The Incredibly Stupid One – An American Hero
And a story of cunning and courage
As many of my readers know, most my writing started out focused on military and legal issues and has evolved to frequently discuss current politics and events. But, as I have said, I often throw in a “dash of history.”
This story is in the latter category. It is the story of a young man who was under the control of very powerful people who all came to regard him as incredibly stupid. But The Incredibly Stupid One as he came to be known, performed courageously under incredibly difficult and dangerous circumstances. And he did so in a shrewd and crafty way that few could duplicate. He is near the top of the pyramid of true American heroes.
Join the Navy. See the world.
Like many a young man before him, Douglas Hegdahl wanted to join the Navy to see the world. He told his recruiter that the only thing that he wanted was to be able to go to Australia. You will not be surprised to learn that the recruiter assured young Doug that this would not be a problem because he could guarantee him a shipboard assignment on the USS Canberra. The recruiter was confident that she would make a port call at her name namesake city in Australia. He appears to have neglected to mention that Canberra is not a port city but is 100 miles or so inland from the Tasman Sea off the eastern coast of Australia.
Thus, in 1967, Doug Hegdahl was fresh out of Navy boot camp. As a seaman apprentice, his was the second-lowest rank in the entire US Navy, outranking only seamen recruits who were still in Boot Camp. And sure enough, he was aboard the USS Canberra, although she was offshore of North Vietnam in the Tonkin Gulf, not anywhere near Australia. He was twenty years old.
On April 6, 1967, Doug got up early to stand the 0400 watch. Because his duty station was in an aft ammunition handling room below deck, he went up on the deck before going on watch, in order to take in a sea breeze and some fresh air.
Man overboard.
No doubt due to his inexperience, Seaman Apprentice Hegdahl did not realize the danger he was in as he was standing on the fore deck near the Canberra’s big 8-inch guns. And he had no inkling that those guns were about to unleash a fire mission on a target in North Vietnam.
When the guns fired, Doug was standing too close.
The concussion blew him overboard into the waters of the Tonkin Gulf. The Canberra was under way, and no one could hear his cries for help. He was left floating in the sea, helplessly watching the Canberra steam away while continuing to fire at North Vietnamese targets.
Because he had not been on watch and had no prior inkling that he was in harm’s way, Doug was totally unprepared to survive alone in the sea. He had no lifejacket and was wearing a pair of heavy “boon docker” boots with his utility work trousers.
Notwithstanding the inexperience that had put him in this pickle, Doug followed the life-saving steps he had been taught in boot Camp. He took off his trousers, tied a knot at the bottom of each leg, and held them upside down above his head as high as he could reach, while trying simultaneously to tread water and hold the waistband of the trousers open as far as he could. He then lowered his arms quickly to bring his trousers down to the surface of the ocean, trapping air inside them so that he could then tie off the waist and use the somewhat inflated trousers as a makeshift life preserver. If you think that sounds awkward, try it sometime while floating in the ocean, bobbing in the waves, and while not wearing any other floatation device.
Doug’s jury-rigged life preserver was good enough to keep him afloat and alive until about 1800 hours (6:00 p.m.) when he was picked up by some Vietnamese fishermen, who dutifully turned him over to the North Vietnamese militia.
By 1967 there were several hundred American servicemen languishing in North Vietnamese prisons. The great majority were pilots who were captured after being shot down. The Vietnamese were perplexed by this strange captive who had been found floating in the sea far offshore. Understandably, they thought that any man who was attempting to infiltrate North Vietnam alone and from that far out at sea must be a CIA agent or an elite commando of some sort. The only thing to be done with that sort of mysterious operative was to ship him off to the infamous Hoa Lo prison, known to the prisoners as the Hanoi Hilton, for interrogation. So off he went.