Growing up in San Francisco's Marina District, Commander Rodgers imagined a very clear path for himself. He pictured mornings at St. Vincent de Paul, afternoons playing baseball at Funston (Moscone) and one day wearing the Sacred Heart varsity uniform that he always admired. But life has a way of rearranging even the most carefully imagined plans. 

Shortly after being accepted to SH for freshmen year, his father, who worked for Bechtel Engineering as a mechanical engineer received orders to Cairo, Egypt to work on a pipeline that was being built across the desert, connecting Alexandria to the north shore to the Red Sea in Suez. Suddenly, the world he knew—baseball diamonds, the familiar fog, dreams of following in the footsteps of SH athletes—was replaced by a move halfway across the globe.

"I wasn't terribly happy about it at first," he admits. "But it ended up being a tremendous experience—one I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

In Egypt, he attended an American school and was immersed in cultures, histories and perspectives far from what he'd known in San Francisco. "It was a very different era," he reflects. "We didn't live with today's notion of global terrorism. It felt safe, fascinating and eye-opening."

By junior year with his father's assignment in Egypt concluded, he was back in San Francisco finally walking the halls of Sacred Heart. His days were filled with challenging classes—chemistry with Emil Moy, physics with Brother Warren, FSC—and afternoons with the baseball team he had long dreamed of joining. "Those two teachers set a standard and didn't cut anyone any slack. You earned what you got," he says. "Same with Coach Phillips and Coach Fran. I wasn't at the top of the class or the best on the team, but I was pushed. And that mattered."

He played basketball his junior year, though he shifted his focus fully to baseball as a senior. If anything, he now wishes he'd stuck with multiple sports longer. "Kids specialize too early now," he says. "Playing everything you can makes you better at the one you love most."

Sacred Heart left him with more than memories. It grounded him in a lesson he carries through every chapter of his life. Whether fielding a ground ball, balancing a chemistry equation, or later, navigating life-or-death responsibilities in the Navy, the message stayed the same: nothing is given; everything is earned. 

After graduation, he attended the U.S. Naval Academy, earning a degree in oceanography. Though he didn't love every weather course at the time, the foundation proved invaluable. He became a Navy diver and eventually an EOD technician, work that combined technical skill, calm under pressure and unwavering teamwork. EOD, he explains, is the military's bomb disposal community (each branch of service has one). Navy EOD sailors focus heavily on underwater explosives and mine clearance. "You're part of a small team, three, four, maybe five people, working in environments where you can rely on each other completely," he says. "Even as a leader, you don't make decisions alone. Sometimes the most junior person has the best idea. You learn to ask, to listen and to trust."

His proudest moment came in 2003, during the Iraq War, when he deployed with his unit to clear two major ports, Umm Qasr and Az Zubayr, so that U.S. and coalition ships could safely deliver critical supplies. "Bringing everyone home—130, 140 people—that was the greatest accomplishment," he says quietly and humbly. The operation was complex. His unit employed divers, EOD techs, Marines, Navy SEALs, special boat operators, and even trained dolphins capable of locating underwater mines. The team worked together to mark hazards, neutralize explosive devices and secure the waterways under the Kuwait border. "It was an unusual mix of communities," he laughs. "A healthy competition, for sure. But it made us better."

After retiring from the Navy in 2006, an idea that was born on a pier in Iraq resurfaced. During their deployment, he and his colleague Kurt Nelson had relied on early underwater drones to survey the seafloor. In the wake of 9/11, they found themselves asking a sobering question: If adversaries could learn to fly planes into buildings, what would stop someone from placing underwater explosives in our own ports at home?

"We looked at each other and thought, 'Maybe this is what we should do when we get out,'" he said. 

In 2006, they founded Orca Maritime, a company dedicated to underwater mapping, mine-hunting technologies and autonomous vehicle training. Their mission: create detailed "before" maps of U.S. harbors so any suspicious change could be detected quickly—potentially preventing a catastrophic attack.

Selling the idea to federal agencies wasn't easy. "People thought it was interesting but unlikely," he says. "I'm convinced it will take a real underwater incident before we see serious investment."

Still, Orca Maritime has grown into a respected company that supports the Navy and helps identity and safely address old ammunition dumping sites around the country. They train operators, serve as a technical bridge between military labs and the fleet and continue to advocate for proactive underwater security. 

Today, he and his wife of 39 years, Karen (Schmitt, also from San Francisco) live in Coronado, California where he retired in 2006 after his final tours in the Navy. They have three grown children: Aly, a project manager at CrunchLabs; Joe, a Navy helicopter pilot; and Andy, who is in the Navy EOD training pipeline. But San Francisco remains woven into his life—most recently, he attended yet another dinner with his beloved 1978 Sacred Heart baseball team and Coach Steve Franceschi at Firenze by Night in North Beach. "It's a great group that I'm honored to be a part of," he says with a smile. "We still have a lot of fun."

When asked what he would tell current SHC students preparing for the next chapter of their lives, his answer mirrors the values shaped by teachers, coaches and service: 

"You're going to discover something you're passionate about when you least expect it. And you can do it—you just have to put in the work. Anything worth doing takes time. Anything worth doing for a living takes commitment. So put in the time. Put in the work. And don't try to do everything alone. The people around you will help."