Another Victim
of the Cover-Up
In Memoriam
First published in The New American magazine Nov. 19, 1990: Vol. 6, No. 24 p.43
Edited Aug. 8, 2003 for this site

The fight to bring Colonel Charles E. Shelton, the last officially listed prisoner of war from the Vietnam War, ended tragically for his wife, Marian Shelton, on October 4, 1990. Her son, Michael, and Scott Barnes, a close family friend, found her dead, around 9:15 p.m., in the garden of her San Diego home. Marian, who turned 57 the month before, apparently died after shooting herself in the head with a .22-caliber pistol and falling from a balcony at her home. Police described the head wound as “self-inflicted.” A suicide note made no mention of her husband and gave no explanation as to why she took her life. It simply read, “I love you all.”

We were living in Texas at the time. One of my sisters called me with the news. I phoned the Shelton residence immediately. I could hear Col. Shelton’s son, Father Charles, talking in the background. I asked the person who answered the phone if she would tell him that it was me so I could speak to him. I really didn’t know what to say except, “Father, is there anything I can do?” He answered, “Jeanine, Momma loved you and those kiddos of yours as much as any of us. Just pray for her-and write an article. Write a tribute to her and say what she meant to you.”

All God’s Children
Marian was someone who I held in the highest esteem. Never before had I felt so honored to know someone. Our telephone conversations grew into a bond of friendship. We shared our thoughts and secrets, wept over the POW/MIA issue, and giggled over the silly things that children do. I loved hearing stories about her children when they were little. Her oldest son was my priest. I remember one Sunday I sat in church biting my lip, trying to keep a straight face during his homily. I kept thinking about what his mother had told me that day before. “Little Charley” said that his baby sister, Joan, was more fun than a puppy dog. The Shelton boys are 15 and 16 months apart. They loved their baby sister so much, they would kiss the poor child all the time. Fr. Charles once told his mother, “Mommy, she smells like spit!”

These stories were precious to me because they illustrate that, no matter how much of a celebrity a person is (as Marian certainly became), when it comes right down to it, we are all God’s children. When I learned that I was expecting my third child in three years, I asked Marian to be my baby’s godmother. She joyfully accepted. My little son was born in May of 1989. I named him Paul Shelton Notter. I had him baptized Paul Charles. Marian told me that she showed the picture of her little godson to everyone at the National POW/MIA convention.

Shred of Hope
I will always have a warm place in my heart for my special friend. Marian Shelton truly was a remarkable individual, who clung to a shred of hope that our government would “bring them home.” The anguish of her unending struggle finally overtook her; the years of lies, deceit, cover-up, and bureaucracy led her to despair. The same government that abandoned her husband in the jungles of Southeast Asia, years before, also drove her to her own death.

I will miss Marian, more than words can say, because knowing her has changed my life. And so I bid her farewell. Goodbye, Mrs. Shelton. I love you. May God rest your soul.

-Jeanine M