By Robert Riggs

As I watched the daring rescue of the two airmen shot down over Iran in early April 2026, I found myself thinking of John Bagwell.
His story, which he shared with me on my True Crime ReporterÂŽ podcast, unfolded nearly six decades earlier, but it remains gripping, timely, and no less dramatic.
In 1968, Bagwell was a 19-year-old Armed Forces Radio disc jockey in Vietnam. The volunteer from Ardmore, Oklahoma, believed he had landed one of the safest jobs in a war zone.
But the Battle of Hue left him wounded and hunted behind enemy lines in the bloodiest fight of the entire Vietnam War.
Good Morning Vietnam
Hollywoodâs Good Morning Vietnam featured Robin Williams as a fast-talking Army DJ in Saigon battling commanders over musical taste.
Bagwell told me his experience was different. General John Tolson, a pioneer in the use of helicopters in Vietnam, wanted his troops to hear the same rock music blasting out of radio stations back home.
Bagwell recalled that Tolson âwas listening one day and heard the classical music and asked his aides, what the heck was going on? Why were we playing classical music?â
So Bagwell opened his shift with a flourish, stretching the words into a signature call.
Gooooooood Afternoon Vietnam
He became known as âthe Scrawny Thing,â a nickname born of his 108-pound frame. Jokes about his skinny build took on a life of its own.
Radio jingles used knock, knock jokes to poke fun, âHey, Bagwell, you’re so skinny. I heard that when you want to take a shower, you have to jump around just to get wet.â
Bagwell says his fans started sending him jokes. âThey would scribble a joke on the back of an envelope, or they would see me at the mess hall, and somebody would holler, thereâs John Bagwell Bagwell, youâre so skinny (punch line). I would jot it down, and that was the next dayâs joke.â
Years later, a veteran helicopter pilot told Bagwell his crew once laughed so hard that they nearly crashed.
We Gotta Get Out Of This Place
Bagwellâs show became so popular that troops around the 1st Cavalry Divisionâs helicopter base in An Khe used their radios not only to call in artillery strikes, but also to request their favorite songs, including the protest anthem We Gotta Get Out Of This Place by the Animals.
For a time, the war seemed far away from Bagwellâs microphone.
A Ticket Home In Sight
Bagwell was a âshort timerâ approaching the one-year mark when soldiers would get a ticket home.
On January 30, 1968, in advance of 1st Cav, Bagwell moved to an Armed Forces Station in the Imperial City of Hue.
Hue was the countryâs intellectual and cultural capital, located near the demilitarized zone (DMZ) with Communist North Vietnam.
Keeping The Ducks Out
Bagwell felt strangely exposed at his new quarters.
The stationâs eight-man team of military broadcasters and a visiting civilian engineer for NBC lived in a small one-story house a mile away from a fortified military headquarters.
There was no guarded perimeter. A six-inch high string of barbed wire was strung across the backyard.
âI said this can’t be right. That’s not going to keep anybody from coming into the house. And they said, Oh no, no, no, that’s to keep ducks from the nearby pond from pooping in the yard.â Bagwell found it incredulous. âThey were more concerned about keeping the ducks out than keeping the enemy out. But we didn’t think there was any enemy to keep out.â
The Tet Offensive
The broadcasters sat down outside to watch the annual fireworks celebration to start the Lunar New Year. The holiday was usually honored by a cease-fire.
At 2:30 AM on January 31, 1968, gunfire and mortar rounds erupted.
Ten thousand North Vietnamese Army Regulars and Viet Cong Guerrillas descended on the city of 140,000 from hidden camps and tunnels.
The surprise attack on U.S. forces, dubbed the Tet Offensive, unfolded across South Vietnam.
But Hue bore the worst of it.
A contingent of Marines tried to rescue Bagwell and the broadcasters but was turned back by heavy casualties.
Three days passed while they waited for rescue. On the fourth day, all hell broke loose.
The Day The Music Died


The broadcastersâ house came under a 16-hour assault.
Bullets whizzed by Bagwellâs head as he was guarding a window.
A teenage enemy soldier armed with his AK-47 nervously missed him.
Standing face-to-face at ten feet, Bagwell shot him dead.
âI remember when he fell, the rest of the guys cheered, and I sat there and thought, What in the world is going on? You know, the Army teaches you to kill, but they don’t teach you how to feel when you kill somebody. And I had this overwhelming guilt come over me. I’ve just killed this kid. Of course, I’m a kid too. I’m barely 19, almost 20, at that time, and I just remember thinking, What the hell are we doing here?â
On the fifth day, the enemy surrounded the house and unleashed a barrage of rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs), blowing out a wall.
The Army sergeant in charge of the station took a deadly round to the chest.
The team split up and ran in opposite directions.
Wounded And Lost
Bagwell followed Corey Niles, the NBC engineer who was shot in the leg.
âI weighed 108 pounds, and ironically, I had on a 30-inch pair of fatigues, because there’s not 28 inch fatigues available, and I had a 28-inch waist. So now all of a sudden, I’ve got my belt around Corey. I’ve got to lift him up somehow. I’ve got to hold on to my pants because they’re about to fall down. And I get him up and we try to escape.â
Niles was mortally wounded by another round, leaving Bagwell alive but lost.
The six other military broadcasters were captured. When Steven Stoub, the disc jockey who had arrived with Bagwell in Hue, faltered from a bullet wound, North Vietnamese soldiers executed him.
Meanwhile, Bagwell was running for his life when a bullet went through his foot.
Knock And It Shall Be Opened To You
A priest at a Catholic Church answered Bagwellâs pounding on the door. âI said, please, you help, help me. And I’m pointing to my jacket, Army, military. I said, Army, military, American, you help me? And he says, Oh, sure, come on in. I’ll help you. He spoke perfect English.â
Fifty wounded Vietnamese peasants huddled inside. The priest removed Bagwellâs uniform, dressed him as a peasant, and wrapped his head and face in bandages to disguise his Caucasian identity.Â
Suddenly, the door flew open. An enemy soldier stuck his AK47 two inches away from Bagwellâs nose as he eyed him.
âI closed my eyes, and I thought, There’s no way he’s gonna know that I’m not an American. I’m gonna die. And I looked up, and they had moved along the side, and for some reason, he thought that I was just another Vietnamese, a peasant.â
No Sanctuary In Hue
After the enemy soldiers left, the priest hid Bagwell inside the church steeple.
An American artillery unit responding to reports of enemy soldiers inside started shelling the church.

The rounds blew out the walls around Bagwell, giving him a panoramic view of fighting in the city.
Crawling Toward Freedom In A Rice Paddy
At nightfall, the priest pointed Bagwell toward the lights of an American position more than a mile away.
At 11:00 PM, Bagwell crawled barefoot into a nearby rice paddy and dragged himself through the mud for hours.
âI woke up every chicken, every duck, every farm animal. I’m making all kinds of noise as I go through that night, I figure that somebody’s going to know I’m out there, and that’s when the helicopter flies over.â
Gunship Search Light
âI thought I’m dead. Here’s an American helicopter looking at somebody that’s in civilian clothes that looks like a Vietnamese crawling toward an American military outpost. They’re going to take me out.â But the gunship peeled away.
At seven in the cold February morning, covered in wet mud and shivering, Bagwell suddenly sneezed and aroused attention.
Soldiers opened fire when he jumped up, waving his arms, shouting donât shoot, Iâm an American.
Donât You Recognize An Okie Accent
But they were not convinced even by Bagwellâs distinct Oklahoma accent.
âHe said, âWhat are you doing out there?â And I said, Well, I was with the American Forces Radio Station. And he says, â We don’t believe you. They’re all prisoners of war, or they’re dead. There’s only one body that we haven’t found, and that’s a Bagwell.â Bagwell shouted back, âI am Bagwell!â
A Ticket Home
At a MASH unit, Bagwell convinced an Army nurse not to amputate his leg because gangrene had turned it black from his foot wound.
Bagwell called his mother in Oklahoma.
Later, relying on outdated information, an Army officer arrived at her door to tell her that her son was missing in action and presumed dead.
Bagwell recovered and finished six weeks of duty left on his one-year commitment for a ticket out of Vietnam.
His mother had saved a Time Magazine article about a priest who was executed for hiding an American soldier during the Battle of Hue.
In a voice still marked by gratitude, Bagwell said he believes it was the Catholic priest who saved his life.
POWs
The captured broadcasters were marched up the Ho Chi Minh Trail, where they spent five years enduring abuse in North Vietnamâs notorious prisons.
Two survived solitary confinement by building radio stations from the ground up in their minds.
They were freed with 591 American prisoners of war in 1973.
Vietnam Turning Point
The Tet Offensiveâs Battle of Hue marked a turning point of the American war in Vietnam.
It took twenty-four days of bloody fighting to take back the city.
The Most Trusted Man In America
After witnessing its aftermath, legendary CBS newsman Walter Cronkite pronounced the war unwinnable.
President Lyndon B. Johnson (LBJ) reportedly said, âIf Iâve lost Cronkite, Iâve lost Middle America.â
In a televised address, Johnson shocked the nation by announcing he would not run for reelection.
The Vietnam War ended on April 30, 1975, as Saigon fell to the North Vietnamese Army during a massive, chaotic helicopter evacuation of the few American and South Vietnamese allies left there.
Bagwell married, reared a family, and ran a Dallas marketing agency for 45 years before retiring.
âI know that I should have been killed 60 years ago when I was in Vietnam. I wake up every morning thankful to be alive. Whatever happens, nothing can compare to Vietnam, and I think I’m a better person for surviving.â
FAQS
1 What happened to John Bagwell in Vietnam
John Bagwell was a 19-year-old Armed Forces Radio broadcaster who was caught in the Tet Offensive after being transferred to Hue in 1968. He was wounded, escaped a deadly assault on his quarters, and spent hours trying to survive behind enemy lines.
2 Why was Bagwell in such danger if he was not a combat soldier
Bagwell believed he had one of the safest jobs in the war because he was a radio disc jockey. But when North Vietnamese and Viet Cong forces overran Hue, his broadcasting post became a battlefield, and he was suddenly fighting for his life.
3 How did Bagwell avoid being captured or killed
After being wounded, Bagwell found refuge in a Catholic church where a priest disguised him as a Vietnamese peasant. Later, he crawled barefoot through a muddy rice paddy at night toward an American position while trying to avoid being mistaken for the enemy by both sides.
4 What happened to the other broadcasters
The other military broadcasters did not escape with Bagwell. Six were captured, and one of them, Steven Stoub, was executed after being wounded. The captured men were later marched up the Ho Chi Minh Trail and spent years in North Vietnamese prisons.
5 Why is Bagwellâs story important today
His story captures the chaos of the Tet Offensive and the human cost of the Vietnam War. It also shows how quickly a seemingly safe assignment could turn into a desperate fight for survival and how the battle helped change Americaâs view of the war.
Hue 1968- A Turning Point of the American War in Vietnam is my favorite book about the Tet Offensive by Mark Bowden, author of Black Hawk Down
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