The Incredible Life of Tot Harriman, Part One
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This is Murder, She Told. True crime stories from Maine, New England, and small town USA. I'm Kristen Sevey. You can connect with the show at MurderSheTold.com or on Instagram at MurderSheToldPodcast.

Tot Harriman had always lived by the water. From the lush banks of the Saigon River to the rocky beaches of Maine's Casco Bay and the warm shallows of the Gulf of Mexico, she never strayed far from the shore. At the age of 57, Tot was searching for a new beachside home. The perfect spot would have a view of the Gulf and would be a short driving distance from her children and grandchildren.

Traveling down a two-lane country road in Texas, Tott searched the horizon for a peak of the ocean that would soon appear in her window. The drive from Houston to Corpus Christi would take nearly four hours, and she'd chosen the scenic route.

Whispers of light were already emerging in the morning sky and dancing across the car's white leather seats. It was the peak of summer. The days were long and the temperatures were high, but it was comfortable inside the car. A gentle current of AC brushed against Todd's face and fluttered through her short black hair, which was beginning to show streaks of silver. Though she dressed casually in shorts and a t-shirt, she'd

she'd still worn some of her trademark jewelry. Seven gold bracelets jingled on her wrist as her hands rocked steadily on the wheel.

As her maroon sedan cruised down the quiet road, Tot's mind drifted to her family. Her 35-year-old son had been half asleep when she kissed him goodbye earlier that morning. Once she moved to Texas, she'd be seeing much more of him. She had an appointment with a realtor scheduled for the next day, and if all went well, she'd soon own a home in Corpus Christi and would be making the drive back and forth to Houston regularly.

She looked forward to spending more time with her family as well as making new connections. Perhaps she would teach her grandchildren to fish on one of the coast's balmy bays, or maybe she'd contribute to the Vietnamese community in her new city. But Thot would never get the chance to live out these plans. Somewhere along Route 35, her story would be cut short. Or rather, it would dissolve into a grim mystery with no clear ending.

Thot was born in Vietnam in February of 1944 and given the name Tran Thi Thot. Tran is her family name and Thi is her middle name. She grew up in the southern part of the country, in a city outside Saigon called Tây Ninh. It was 20 years before the United States would enter the conflict with North Vietnam's communist forces.

At the time of Thoth's birth, Vietnam was under French control. But during World War II, Nazi Germany had taken over France, weakening its power across the globe.

Taking advantage of this vulnerability, Japan challenged French rule of Vietnam with little resistance. In March of 1945, when Thot was just a baby, Japanese troops carried out a coup against French authorities and took control of Vietnam. But the independence was short-lived. Just months later, Japan was defeated by the Allies in World War II. Following this loss, France began reasserting their power over Vietnam.

though this time it was met with resistance from communist forces strengthening in the north.

As power-hungry leaders struggled for control of Vietnam, Vietnamese families struggled to survive. Without stable leadership, systems of education, medical care, and food supply were upended. Caught in the turmoil, Thot only received a basic education before leaving school in the second grade to help support her family. Her father died while she was a child, and

and Thot entered into an arranged marriage with a Vietnamese military officer at the young age of 14. The union was likely to alleviate the financial burden on her mother. This is Thot's son, Chin-si. My mom, she was really strong, you

She was only 4'11", but she was dense, all muscle. Because when she was really young, one of the ways that people made a living commonly in Vietnam was to fire bricks. And they would take the clay, cut it out of the river, use the leftovers from the rice harvest to fire the clay. And so when she was little, after she left school, one of the things she would do was haul that clay to be fired.

She was a very hard worker. And I remember we had a neighbor and he would always try and pick her up. And he was just always in awe of how strong she was. And sometimes she'd flex her biceps at parties. It's kind of funny.

When Thot was 20, the Vietnam War between the U.S.-backed South and the Communist-led North officially began. In two years later, at the age of 22, Thot gave birth to her first son, Minh. That same year, her husband was killed in the war. Thot moved with her infant son from their country village to the city of Tây Ninh, where she began working as a housekeeper for the rich.

In the spacious kitchens of wealthier women, Tot developed a passion for cooking. She took pleasure in the small joys, the aroma of broth wafting from pots, the satisfying crunch of green onions splitting against a blade. Gifted with wisdom beyond her years, Tot knew that to endure life's hardships, she must also savor its blessings.

It was 1968, two years after the birth of Thot Son, and the number of American troops in Vietnam had risen exponentially. Over half a million were fighting alongside South Vietnamese soldiers to defeat North Vietnam's communist regime.

It was during this time that Tott bumped into an American soldier while biking through Tainan. Clinton Harriman, known as Clint to his friends, was a seasoned U.S. Merchant Marine officer who'd been described by one newspaper as a "boisterous bull moose of a man with salt-and-pepper hair."

My dad was an old school American. He was born in New York, pre-Depression era. He lived through the Depression as a young man, an immigrant as well, an Italian immigrant, you know, at that time when there was a lot of Italian and Irish immigration in New York City.

And, um, he just always just doing things to the max when he was younger, he would get in a lot of trouble, you know, sort of like reminds me of those stories that you'd hear about America at that time, just a little bit wild, a little bit free road motorcycles, you know, and then eventually he got into the service sort of by accident. And, uh, he, uh,

ended up falling in love with the ocean and falling in love with being on the water and being on ships. And so he decided that he'd make a career of being in the service and he was fun to be around. He could talk your ear off for hours, tell you stories about all the things he'd seen, about all the bullets he'd dodged. He was kind of larger than life.

After serving in both World War II and the Korean War, he'd recently arrived in Vietnam, where he worked in logistics, transporting ammunition from the United States. Clint was in his late 40s when he met 24-year-old Thot. Despite Thot's broken bike, the collision was a happy accident. The couple fell in love at first sight. The next day, Clint returned to the place they'd met. He'd hoped to impress her with a gift of a new bike.

It was a kind gesture, but Tott remained skeptical of the man, who was two decades older than her and who towered above her 4'11 frame. Clint persisted, courting her for a year, when at last she determined that he was more than, as she would later phrase it, just another American fooling around. She finally accepted his proposal.

They married in a traditional Vietnamese ceremony officiated by a village chief and built a house in Tay Ninh's countryside. It was a special place for them, as Clint would later say, quote, "...a really divine home."

Outside of Tot and Clint's love story, the bloody Vietnam War raged on. For six years, the couple lived apart, seeing each other only when Clint's work brought him back. They had an apartment in Saigon that he could easily get to when he was in town. Otherwise, Tot stayed in the house they'd built in the country. She was, as Clint described her, a country girl.

Although their separation was less than ideal, Tott remained optimistic that there was something better around the corner. On December 10th, 1970, Tott gave birth to her and Clint's first child, a daughter named Two-Hum, which roughly translates to Autumn Rose.

Clint was rarely in South Vietnam to see her, but he brought back new American clothes for his growing daughter whenever he could. By the spring of 1975, U.S. troops had almost fully withdrawn from Vietnam, and Saigon, their final stronghold, was going to topple.

Clint said, referring to the native supporters of South Vietnam, like Thot, it was the end of life as they knew it over there. Thot's first marriage to a South Vietnamese military officer, as well as her current marriage to Clint, an American soldier defending the South, would make her a target once the North took over. He believed that she might be killed, or at the least, separated from her children.

Thot faced a difficult situation. Her daughter with Clint, who would look only half Vietnamese, wouldn't be safe in Vietnam. But Thot couldn't bear to leave her family and take her oldest son away from his home. She made a heart-wrenching decision to entrust her daughter with Clint, who would take her to America while she stayed in Vietnam with her son and her family, no matter the consequences.

Clint was in New York at this pivotal moment in history. I got a hold of the port captain and practically begged him to get me out of there, Clint said of his difficult journey back to Vietnam.

After some negotiations, he was approved to travel from New York to Saigon on the USNS Greenville Victory. He later said, "It was the only ship that I could have gotten on." He called Tott and made plans to meet her at their apartment in Saigon to take his daughter to her new home. Just before Clint left, he slipped on a piece of ice and broke his leg. When the swelling became unmanageable, he went to a Navy doctor,

where he was told in no uncertain terms that he wasn't fit for duty. Bullshit. Clint responded to the doctor, I have to make this trip. By explaining that his wife and children were in danger, he was able to convince the disapproving doctor to let him go. His leg wrapped in a cast and in extreme pain, Clint was carried up the gangway on the back of another officer.

Back in Tainan, Thot boarded a bus to Saigon with her daughter, who was now four. As they headed south down the highway, Thot gazed into a blur of passing trees and wondered what the next few days would hold. Vietnam had been in various states of conflict her entire life, but had never gotten to a point where she needed to evacuate. She thought of Clint's voice on the phone, how urgent he'd sounded about getting them out.

The plan was for Clint and Tu Hum to travel to America on the Greenville victory, and while the thought of being separated from Tu Hum was heart-wrenching, Todd trusted her husband's intuition. It had been quite some time since they'd last seen him, and Tu Hum had grown significantly.

Taut ran a hand through her daughter's hair, which had a strawberry blonde hue she'd inherited from Clint. The girl's expression was peaceful as she looked out at the passing cars. All she knew was that she'd be soon reunited with her father. The bus slowed to a halt. A roadblock had cut off their usual route to Saigon, so Taut and Tuham headed to the river instead.

Before long, they were squeezed tightly against eight additional passengers in a tiny two-person boat. As they traveled downstream toward Saigon, rockets began plummeting from the sky, piercing the surface of the river and capsizing neighboring boats. Thot held her daughter close. She could feel the glares of communist soldiers peering through the trees.

Tuham's hair was the telltale sign of an American father, the sight of which would make her a target. Tot shielded the four-year-old's face with a wide straw hat.

Their boat was stopped several times. Armed officers prodded Taut with questions. They were skeptical of how the concealed child could possibly be asleep amidst the chaos. Taut held her face steady and asserted that her daughter was extremely sick. Thanks to her cunning, the soldiers permitted them to proceed. Clint continued to work while on the ship, causing his broken leg to swell further and his cast to fall apart.

While anchored in Thailand, he received word that evacuation had begun in Vietnam. With the excuse of replacing his worn-out cast, Clint was permitted to deboard the ship in Saigon. There, he made his way to the apartment, where he was greeted by his wife and daughter.

Despite what she'd gone through on the river, Tott remained surprisingly optimistic. "'My wife was sort of la-di-da,' he later said of her nonchalant attitude. She maintained that things would soon go back to normal, as they always had."

Presumably, the location of their apartment fell under some sort of threat as they stayed the night at the Hotel Majestic, one of the city's most luxurious accommodations. But even the building's sprawling marble floors and ornate chandeliers couldn't protect them. Just past midnight, the family woke with a start to the boom of artillery shells striking the hotel. They gathered their belongings and made arrangements to leave as soon as possible.

The ship Clint had traveled from America on, the Greenville Victory, is no longer in Saigon. It had moved 50 miles southeast to the port city of Vung Tau, and they had to make a harrowing trip from Saigon to Vung Tau by land.

Clint arranged for a car to take them in the early hours of the morning. As the car weaved through highway traffic, Tot squeezed her daughter's hand. She felt confident they'd be reunited, but wasn't sure how long it would take. Once Thu Ham and Clint were safely aboard, she'd head back home to be with Minh. Approaching the harbor's entrance, Clint and Tot noticed abandoned motor scooters and debris scattered across the road. It was a dead end.

The ship was visible in the distance, but the path was blocked by a young communist soldier. Clint later recalled, "When we got to this barricade, this soldier stuck his rifle in the driver's window. My wife and child and myself are sitting in the back, and the soldier said, 'Get out and walk.'" By that point, Clint's leg had swollen to twice its original size. He wouldn't be able to walk the distance to the ship.

The road was falling into pandemonium, and they instructed the driver to turn back. They'd try to catch another boat in Saigon, then transfer on to the Greenville Victory elsewhere. According to Clint, the driver wheeled the car around and just missed a truck by an extra coat of paint. Around every turn, communist soldiers were landing helicopters, brandishing weapons, and creating barricades.

Clint held a grenade in his hand, silently planning to use it should they come under attack. "We could all get it right here on the road at any minute," Clint told Todd. She smiled back and said, "Well, darling, at least we'll all die together." Clint wasn't certain she even knew what she was saying, but the sentiment emboldened him. "She had goddamn courage, and that gave me great courage."

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Clint abandoned the idea that they would all be able to make it to Vung Tau by land, so they returned to Saigon to find a way to get there by boat. After weaving between the road and the jungle for miles, they returned to Saigon's Newport Harbor. Clint quickly kissed her goodbye. There was no time to linger. Clint later said, "'I went down the longest gangway in the world with this friggin' leg which is now the size of a sewer pipe.'"

When he and Tuham made it to the ship, they were denied entry by the captain and forced to return to the harbor's office. Clint found the officer in charge and told him what happened. This friggin' guy doesn't want to take me down the river, he said. The officer escorted Clint and Tuham back down the gangway, and they were finally permitted to board.

And my father, maybe sort of anticipating a change of heart, gave her some papers that said that she was married to an American serviceman and some papers that would allow her to get onto a base. And he gave her those papers and he said, you know, if you need these, use them. And they parted ways, thinking maybe they'd never see each other again.

Tot stood on the pier, holding her face in an assured smile as Clint waved from the deck. It was his signal that he and Tuham were settled and that Tot could head home. But her body was frozen. As the ship's silhouette vanished in the distance, she realized Clint had been right. The conflict was far more dire than she'd assumed. Her limbs went numb with the fear, and she collapsed. I couldn't take it anymore, she'd later recall.

My heart was broken. The pioneer contender approached Vung Tau, and the ship's captain refused to dock the ship. He was in a hurry and had no time to stop. They would have to make a transfer while the ship was underway, and the transfer would not be easy, especially with Clint's broken leg. Coordinated by radio, a tiny lifeboat paced the large ship, while a narrow gangway was lowered over the lifeboat.

Sharp pulses of pain shot through Clint's leg with every step as he descended the steep plankway that was being rocked by the chop of the bay. Noticing his struggle, an American soldier called from below, offering to catch two hum so Clint could more easily make the rest of the way down.

Clint later said, I took that little four-year-old girl and threw her down there like a bag of grain. A good long drop, too, like 15 feet. And he just caught her like a basketball. The lifeboat brought them back to the harbor they'd been forced to abandon earlier that morning. And at last, they boarded the Greenville Victory, securing their safe passage out of Vietnam.

You know, my mom, she lived in a small village. I think she always saw herself as being from there. And her family was there. She thought the center of her world was there. She also knew that my sister would be persecuted. So her first thought was, I need to get her to a place where she can grow up safely. Her idea was that she would just leave and go back home to her small village in Tainan.

And, you know, you hear things about mothers and their children. I think it was just too much for her to leave her daughter. Thot decided to leave Vietnam and join Clint in America. But Clint wouldn't be there to help her get out. Meanwhile, Thot made her way back to Tay Ninh, where she found her son and gathered a few belongings.

Leaving once more for Saigon, Tot found that this time, the road had been entirely cut off. If they were going to reach the evacuation ships, they'd have to travel by foot. Twigs snapping beneath her shoes, Tot charged through the jungle, a suitcase in one hand and her son's sweaty palm in the other. They would hike 23 miles before reaching the city.

Sweat and humidity clung to their clothes, weighing down each step. Mosquitoes buzzed in tormenting clusters around their heads. The terrain was challenging for even the most experienced soldiers to navigate. But somehow, Totten men found a way. Outside of the jungle canopy, the air was lighter, and for a moment, they could exhale. But as they approached the city, a buzz louder than the mosquitoes roared in the streets.

Saigon was swarming with people in a scene Todd described as bees sucking on honey.

Communist takeover was imminent, and everyone wanted to escape before it was too late. Crowds pressed up against the gates of the U.S. Embassy. Todd decided to take a different approach. She'd spent the last of her money on a cab to Saigon's Newport Harbor, the same place Clint and Tu Hum had previously departed from. Upon arrival, Todd and Min were granted access to a warehouse serving as a makeshift waiting room.

Heat rose from hundreds of anxious bodies and radiated from the metal ceiling. But at least there was stillness.

Clint had been able to make arrangements with the base commander, Colonel Vong, for Taut and Minh's safe passage. Clint later said, She was the only Vietnamese woman, besides the ones who worked there, that had a pass to get into that base, but she had this personal document about the size of the Declaration of Independence with Colonel Vong's signature on it. She could get in anywhere with that pass, because he was the big law there.

Thanks to the pass, they'd been granted passage on the Buhang commander, the last ship out of Saigon.

On the morning of April 29th, 1975, a stern voice bellowed from military radios. The temperature in Saigon is 105 degrees and rising, followed by music, Irving Berlin's White Christmas. Bing Crosby's crooning would normally evoke memories of snow-lined streets and glowing Christmas trees. But that spring morning, the song took on a new meaning.

It signaled that the final phase of Saigon's evacuation had begun. In the fall of Saigon in 1975, when all those things that you've seen maybe in textbooks and history books of the helicopters landing on the embassy and people fighting to get on them, she was there and she went to the embassy, but knew that there was no way at that time she'd ever be able to get on any sort of aircraft or anything that was leaving there. So she made her way to the wharfs.

And she was lucky enough to get off on the last frigate to leave Vietnam. Military helicopters descended from the sky, gathering evacuees from all over the city.

At Newport Harbor, Tott and Min boarded the Buhang Pioneer, along with thousands of other refugees. Every crevice of the overcrowded ship was occupied, but there was still more clamoring to get on. Tott watched as they desperately climbed ladders and hung from cargo nets. It was heartbreaking, she would later say. She remembered men pulling themselves onto the ship, only to jump back off when they discovered their wives hadn't made it.

The memory haunted her for decades. Eventually, the loaded ship made it out of the harbor and into the open sea. They'd escaped just in time. Back in Vietnam, army tanks cruised through the streets, bursting through palace gates to assert communist rule. The beautiful home Tott and Clint had built in Tay Ninh would soon be overtaken. As Clint had predicted, nothing would ever be the same.

In just a matter of days, men's life had been forever transformed. He'd been uprooted from his friends, his school, and his family, with little understanding of why they had to leave it all behind. He begged Tot to take him back to his grandmother, to their home in the country. It was all he'd ever known. Weary with fatigue, Tot looked into her son's frightened eyes and reminded him of their goal. We have to find your sister.

Thanks to Clint's military connections, Todd and Min were permitted to rest in the owner's cabin. It had been several days since the family separated, and things were finally going to plan. On the Buhang Pioneer, Todd and Min received an update that Tu Hum and Clint were safe.

At last, they could exhale. It would be a long summer, but an end was in sight. The walls of their quarters hushed the chaos on the deck, and eventually, ocean waves lulled them into a long-awaited sleep.

After docking in the Philippines, Todd and Min traveled via airplane to the U.S. They touched down in Pennsylvania in late May of 1975 and were greeted with fanfare. Hundreds of Americans were waiting for them at the airport, waving flags and holding homemade signs. After words of welcome from local officials and a performance by the high school marching band, they were brought to a refugee camp in nearby Indiantown Gap.

Over the course of a few months, the camp's population swelled to over 20,000 refugees. Everyone was provided with fresh linens, new toothbrushes, and plenty of food, comforts that many had gone without for months. Thot and Minh were housed in military barracks alongside other families from Vietnam and Cambodia.

Summer days stretched on as refugees waited for sponsorship approval. Everyone did what they could do to enjoy their time in limbo. Children played outside freely, finally safe from the threats of combat. On the 4th of July, many took part in a celebratory parade, waving flags and singing along to God Bless America. That evening, people pulled out instruments they'd carried from home and brought overseas.

and groups gathered in dancing to traditional Vietnamese music. Alongside the uncertainty they'd harbored for months, something else was stirring in the air, a sense of excitement for what was to come in a new country. By the end of that summer, Thot and Minh were cleared to leave the camp. They traveled cross-country to Lake Tahoe, Nevada, where they reunited with Clint and Thu Ham for the first time. They were all safe and together as a family.

Clint spent the summer on a mission in Cambodia, rescuing an American merchant ship that had been captured by communist forces. And because of his valor, he was honored by President Gerald Ford with the Merchant Marine Distinguished Service Medal and was named Merchant Marine Mariner of the Year in 1975.

The peaceful lake seemed worlds apart from Saigon's tumultuous harbors. Pine-scented air filled their lungs. Sunlight seeped into their skin and cool mountain breezes danced in their hair. Clint and Tot smiled as they watched the children splash in the shallows. Their treacherous journey was over at last.

I think by the time they came out of the war, they'd just seen so much. They'd survived so much. It's like a relationship forged in fire. And you just, you could never separate them. Join me next week as we learn about Todd's vibrant life in Portland, and then go to Texas, where Todd's life suddenly and mysteriously ended.

The guide director said, "Hey, you know, you need to go make a phone call. Something's happened with your family." And a cousin picked up the phone and said, "You have to come home right away because your mom is missing." If you have any information about the disappearance of Tot Harriman, I encourage you to contact the League City Police Department at 281-332-2566.

I want to thank you so much for listening. I am so grateful that you chose to tune in and I couldn't be here without you. Thank you. If you would like to support the show, there's a link in the show notes with options. Another way to support is telling a friend, sharing on social media, or leaving a review. A very special thanks to Chin-C for sharing his memories with us. A detailed list of sources and photos can be found at MurderSheTold.com.

This episode was written by Zoe Arts. Thank you to Samantha Coulthart for her research support and to Byron Willis for his research and writing support. If you have a story that needs to be told or a correction, I would love to hear from you. My only hope is that I've kept the memories of your loved ones alive. I'm Kristen Sevey, and this is Murder, She Told. Thank you for listening.

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