Douglas Hegdahl was born in South Dakota farm country. Tall and solidly built, he was a prototypical middle American. After graduating from high school, he decided he needed a change of scenery. It being the middle of the Vietnam War, Uncle Sam was all too happy to oblige. As with a good many of those called to serve, his initiation began with being fucked over by his recruiter. When asked what would get him to join the Navy, Hegdahl replied that he’d like to visit Australia. With a malicious grin, the recruiter assured him that this would not be a problem. Hegdahl was assigned to the USS Canberra, a ship named after the capital of his desired destination. Classic.
On April 6th, 1967, the USS Canberra was chilling around the Gulf of Tonkin, taking potshots along the Vietnamese coast. Before manning his station in the steamy bowels of the ship, Hegdahl decided he could use a little fresh air. Instead of a cool breeze, he was met with a full battery of naval guns firing into the distance, the concussion crashing across the deck and blasted him overboard three miles off the coast of Vietnam. Twelve hours later, a Vietnamese fishing boat scooped him up and turned him in to the Commies, leading to an extended stay in the Hanoi Hilton.
The nature of Hegdahl’s accidental capture put him in a tough position. Despite telling them everything they wanted to hear, his interrogators refused to believe his story, convinced that he must be some sort of commando. How could someone be so stupid and so lucky to survive being blown overboard their own ship? While receiving more than a few buttstrokes and baton strikes, Hegdahl realized the Commies’ incredulity about his story could be used to his advantage. It was at this moment he became a consummate method actor, playing up a dumb country bumpkin stereotype to Oscar-worthy believability. Slack-jawed, he stared blankly at his captors, drawling out his words slow as molasses. To stop his mistreatment, Hegdahl surprised the guards by agreeing to write a propaganda statement, incredibly rare for otherwise uncooperative American POW’s. Jumping over themselves with excitement, they provided him a pen and paper. With a goofy and bashful grin, Hegdahl admitted that being a poor farm boy, he never had any of that fancy book learnin’. Eager to get an easy propaganda victory by winning over this American peasant to their side, the Commies went so far as to provide him an English tutor. Nonetheless, Hegdahl’s stupidity proved stronger than Communist education, skillfully maintaining his illiteracy. After a few weeks, the guards gave up trying to teach "The Incredibly Stupid One."
This plan worked wonderfully for Hegdahl. His dim-witted demeanor turned him into something of a pet, and he was allowed almost total freedom to wander around the prison. Harmlessly and endlessly sweeping up around the grounds, Hegdahl passed notes between his fellow POWs and dispensed extra rations he was given. He even weaponized his janitorial services, covertly dumping small bits of dirt into the gas tanks of trucks, eventually disabling five.