POW/MIA Day – The Sailor Who Fell Overboard and the Heroes Who Never Came Home

Every September, we pause to mark POW/MIA Recognition Day. It’s not a holiday of fireworks or parades — it’s a solemn day of memory and promise. A promise that we, as a Nation and as Sailors, will never forget those who were taken prisoner or those who never returned from the sea or the sky.

Sailors live by an unwritten creed: never abandon a shipmate. That spirit is what carries us through generations — from World War II to Korea, from the jungles of Vietnam to the mountains of Afghanistan. On POW/MIA Day, we hoist a mug not in celebration, but in remembrance.

A "Sea" Story - The Sailor Who “Fell” into Captivity

In April 1967, Petty Officer Doug Hegdahl was serving aboard the USS Canberra (CAG-2) off the coast of Vietnam. One evening, when a 5-inch gun fired a broadside, the concussion literally blasted him overboard. In the black waters of the Tonkin Gulf, Hegdahl found himself alone until North Vietnamese fishermen hauled him in. They turned him over to communist forces, who sent him to Hỏa Lò Prison — the “Hanoi Hilton” (Lowell Milken Center).

When he arrived in Hanoi, the aviators already in captivity couldn’t believe it. “You were what? Blown off a ship?” Most of them were pilots or senior officers shot down over North Vietnam. The idea that a 20-year-old enlisted deck Sailor had somehow ended up in the same prison seemed absurd. Some even thought he might be a spy.

A Lone Bluejacket Among Aviators

That was the reality: Hegdahl was the odd man out. Nearly every other American in the Hanoi Hilton was an aviator — Navy and Air Force officers, commanders, lieutenant commanders, captains, and majors. Combat-tested fliers with long flight logs and combat medals.

And then there was Hegdahl — an E-3 Gunner’s Mate Seaman. Not an officer. Not a pilot. Not even “shot down.” Just a junior deck Sailor who had been blown overboard when his ship fired her guns.

At first, some of the pilots thought his story had to be a cover. But it didn’t take long for them to see that this “farm kid” from South Dakota had steel in his spine. The North Vietnamese, on the other hand, dismissed him outright. They mocked him as “The Incredibly Stupid One” and assumed he wasn’t clever enough to resist or gather intelligence (Lowell Milken Center).

That mistake became his greatest weapon.

Hegdahl leaned into the role of the “dumb kid.” He pretended to be barely literate, mispronounced words on purpose, and acted confused when questioned about military matters. The act worked so well that his captors gave him small freedoms no one else had. That freedom gave him opportunities — and Hegdahl took them.

With the kind of low-key mischief only a Sailor could muster, he quietly sabotaged the enemy. While assigned yard-sweeping duty, he slipped dirt and sand into the fuel tanks of prison trucks, disabling at least five vehicles (We Are The Mighty; Independent). Fellow prisoners later joked that Hegdahl was fighting his own private war against the North Vietnamese motor pool — one handful of dirt at a time.

But his greatest act of resistance wasn’t mechanical sabotage. It was mental. With help from fellow POW Joe Crecca, he used the children’s rhyme “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” as a memory trick to encode the names, ranks, capture dates, and personal details of more than 250 fellow prisoners (Military Times). Every “E-I-E-I-O” carried the weight of a shipmate’s survival.

When the North Vietnamese offered him an early release — part of a propaganda ploy — Hegdahl at first refused, but senior officers ordered him to take it. Normally, POWs resisted early release to prevent the enemy from dividing them. But Hegdahl’s intelligence was too valuable. His shipmates insisted he go home with the information, even if it meant he carried the guilt of leaving them behind.

On August 5, 1969, after 866 days in captivity, Hegdahl was released. Emaciated but unbroken, he returned to the United States and delivered his memorized list to Congress and the Navy. That testimony confirmed who was still alive in Hanoi and exposed the brutal conditions at Hỏa Lò. NHHC’s photo archives show him at release, visibly worn but carrying priceless intelligence.

In a camp filled with senior officers, this junior enlisted Sailor — dismissed as “stupid” by his captors — turned the tables with quiet courage, sharp memory, and a dash of salty mischief.

Beyond the Sea Story

As Sailors, we love a good laugh at sea stories, but POW/MIA Day isn’t just about one remarkable man. It’s about the thousands who never came home.

Here are solid, official numbers as of now:

• Vietnam War: 1,567 Americans missing/unaccounted for (DPAA).

• World War II: Nearly 72,000 U.S. service members remain missing (National WWII Museum).

• Korean War: About 7,400 Americans still missing (Airborne & Special Operations Museum Foundation).

The Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency (DPAA) continues its mission every day to identify remains, bring closure to families, and keep the promise we made to our brothers and sisters-in-arms.

Honoring the Missing

POW/MIA Day is marked by the black-and-white flag that flies beneath Old Glory — a flag no Sailor needs explained. Its stark image of a man in profile before a guard tower and barbed wire is a reminder that freedom is never free.

On this day, we hoist our mugs of Old Salt Coffee and remember:

• The Sailors who languished in prison camps.

• The shipmates still missing on eternal patrol.

• The families who never stopped waiting for word.

Our brand was built on Maritime Heritage, Premium Coffee, and Giving Back. Honoring POWs and MIAs is part of that heritage. It’s why we tell these stories, it’s why we support our nonprofit partners, and it’s why we’ll never stop saying their names.

Learn more about the POW/MIA flag and its history (U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs)
Explore the POW Network’s archives of stories and biographies

Final Thoughts

Petty Officer Hegdahl may have stumbled into captivity in a way that seems almost comical, but what he carried out was no laughing matter. His memory gave hope. His story reminds us that Sailors — no matter how young, how junior, or how unlikely their path — can make a difference in the lives of shipmates.

This POW/MIA Day, let’s remember him, and let’s remember all who never came home.

Hoist a mug. Say their names. And keep the promise.

Fair winds, shipmates. You are not forgotten.

Photo courtesy - Naval History and Heritage Command