A Captain’s Choice Brett Crozier chose his crew over his career. His decision surprised no one who knows him.

A Captain’s Choice Brett Crozier chose his crew over his career. His decision surprised no one who knows him.

Editor’s note: Since this profile of Capt. Brett Crozier was first published, The Chronicle learned that he has tested positive for the coronavirus.

His plan worked.

Navy Capt. Brett Crozier’s unorthodox plea for help to protect thousands of sailors from the coronavirus infecting his aircraft carrier last week got the attention of his superiors before there was any loss of life or critical case of the illness.

A day after it came to light, more than half of the crew of the Theodore Roosevelt was set to be off-boarded in Guam and sent into isolation in individual hotel rooms.

For Crozier, a 50-year-old career naval officer who grew up in Santa Rosa, ensuring the safety of the nearly 5,000 sailors on his ship was his priority — more so even than his own career, which he may have sacrificed as a result.

Just days after The Chronicle broke the news of Crozier’s letter appealing for help, he was relieved of his command. Acting Navy Secretary Thomas Modly said the ship commander showed “extremely poor judgment” in sending the letter to more than 20 people, allowing it to reach the public. On Saturday, President Trump weighed in, saying, “I thought it was terrible what he did.”

Many military experts, though, heralded the captain’s efforts, but suggested the young carrier chief, who was on track to become an admiral, had probably sunk what had seemed a promising future.

That sort of sacrifice is entirely in character for Crozier, say those who grew up with him in Santa Rosa, studied with him at the Naval Academy and trained with him in flight school. The movie “Top Gun” may have inspired Crozier to want to fly F-18s, but he was far from the cocky Navy aviator stereotype.

“This is the last guy to go and seek attention. He’s not a glory hound — not that guy,” said Brett Odom, who roomed with him in flight school in Florida and watched him take command of the Roosevelt just six months ago at a ceremony in San Diego. “When he took command, I thought, ‘Wow, the Navy got something right here.’”

“Brett is not somebody who would go outside the chain of command to glory-seek or press-seek, that’s just not him,” said Mark Roppolo, who has known Crozier since they entered the Naval Academy together in 1988.

On Thursday, hundreds of sailors crowded onto the Theodore Roosevelt’s hangar deck, rhythmically chanting, “Captain Crozier! Captain Crozier!” as their former commander descended the gangplank and stepped onto the dock in Guam.

“And that’s how you send off one of the greatest captains you’ve ever had,” one sailor narrated as he made a video of the sendoff. “A man for the people.”

Former Democratic North Bay Rep. Doug Bosco, who endorsed Crozier for admission to the Naval Academy more than 30 years ago, said Friday, “If you want a jury to tell you whether what he did was right — I’d take those cheering sailors as my jury.

“We all want to protect our children and our families and friends during this pandemic,” Bosco said. “That’s why so many people are supporting Capt. Crozier. He’s the embodiment of what we’re all supposed to be doing right now. Why should he be punished for something that we are all told to do?”

Before Crozier became the Navy captain who sent shock waves through military ranks by stepping outside protocols, he was a commander trying each day to squelch rumors and keep order as the situation aboard his ship worsened, sailors who spoke with The Chronicle said.

More than a dozen people — sailors on the Roosevelt and their family members — described what transpired the past two weeks aboard an infected warship powered by two nuclear reactors.

The Roosevelt sailors who spoke to The Chronicle wished to remain anonymous, as they were not authorized to speak to the media. The Chronicle agreed not to identify them in accordance with its policy on anonymous sources.

All wanted to speak out about the serious health concerns aboard the vessel and in the temporary group quarantines on shore. They wanted to support a captain they described as straight-shooting, who delivered daily updates over the intercom and whose ultimate decision to speak up for them, they believe, ensured their safety.

Crozier oversaw a ship of more than 4,800 sailors, a small and congested town afloat. Once the virus had come aboard, he struggled to keep crew members separated. Both the ship and the limited group quarantine facilities on shore in Guam did not come close to the guidelines for proper isolation endorsed by the Navy or the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Sailors commingled in bathrooms, mess halls, sleeping areas and equipment. Photos some shared with The Chronicle show narrow hallways and ladders, crowded work spaces and temporary cots set up close together inside a Guam gymnasium.

Crozier instituted twice-a-day cleanings, 30-minute sessions where bleach was swabbed throughout the ship’s interior. “Bleach-a-Palooza” crew members called it. Every hour, sailors had to check the ship’s bathrooms for cleanliness.

But the infection numbers kept rising, so the captain took the extraordinary step that would lead to a trending Twitter hashtag: #Crozierisahero. He sent off the letter seeking help for his crew.

“My reaction to the letter was totally ‘Freakin-A man, this captain really cares,’” an officer onboard the Roosevelt told The Chronicle. “I then went into my military mode and started to think that having a captain stand up to ‘The Man’ was a very bold move that could either hurt or help him when it comes to advancing to the rank of admiral.”

One shipmate called Crozier’s letter stunning.

“Felt as if there was someone with our best interests in mind. Don’t see that much,” the sailor said. “It’s usually mission first.”

Elizabeth Paz of Tulsa, Okla., read about Crozier’s letter and immediately texted her 19-year-old daughter aboard the carrier, who had been stressing out as the virus spread.

“Hang in there. News media are talking about your ship and what your captain is going to do,” she wrote her daughter, who was on her first deployment. “But I think he is a good man and trying to do what is best for all of you.”

By Saturday, the Navy said, 44% of the Roosevelt crew had been tested for the coronavirus; 155 positively. Just over 1,500 sailors had been moved ashore. There have been zero hospitalizations.

Matt Ginella grew up near Crozier in the Rincon Valley neighborhood of Santa Rosa, often attending backyard barbecues at his home. The Croziers “were the all-American family,” he said. “They weren’t super-military, ‘U-S-A! U-S-A!’ people. But they were super steady and grounded and down to earth.”

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Crozier, who has three younger sisters, played youth soccer and baseball growing up. He wasn’t the best athlete, wasn’t the worst, Ginella said, “but he always worked the hardest. You knew when you had Brett Crozier on your team, you had a quiet force.”

When he and Brett were 13 years old, one of their soccer teammates starting picking on Ginella during practice. Ginella remembered that Crozier stepped in, “got in the guy’s face and said, ‘You got a problem with him? Then you got a problem with me.’

“I never forgot that,” said Ginella, who now lives in Florida. “That’s what he was doing on the ship. That’s why tears came to my eyes when I saw the video of all those sailors cheering for him.”

As a boy, Crozier delivered newspapers and worked at Howarth Park, a community recreation area in Santa Rosa. He decided he wanted to be a fighter pilot after seeing “Top Gun” when he was 16, his mother Gina Crozier told the Santa Rosa Press Democrat last year. With the help of an endorsement from Bosco, his local congressman, he entered the Naval Academy after graduating from Santa Rosa High School in 1988.

At the Naval Academy, Crozier was not the type of student who stood out — at first glance.

“He’s not a flashy guy. He’s not a Patton-type leader,” said Roppolo, who served in the same company of three dozen midshipmen with Crozier for four years. “He’s a steady hand. He’s an ultra-marathoner, not a sprinter.”

He graduated from Annapolis in 1992 and two years later married his wife, Mary. He was deployed to Hawaii as a helicopter pilot, flying SH-60B Seahawk helicopters. In 1999, he served in the Navy Personnel Command. It is considered a plum assignment bestowed on high-achievers, as it involves matching personnel to their best-suited assignments.

Soon after, Crozier fulfilled his dream of becoming a fighter pilot. Since it is rare for a helicopter pilot to pivot to flying F-18s, he got tagged with the nickname “Chopper.”

“You’ve got to be a rock star” to make that transition, Odom said.

He continued climbing the Navy’s ladder, with assignments that took him to Japan and Italy. In 2007, he graduated from the Naval War College in Rhode Island with a master’s degree in national security and strategic studies. He and his wife have three sons, one who is in the Navy, another who is in ROTC while in college and a third who is in high school in their home base of San Diego.

In November, Crozier assumed command of the Theodore Roosevelt in San Diego. Several junior officers who had served under him flew in to witness it.

“It’s rare to see that many (junior officers) fly out on their own dime to be there for something like that,” said Odom, who served on active duty for 11 years.

It was clear that his friend was on the road to becoming an admiral.

“We told Brett that he probably wouldn’t speak to us after he got that stripe,” Odom said. “But he’s so self-deprecating. He was like, ‘Nah, I’m probably going to be coming to you guys some day asking for a job.’”

Just hours before he was relieved of command Thursday, Crozier wrote another letter, this time to his crew and their families.

“I recognize that the well-being of our Sailors is preciously important to you, and that is an understanding I do not take lightly,” he wrote. “The Sailors onboard are my top priority, and I promise to do everything I can do to take care of them.”

Many sailors and their parents were furious when they learned of his dismissal.

“Just can’t tell you how disappointed I am in the United States Navy right now. We got this one wrong,” one sailor said. “We would’ve ran through walls for him. Still would.”

Mark Blakewood, father of Chris Blakewood, a 24-year-old Roosevelt sailor from Orange Park, Fla., said he called his congressman to get Crozier reinstated.

“I plan to raise holy hell to my congressman and go after those pencil-pushers. They’re not the ones on the ship,” Blakewood said by phone. “That’s the kind of guy I want to go to war with, to put his crew’s safety ahead of his career. F—, I’d fight with that guy.”

Many in Washington and beyond are rushing to Crozier’s defense.

Said Democratic presidential front-runner Joe Biden: “Donald Trump’s acting Navy Secretary shot the messenger — a commanding officer who was faithful to both his national security mission and his duty to care for his sailors, and who rightly focused attention on a broader concern about how to maintain military readiness during this pandemic.”

A Change.org online petition to “Reinstate Captain Crozier as Commanding Officer” was signed by more than 114,000 people within a day after his dismissal. Social media memes popped up showing Crozier protecting his crew from “Big Navy.”

On Friday, 17 Democratic senators, including California Sen. Kamala Harris, wrote to the Defense Department’s inspector general asking for an investigation into the Navy’s response to the coronavirus outbreak on the carrier and Crozier’s dismissal.

“It is also difficult to understand how Capt. Crozier’s decision to copy ‘20 or 30 people’ on an email to his chain of command necessarily constitutes a breach warranting relief of command,” the senators wrote.

“Given the remarkable show of support for Capt. Crozier by members of his crew,” the senators wrote, “we are additionally worried about the impact of this decision on morale and readiness.”

Even Navy Secretary Modly, the man who dismissed him, said “this was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“I know that in my heart and in the heart and mind of this particular officer, every single thing that he was doing was with the best interests of the crew in mind,” Modly told conservative talk radio host Hugh Hewitt. “I know that the crew loves and respects him. But that’s not an excuse for exercising the judgment that he did.”

Others, like Bryan McGrath, managing director of defense consulting firm the FerryBridge Group, said that despite the merits of Crozier’s action, chain of command is sacrosanct.

“The country simply cannot have a Navy in which its commanders are freely communicating their concerns open source, NO MATTER HOW RIGHT CROZIER WAS IN THIS PARTICULAR CIRCUMSTANCE,” the retired naval officer said in a long Twitter thread.

Sen. Dianne Feinstein said Crozier’s action “would not seem to warrant a disciplinary action that essentially ends his career.”

Bosco, the congressman who recommended Crozier to the Naval Academy, isn’t counting him out yet.

“I don’t view this as the end of his career,” Bosco said. “I think he will be viewed as a hero by the American people. And heroes tend to surface again.”

Matthias Gafni is a San Francisco Chronicle staff writer, and Joe Garofoli is The Chronicle’s senior political writer. Email: matthias.gafni@sfchronicle.com, jgarofoli@sfchronicle.com Twitter: @mgafni, @joegarofoli