However, they couldn’t lock us all up (they tried) and things were still hard to deal with. Then came my orders for Vietnam.

Paul chose to go in my place. When I told my brother I was going to Vietnam, he told me that he had spoken to Mom and reassured her that he would look out for me. He asked me for a copy of my orders. The next day I received notice that my orders had been rescinded. About a week later, Paul told me he had gone to HQ and convinced them that they had made a mistake by putting the wrong name on the orders. Paul told me he was going to Vietnam and on the date I last saw him he said to me, “Don’t worry ‘bout Freddy.”

I thought there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do to survive. I just knew he would return, I couldn’t believe my ears when I was told, what I was told!

I’m quite sure this isn’t the way you notify a family member of the loss of their brother, I was called to the orderly room and told I was going to Vietnam, go to Quartermaster to pick up a clothing allowance, meal tickets, transportation and to turn in anything needed to be turned in. I was turning to leave when the 1st Sergeant stopped me to tell me about my brother. This 1st Sergeant simply flipped the notice at my general direction while saying, “Oh yeah, your brother was killed this morning, now go to Quartermaster (I didn’t really hear the rest – my mind went blank – I knelt to pray).

I can’t express the feeling I had, just let’s say I snapped, and before I knew it, it was all over, I had to see President Nixon for a pardon.

May my brother rest in peace and may he know I am forever in his debt. He gave his life for me, an act which I will never forget – BUT the story doesn’t end here, there is still one last part, the funeral.

The honor guard asked me to stand with them, since I was in uniform and I just couldn’t do it. Paul’s body was shipped home to the local undertaker and my mother just couldn’t accept the notice or the death without proof of the body of her son. Now I was told that the government sealed Paul’s casket and it was not to be opened under any circumstances. Mom asked my brother, Willis, to make sure it was Paul. I went with him. Willis was really broken up over this death, though he tried not to show it. That is until we arrived at the funeral home. The director said he advised against opening the casket since the body had been submerged and in very poor shape. Willis chose to agree, however, I insisted and opened the casket to verify Paul’s presence. It was indeed my Brother. It was also a terrible mistake to do so. I remember the sight and the smell, and mostly the grief for my beloved brother. At the funeral, another soldier approached me to say that my brother gave his life so that he, this soldier, could live. It seems that as the helicopter was going down, Paul had to make a decision, to jump and save himself or to throw the soldier off the ship. Sure this guy was busted up, however, he was alive and he was shipped home out of harms way.

Written by Kevin LF Marsh
May 25, 2007

Sources: Alice Marsh (sister), Kevin Marsh (brother) and NJVVMF.
12/17/2024