Signposts
and Junctions
Murder at Midnight
Murder at Midnight
There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love,
The law's delay, the insolence of office……
Hamlet, Act 3 scene 1 - William Shakespeare -
Forty years ago, two American MPs died in the Ivory Tower, a downtown Saigon bar, and the embers of anger and resentment still burn today.
Midnight in a Dangerous Place
Sometime after 11pm on June 30, 1969, a call came into the 716th Military
Police Battalion about a disturbance involving an American soldier at a
downtown Saigon bar. The bar in question, the Ivory Tower (Tour d'Ivoire),
was situated on an intersection near the busy central market. Inside the
establishment, a winding staircase led past a second floor restaurant and up
to a third floor room that held a dance floor, tables, and a small bar. Just
before midnight, a Jeep carrying three American MPs and a Vietnamese
civilian capital policeman pulled up in front of the nightclub. Leaving one
MP to monitor the radio, the other two Americans, along with their
Vietnamese counterpart, entered the building to assess the situation, just
as MPs had done countless times during their years of service in the city of
Saigon, the capital of South Vietnam.
On that night, however, something went terribly wrong. After a few minutes,
the sound of gunfire erupted from within. When the shooting was over, the
true horror of it all was clear. Sometime before midnight June 30, Sgt.
Eugene T. Cox, 21, of Jackson Heights, N.Y., and Pfc. James H. Workman, 21,
of Beaver Falls, Pa., both lay dead, Cox in a pool of blood at the foot of
the stairs and Workman in the third floor bar. Both soldiers were within a
month of completing their tour of duty in Vietnam.
"In any other city, it would have been just another barroom shooting, just
another exhausting piece of police work. But the city is Saigon, the dead
are two American military policemen, the chief suspect is a much-decorated
Vietnamese officer, the investigators are temporarily baffled and ugly
rumors run rampant.” (1) With those words, the Pacific Stars and Stripes
(the principal newspaper for American soldiers serving in the Pacific
Theater of Operations) began its report on the shootings at the Ivory Tower.
This was the first chapter of a troublesome story that played itself out
slowly like a stubborn ground fire, just when you thought the fire was
contained it would flare up anew. Indeed, those embers still burn today in
the hearts of the families and friends of Cox and Workman, embers of anger
over the deaths of two young American soldiers and dissatisfaction with the
events that followed.
And as is usually the case, time and place played a major role in shaping
what happened that night in the Ivory Tower bar and in the weeks that
followed.
Saigon
Saigon was, at the end of 1968, unlike any other city on the planet. Wars
had ravaged the country and its people for decades, and the movement of
armed forces and material on the crowded boulevards of the great city was a
common sight. The Tet Offensive of 1968 remained fresh in the memories of
soldier and civilian alike, and the terror of those battles on the streets
of Saigon remained vivid in the minds of the people who had so recently
lived through them.
In those years, although it was impossible to assign an accurate number,
Saigon boasted a population density that rivaled any city in the world.
Indeed, the city was jammed with an oleo of inhabitants, from long-term
residents to the dramatic influx of strangers, from the politically
connected business leaders to the poor and numerous lower classes, from
Vietnamese soldiers and their families to the growing number of refugees in
from the countryside seeking shelter from the horror of war. The American
presence was at its apex. Added to this mix were the deserters and AWOL
soldiers of the South Vietnamese and American Armies, beggars, tailors and
tradesmen of every nationality, indigenous French, and more dogs than you
could count. Saigon was home to a large ethnic Chinese population, as well
as a complex stew of various other Asian ethnic groups that included a myriad
of orphaned youths, all of whom were competing for existence in a pitiless
environment where life was cheap and official corruption rampant. People
filled the buildings, alleyways and shantytowns, lived in cardboard boxes on
sidewalks, slept in every type of boat on every canal and waterway, and
populated any available bit of shelter such as the dry land beneath small
bridges and docks.
My tour of duty in Vietnam began on June 25, 1969. I was an Army PFC, fresh
from Intelligence Analyst training at Fort Holabird, Maryland when I
processed through Long Binh and found myself assigned to the Capital
Military Assistance Command (CMAC), formerly Advisory Team 100,
headquartered in Saigon. I arrived at the unit on June 28, two days before
the shooting at the Ivory Tower bar. The unit's mission was to work with our
Vietnamese counterparts and target the various enemy commando detachments,
also known as sappers, which planned attacks against Saigon. We also
coordinated and collected all intelligence that related to the city and its
environs.
The city of Saigon sat at the center of a circular group of surrounding
provinces, around which spread the III Corps area of operations, stretching
from the South China Sea in the east to Cambodia in the west, from the
central highlands of II Corps in the north down to IV Corp and the delta
operations in the south. Dangerous terrain was never far away, due west was
part of Cambodia that bulged out into South Vietnam, less than forty miles
from Saigon, and home to places with lethal names like the Parrot's Beak and
the Angel's Wing. The HoBo Woods and the Michelin rubber plantation had seen
fierce battles over the years. During my tour in-country I travelled to many
locales in the greater III Corps area of operations surrounding Saigon and
visited with many US and Vietnamese military units; I also came to know the
great city intimately.
Saigon had a split personality and a face for each, and by the time I left
Vietnam in June of 1970, I had learned to recognize both. One face was the
Saigon that the American Command championed, the Paris of the Orient with
broad tree-lined boulevards, great city of a gallant partner in the war
against communism. The other Saigon, the one you read about between the
lines, was swollen with a scarred and war-weary populace, bloated and rotten
to the core, where corruption in the Vietnamese Government ran downhill
through the entire country from the highest office to the lowliest clerk.
Saigon had a lot of money circulating through the system in those years, not
all of it legal. Global professionals from many nations came through the
city: engineers, construction firms, photojournalists, print media
superstars, news organizations, television crews, thrill seekers, and
mercenaries all called Saigon home at one time or another. Joining them were
the local denizens from the underbelly of society, the Vietnamese drug
dealers, pimps, prostitutes, gamblers, black-market hustlers of every
conceivable commodity, and moneychangers, all of whom plied the streets in
search of their fortunes. Also on the streets were soldiers, both American
and South Vietnamese, searching for a good time, many only hours removed
from some unimaginable combat hellhole out in the bush and they were
determined to find as much excitement in the joy of being alive as time
would allow.
When all of these ingredients came together, Saigon became a living and
breathing organism that existed on its own set of rules and dispensed its
own brand of justice. The city possessed an appetite of its own and
depending on your appetites, Saigon could devour you at anytime. No matter
how careful you were, it was easy to stumble into a bad situation, the
proverbial wrong place at the wrong time. And if you found yourself in such
a position, the shiny black helmet of an American MP was a welcome sight
indeed. Saigon was a dangerous place, and in light of the violence and
hatred seen in the world today, one can easily forget how rough a place
Saigon really was in the late sixties.
The 716th Military Police Battalion
In a metropolis like Saigon, a port city on the Saigon River some 35 miles
upstream to the northwest from the South China Sea, a mission such as the
one assigned to the 716th MP Battalion proved challenging to accomplish. The
battalion arrived in Vietnam in March of 1965 and remained stationed in the
Saigon-Tan Son Nhut area for the duration of its time in-country, serving
until the unit departed South Vietnam in March of 1973. During those years,
the battalion's mission included "the enforcement of military law, order and
regulations; to control traffic and stragglers, circulation of individuals
and protection of property; to handle prisoners of war; to operate
checkpoints and route security; and to fight as infantry as required."
(2)
The 716th made a name for itself during the early hours of the Tet Offensive
in 1968, when the situation in Vietnam seemed critical as cities and
military installations throughout the country found themselves under attack
by units of the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) and Viet Cong (VC) guerilla
fighters. Nowhere did things look as bad as did the situation in the city of
Saigon: the embassy itself was under attack and battles raged around the Tan
Son Nhut airbase, the Newport Bridge, and the Cholon area of the city. In
the film footage and photographic record that captured the history and
intensity of the battle, a common sight is the glossy helmet of an American
MP from the 716th. Many credit the battalion's response as being
instrumental in stemming the attack and preventing a determined enemy from
making wider gains during the critical first hours of the battle. During the
second Communist offensive in May of 1968, the unit once again found itself
engaged with a resolute foe that, for political and psychological reasons,
was eager to bring the fight to the streets of Saigon, a foe willing to pay
in blood for the headlines that appeared in newspapers around the world.
This was the post-Tet Saigon of 1968 and 1969, the Saigon where the 716th MP
Battalion deployed its forces and carried out its mission.
Young Men in Uniform
James Workman was born on September 17, 1948 in Girard, Ohio, the son of
Dock and Nettie Workman. Many called Dock a true cowboy; he was an
accomplished guitar player and he loved to rodeo. The family included nine
children and all of them were attracted to music. Sadly, though, Dock had a
problem dealing with personal and medical issues after World War II; he had
frequent nightmares and went in and out of VA hospitals. James's mother,
Nettie, was very poor, and Jim spent a good part of his childhood with his
aunt and uncle, John and Gay Nuskievicz. Gay was Dock's sister.
Occasionally, feuds would erupt over Jim and one time the Nuskievicz
returned him to Nettie who lived out of state, only to have Jim run away and
hitchhike back to Pennsylvania. When Jim turned 14, he could speak to the
court for himself about where he wanted to live. A local attorney, R.
Clifton Hood, represented John and Gay during custody hearings and this
attorney became a friend to the family, serving them loyally over the years.
The courts granted John and Gay Nuskievicz custody of James and they became
his fulltime foster parents. Carolyn Shadd, Jim's cousin, said that, "Aunt
Gay and Uncle Johnnie worshipped the ground James walked on and he wanted
for nothing" when he was with them. James graduated from High School in 1966
and enlisted in the Army in July of 1967.
Larry DeFuria met Jim Workman at the US Army Military Police School at Fort
Gordon in Georgia in 1967. Larry, a current resident of Pompano Beach in
Florida, recalled how they enjoyed a unique personal bond and became
immediate fast friends. Larry and Jim endured the hard times of training
together and shared many laughs along the way. Once they had a weekend pass
and went to Augusta where they planned to visit several popular night
clubs that featured live music played by up and coming rock bands. But they
were not yet twenty-one years of age so the bouncers working the doors of
those clubs did not let them enter. Later, they paid a stranger to purchase
them a six-pack of beer and spent that Saturday night together in the bus
station drinking from cans cloaked in paper bags, telling stories about
where they were from and where they saw the future taking them.
They ended up in Korea together, arriving around the time that the North
Koreans had attacked and seized the US Navy ship, the USS Pueblo. Assigned
to the 249th MP detachment, they worked at the main stockade for the
American Eighth Army in Ascom. The duty assignment was rough and stressful,
and they celebrated their free time together by exploring the bars and
alleyways of the ville, experiencing firsthand the time honored pastimes
sought by most soldiers stationed in distant and exotic locales. In May of
1968, Jim received a transfer to the 716th MP BN in Vietnam. Larry felt sure
that he would soon follow but the Army had other plans for him. The two
soldiers and friends found themselves separated now, forging separate
careers in the Army on their own.
Night in Saigon
Some of the older soldiers I knew had served as military advisors in South
Vietnam during the early 1960s, and they spoke warmly and wistfully about
the Saigon of those years. Yes, some degree of corruption existed in
government but that seemed to be the rule in the poor countries of Southeast
Asia. The countryside was unspoiled, the pace of life was slow, the
Vietnamese treated the Americans with warmth and friendship, and we repaid
the Vietnamese in kind. A dead American combat soldier was not yet a common
occurrence. After the Tet Offensive, the days of warmth and grace between
the allies were over, replaced by a sense of foreboding and toleration at
best, of mutual mistrust and dislike at worst. Unchecked political power and
the destructive and corrupting influence of the war had removed all sense of
honesty from the civilian government. American politicians were already
talking about Vietnamization and many of the South Vietnamese leaders, as
well as those in the military, probably knew in their hearts what that
really meant for the future of their country.
There was a time in Vietnam where you could go into a bar and buy a Saigon
Tea, the price of which allowed you to sit down and chat with a bar hostess.
Or you could go to a hall and purchase tickets to dance with a Vietnamese
girl. But that was then, the bar scene of Saigon after Tet had gone beyond
cliché to some strange film noir caricature as some Vietnamese women
attempted to act as the loose floozies seen in any number of American
gangster films, sometimes with comical results. One night, as I enjoyed a
drink with my commanding officer at a rooftop function held above an
officer's billet, a Vietnamese bargirl sat on my lap and said in broken
English, "My name's Baby-doll, what's yours?" That was a hard question to
answer while maintaining a straight face at the same time.
Yet not every female working in a bar was a prostitute. Many were, but a
majority of the women working as bartenders and waiting on tables at the
many bars in Saigon supported their families on the largesse of American
soldiers looking to let off some steam and escape the long grind that the
war had become for so many. The women knew how to comfort and cajole, and
how far they could press the situation. Most bar women knew how to look
good, act friendly, and work the room for tips without resorting to the
oldest profession.
Some Americans did not recognize this distinction and treated all bar women
as if they were whores. These Americans did not understand that this was
home to these people, that Vietnamese girls fell in love with Vietnamese
men, supported parents, and raised families behind the facade of the
nightlife that existed in the Saigon bar scene. Some girls did everything in
their power to entice an American into marrying them as a ticket to escape
the world of war, the rest went on with their lives, for better or for
worse, and did the best they could to survive as the war raged on around
them. This lack of understanding by many Americans led to various incidents
that resulted in embarrassment and anger, as well as the occasional fight.
But in a city like Saigon, such a volatile mix could escalate the issue at
any time.
The Stars and Stripes on the Ivory Tower Bar
The Pacific Stars and Stripes ran its first article on the Ivory Tower
shootings on July 10 in an article titled "Joint Probe Continues into MP
Slayings". The investigation into the shootings was complicated: the
Vietnamese officer suspected of the killings, Lt. Col. Nguyen Viet Can,
wounded in the incident, was the brother of a Vietnamese Army general, and
an American sergeant thought to have first-hand knowledge of the incident
was missing. Newspaper accounts had suggested that an American sergeant was
"probably drunk" and was "shouting dirty words" at a group of Vietnamese
officers when one American adviser "went out to search for MP intervention."
Two witnesses allege a Vietnamese girl was involved in the incident. Others
say Can was upset when the American brushed against Can's Vietnamese
girlfriend. Can punched the sergeant on the shoulder and threatened to shoot
him if he did it again. At this point, another American sergeant left the
bar and went to find a phone to call the police. Lt. Col. Nguyen Viet Can
had been wounded in action five times and often decorated for valor by his
own government, and he was about to receive his third citation for valor
from the US armed forces that served alongside his unit. Different versions
of the incident appeared in the Vietnamese newspaper reports. Some alleged
the MPs tried to handcuff Can, and asked the American sergeant "to follow
them to headquarters." Other witnesses said differently, that the MP in the
bar advised the sergeant to leave and began walking with him to the door.
Can stood in the doorway with his arms outstretched and insisted the
sergeant join him in a drink. Witnesses report that, as one MP stood with
the sergeant near the doorway, a Vietnamese Army captain appeared and
brandished a pistol in the face of the MP, who grabbed at the weapon. One
witness says the pistol held by the captain was the only drawn weapon. At
the sight of the pistol, people began to flee the bar and from that point
forward, no witness accounts appeared in the public news media. After the
shooting, American MPs outside saw Can, assisted by several Vietnamese
soldiers, helped into a Jeep, which left the scene. The Jeep was tracked by
American MPs to a Vietnamese hospital where Can was treated for a gunshot
wound in the thigh. Inside the Ivory Tower, the two American MPs lay dead.
The joint investigation by Vietnamese and American personnel produced an
autopsy which according to U.S. military authorities, indicated Workman was
shot more than once in the legs and may have been shot in the chest as he
lay on the bar floor. They also said that Cox was shot in the back at least
once before he died at the foot of the stairs. Authorities recovered no
weapons at the scene, including the pistols of both MPs. Another newspaper
reported that Can, who was subsequently relieved of command of the llth
Vietnamese Airborne Bn., admitted in two and a half hours of testimony that
he fired at the MPs after they tried to arrest him and shot him in the left
leg. "Cox and Workman were topflight MPs," said their commander, Capt. Hulon
A. Allen of B. Co., 716th MP Bn. "Each was experienced and well-trained in
how to handle himself in such situations." One of Cox's roommates, SP-4 Don
Klecak, was upset by newspaper reports alleging the two MPs had tried to
handcuff Can. "If there's one thing drummed into our heads over and over,"
said Klecak, "it's how to treat foreign nationals. We don't touch them and
we don't have the power to arrest them. None of us would try to handcuff one
of them." (3)
On November 27, 1969 the Stars and Stripes reported that three Vietnamese
officers would face trial over the deaths of the two MPs. Lt. Col. Can would
face trial for involuntary manslaughter and two other Vietnamese officers,
identified only as captains, would face murder charges. The Vietnamese court
set December 17 as the trial date and a critical witness formerly identified
as "missing", American Staff Sergeant Calvin Yates, would testify. American
legal officers say that the delay in getting the trial set and opened was
common. "In fact," said one legal officer, "the ARVN have been right on top
of it (the case) from the start. I don't think I could have gotten one to
trial that quickly." (4)
On Friday, December 19, the Stars and Stripes reported the bad news. The
trial of the three Vietnamese officers accused of slaying the two American
military policemen in a Saigon nightclub on June 30, was adjourned
indefinitely. That Wednesday, December 17, a five-man tribunal had
deliberated for two hours and 15 minutes before deciding the panel had
insufficient evidence to reach a verdict. They ordered further
investigations that could lead to a new trial at a future date. Lt. Col.
Nguyen Viet Can, former commander of the llth ARVN Airborne Bn., and Capt.
Do Ngoc Nuoi and Capt. Pham Van Bach, both of the llth Airborne Bn., had
escaped prosecution from all of the charges. (5)
On Thursday February 19, 1970, the Stars and Stripes ran a last brief
article stating that the trial "might be resumed sometime in March or
April." First, the investigators "would have to determine how many weapons
were involved, and how many rounds were fired during the gun battle."
(6)
The Pacific Stars and Stripes did a credible job in reporting the facts when
the story first broke in July of 1969. But when it became apparent that the
South Vietnamese courts were not going to prosecute Can and the two
captains, and that the US Command was going to go along with that decision
as if it was business as usual, then it was over for Workman and Cox in the
military press. The Stars and Stripes ran the last piece in February stating
that the South Vietnamese courts might prosecute the three officers again
sometime in the future; after that, the story and the names disappeared. The
Stars and Stripes returned to their core mission, not investigative
journalism, but in publishing harmless feel-good stories for the American
soldier, stories with pictures of our troops finding hidden caches of enemy
weapons that ran beneath headlines like, "Sorry About That, Charlie". Or
interviews with Generals and Admirals who informed all of us that we were
winning the war, and to tell everyone back home how important this war
really was. The Command did not want to upset the American public, nor give
them cause to doubt the partnership with the South Vietnamese. The Tour
d'Ivoire was now just a footnote to history, a glitch in the program, a
story that would go just where the US Command wanted it to go, and that was
nowhere.
Old Embers Burn Red
I am not certain what motivated me to write this story now, in December of
2009, forty years after the killings. Perhaps some ember of anger or
resentment still burned within, or maybe an external stimulus struck me,
some jolt, a word or an image that sent my mind reeling backwards through
the decades. Yet I suspect that it was just the passage of time. I recently
looked at my collection of photographs taken during my year in Vietnam and
what I found was faded pictures that have merged with the paper of the
album, rendering them impossible to remove without destroying them. Young
faces, many of people whose names I have forgotten, look back at me through
plastic covers grown cloudy with age. The time to write this story was now,
before those that knew Eugene Cox and James Workman were gone.
I was lucky enough to contact a member of James Workman's family, a cousin
named Carolyn Shadd, who along with her son Larry Feltner provided me
photographs, as well as copies of the family's old newspaper clippings taken
from the local papers that reported on the shootings at the time. She also
told me about James and his family, and I am deeply indebted to her. The
clippings provide the chilling details of the murder as well as insight into
the pain and heartbreak that the family suffered and endured.
I also contacted a friend of Jim's that served with him in the States and in
Korea, Laurence DeFuria. What I found in Carolyn and Larry was an undying
love and respect for Jim Workman, along with an ember that still burned
inside each these many years later, still hot and red over the loss of a
man, how he met his end, and what had transpired after his death.
Murdered
The details of the shootings that appeared in the local newspapers, details
obtained, I am sure, through the efforts of attorney R Clifton Hood, were
particularly disturbing, particulars not made available to the reading
soldier in the Pacific Stars and Stripes. James Workman and Eugene Cox went
to the third floor bar and ordered the American Army sergeant to leave
because it was past curfew. Can blocked the door and offered to buy drinks
but that offer was refused. "As Cox started down the winding staircase, Can
pulled a pistol and shot him four times in the back and head. Workman was
coming from the bar when he was reportedly shot 10 times by the colonel and
at least one other officer."
This was it, the definitive statement; time had finally revealed the answer
I had been seeking for so long. Forty years after the death of Workman and
Cox in the Ivory Tower, the words on the page before me brought closure to
what actually happened in the bar that night; it was a slaughter.
Final Thoughts
The events of that night, the deaths of two military policemen in the Ivory
Tower bar, occurred more than 40 years ago in a city that now carries a
different name and in a country that no longer exists. The past constantly
falls away from us, and like the ever-expanding universe, the more distant
events are from today the faster they seem to recede. Yet I remember those
killings in Saigon and the many rumors that swirled around the events of
that night, as well as the numerous conversations about the shooting that I
shared with other MPs and soldiers in the year that followed. I am grateful
to read the newspaper clippings about the murder that appear in the links
below, clippings supplied by Carolyn Shadd, and I am certain we should be
grateful to the family's attorney, R Clifton Hood, for his efforts to ensure
that those details were made known to the American public.
John and Gay Nuskievicz cried for James Workman on the day he died and they
shed a tear for Jim every day for the rest of their lives. They remained
tireless in their efforts to bring his killers to justice, to make them
stand accountable for their actions in a court of law. But terms like 'the
law' mean different things in the courts of different countries. Time and
circumstances conspired against the Nuskievicz in their quest to see justice
done for their boy. Plans were already underway to phase out the use of
American ground combat forces in Vietnam and the ruling government may have
been less likely to appease the Americans who were leaving the South
Vietnamese to make the fight with the North on their own. Lt Col Can had a
lot going for him, as the brother of an ARVN general he stood well connected
politically, and as a decorated soldier, honored by the Americans multiple
times for valor, he was a rare find indeed. I am sure the South Vietnamese
government thought it better to have Can in the field with his troops than
locked away in prison, seeing no need to placate the American public any
longer, or soothe the ache felt by a grieving family so far away. The
Nuskievicz family and their lawyer did what they could, but with no real
political advantage, those responsible for the death of James Workman and
Eugene Cox did not face the scales of justice.
It is painful to see that attorney Hood and the family felt ill-treated by
the 716th MP Battalion, the storied unit that performed so bravely during
the Tet Offensive of 1968. They felt that the replies made by the 716th to
requests for information by Hood did not meet his expectations. "Hood was
especially irate over the stereotyped letter from the company commander of
the MP group of which both boys were members." Who knows now, forty years
later, what really happened? Perhaps Command had passed the word to the
716th not to be forthcoming with information, or maybe their actions were
unplanned. And in all honesty, nothing sent by the 716th would have made the
Nuskievicz family or Hood feel any better in light of the failure of the
South Vietnamese government to prosecute the three ARVN officers involved,
that and the fact that the US Government seemed willing to stand aside and
do nothing in response. Yet, in hindsight, especially after reading what
actually transpired in the bar that night, I believe James Workman and
Eugene Cox deserved better than they got from those soldiers that they
considered their own.
John and Gay Nuskievicz loved their foster son unconditionally. And although
they are now deceased, the light of that love shines in the hearts of the
family and friends still alive who saw the depth and devotion that was a
part of that love, and appreciated it for what it was; the light of that
love lives on in them.
Larry DeFuria, fellow MP who went on to a distinguished career in law
enforcement after the Army, summed up his thoughts about the circumstances
surrounding the death of James Workman this way. "So many times over the
years I have thought back to those days, wondered about the direction my
life took and wondered what would have become of Jim. What career would he
have had? Marriage? Kids? These thoughts are triggered on military holidays,
any discussions with friends about our time in the service, certain movies,
etc. I still get blurry and choked, raging internally about the injustice of
our troops fighting for an alleged cause and then being brutally cut down by
field grade commissioned representatives of the same sorry bunch we were
there to help. How can we ever reconcile the balance of the ones we lost to
any benefit for having been there in the first place. When I was young and
stupid, I was all for the war and very certain that we had to be right. God
help me, I'm just not sure at all anymore."
On June 30, 1969, just before midnight, Eugene Cox and James Workman walked
into a dangerous place. They entered the Ivory Tower bar, armed and on duty,
searching for an American that needed assistance. They performed this act
bravely, secure in their training, faith in each other, devotion to duty,
the mission, and to the uniform they wore. That night, both paid the
ultimate price for that act of bravery. Instead of receiving honors for
their actions, they were discarded. History has not been kind to the memory
of their names; the honor they deserve has eluded them.
Endnotes
[i] Spec. 5 Bill Elsen and Spec. 4 Bob Hodierne,
"Joint Probe Continues into MP Slayings" Pacific Stars and Stripes, July 10,
1969, Page 6 (return)
[ii] US Army MPs in Vietnam, 1962-75 accessed Nov
19, 2009
http://home.mweb.co.za/re/redcap/vietnam.htm (return)
[iii] Spec. 5 Bill Elsen and Spec. 4 Bob Hodierne,
"Joint Probe Continues into MP Slayings" Pacific Stars and Stripes, July 10,
1969, Page 6 (return)
[iv] Spec. 5 Joe Kamalick, "Three ARVN Officers Face
Trial in MP Deaths" Pacific Stars and Stripes, November 27, 1969, Page 6
(return)
[v] PFC Jack Fuller, "No Ruling in MP Slayings"
Pacific Stars and Stripes, December 19, 1969, Page 6 (return)
[vi] Spec. 4 John Cody, "MP Murder Case 'May Reopen'
Soon" Pacific Stars and Stripes, February 19, 1970, Page 6
(return)
James Workman - Additional Pages
The following three links will take you to web pages of newspaper articles
provided by the Workman family and clipped from the local Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania
area newspapers as events unfolded in Saigon.
The fourth link will take you to a web page of images.
Follow the links below to view those James Workman pages.
Entries for Workman and Cox on the online Vietnam Memorial Wall
To read a letter from Mike Bacome, who served with James Workman in Saigon, please click here --- Letter
To read a letter from Harry Lambert, an MP serving in Vietnam at the time of the killings, please click here --- Letter
To read a letter from Nigel Brooks, a civilian investigator serving in Vietnam at the time of the killings, please click here --- Letter
Laudizen King
December, 2009
Los Angeles, CA