Navy throws captain overboard

This post was published in the Wilson Times April 11, 2020.

That brotherhood of military veterans, whether they served in combat or not, has detected an odor of unfairness in the removal of Navy Capt. Brett Crozier from command of the aircraft carrier Theodore Roosevelt. Crozier’s relief (essentially firing) was the result of his persistent appeal to the Navy to get sailors with COVID-19 symptoms off the Roosevelt. Crozier sent an email to Navy brass, urging officials to let the Roosevelt dock, evacuate the infected sailors and decontaminate the ship. Instead of protecting the health of the ship’s crew (there is no way to practice social distancing aboard a warship), the Navy relieved Crozier of his command and effectively ended his career.

One can argue, as some critics have, that Crozier was not following the chain of command when he sent that email, which eventually ended up in a newspaper. Some went even further, to claim Crozier’s letter might give hostile powers key intelligence about the ship’s combat readiness.

I spent three years in the Coast Guard responding to letters from service members or their families who had written to members of Congress. The complaints were usually about duty assignments or discipline, along the lines of “My son joined the Coast Guard to guard the coast; so why is he in Greenland?” My job title was “congressional correspondent.” I replied to the members of Congress, explaining the Coast Guard’s circumstances, process or reasoning. Some veteran personnel didn’t like the idea of accepting complaints outside the chain of command, but we treated the letters as another information source that deserved our attention. Among the officers I served under, Crozier’s letter would have launched an informal inquiry, not a rebuke for working outside the chain of command. If Crozier’s letter can be categorized as outside the chain of command, it was written only after repeated efforts through official channels to alert senior staff to the crisis aboard the Roosevelt.

Criticism of Crozier looked more suspect after hundreds of crewmembers lined the decks to cheer Crozier as he left the Roosevelt for the last time. Crozier’s punishment began to look more severe or even ridiculous, and some high-ranking veterans defended Crozier.

Then Acting Secretary of the Navy Thomas Modly lashed out at Crozier this week in language that is entirely improper for any serious organization, least of all one that depends on group loyalty. Modly, whoå called Crozier “either naïve or stupid,” apparently feared getting “crossways with the president,” as his predecessor had, and being fired, so he did his best to emulate the commander-in-chief’s caustic language and disrespect for subordinates.

A Navy officer doesn’t get to command an aircraft carrier without years of vetting through annual fitness reports and promotion boards aimed at making sure only the finest officers are given the awesome responsibility of operating a multi-billion-dollar ship with nearly 5,000 crew members, thousands of lethal weapons, ranging from sidearms to aircraft, missiles and nuclear weapons.

Modly, who later apologized for his speech to Roosevelt sailors on Guam and has since resigned, did not behave like a senior member of the chain of command. Rather, he sounded like a petulant child, using profanity and claiming Crozier’s actions were a “betrayal.” That word shows his criticism was not about military matters but about public relations or politics. In military terms, “betrayal” is a criminal offense, so it’s not a word to use haphazardly.

The president has preferred “treason” — a word the Constitution limits to “levying war against” the United States — as his go-to invective.

Sailing — really sailing — again

My time "afloat" during my stint in the Coast Guard consisted of one weekend training cruise on the USCGC Cuyahoga, a relic of the Coast Guard's battles against rum runners during the 1920s. The 125-foot (dubbed a "buck and a quarter") Cuyahoga had been converted to a training vessel stationed at the Coast Guard Reserve Training Center in Yorktown, Va. My cruise with a crew of officer candidates and a small number of regular crew members took me from the mouth of the York River up the Chesapeake Bay beneath the traffic-clogged Bay Bridge to Curtis Bay outside Baltimore. Bright and early the next morning, we began the trip back to Yorktown.

So when my wife and I were invited to sail — really sail — out of New Bern Sunday, it didn't take me long to accept the invitation. My time with a sailing vessel had been limited to a hot half hour or so in a homemade sailboat on Lake Norman, where the wind died and left us stranded.

Our friends welcomed us aboard their 36-foot sloop, and we motored out of the marina into open waters of the wide Neuse River. The guests got the sailing experience by hauling lines, cranking a winch, helping to rig the jib and the spinnaker and enjoying the quiet of travel powered by a light wind. The experience emphasized the work involved in catching the wind with the just-right combination of sail and rudder, the intricacies of rigging a sailboat and the confusing array of sailcloth and lines. Making motion from a light breeze is no easy task, even with modern instruments and equipment.

The enjoyable afternoon disabused me of any latent youthful fantasy about owning a sailboat. As enjoyable a hobby as sailing is, it's also a lot of work, and I have enough work to do as it is.

One footnote: Several years after my cruise on the Cuyahoga, a similar training cruise ended in tragedy when the Cuyahoga, with an officer candidate at the helm, veered in front of a cargo vessel, which plowed the smaller ship beneath it. Several office candidates died.

On Veterans Day, I proudly wear the title

I was a reluctant veteran, but on this Veterans Day, I gladly share the spotlight with those who came before me and after — men and women who served their country, wore the uniform and sacrificed (even in small ways) for the nation's good.

Watching a History Channel documentary on the Vietnam War last night, I was reminded of why I was reluctant to fulfill my obligation. By the time I faced mandated military service (my draft number was 29), most of the American public had turned against the war in Vietnam. The carnage in that distant land seemed pointless; President Nixon was already withdrawing troops under his new "Vietnamization" policy. I chose an option that made it unlikely (though not improbable) that I would serve in Vietnam. I applied for and won a slot in Coast Guard Officer Candidate School.

In retrospect, it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I spent three years in Washington, D.C., at Coast Guard Headquarters. I worked for some amazingly efficient and dedicated senior officers. I met and got to know people from all over the country. My horizons expanded greatly. I experienced the metropolitan atmosphere of the D.C. area. My respect for those in uniform grew enormously. I developed great pride in the Coast Guard and its members.

I proudly claim the title of veteran, though I never faced combat, never endured an overseas deployment, never spent more than a couple of days at sea, and never had to work very hard after graduating OCS. At the same time, I learned what all service members learned — to focus on what's important, to obey orders, to respect those in authority, to work as a team, to be confident, to take pride in your work, to do things right the first time, to make sure there's "a place for everything and every thing in its place," to honor your oath to uphold the Constitution.

Most every veteran takes away these lessons from their years in uniform. Even 36 years after my active service ended, these lessons are still with me. I am a veteran.