From the CEO of Stifel

When I received an invitation to visit the USS Harry S. Truman, a Nimitz-class, nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, I was honored. I thought of the Navy veterans in my own family: my dad, who served on the USS Midway in the 1950s, and my older brother Rick, who served on the USS Kitty Hawk in the 1970s. If my dad and brother could spend four years in the Navy, surely I could handle a “VIP” invitation to spend two days and one night aboard. So, I thought, why not?

The Navy moves fast. “Pack light,” I was told. “Wear comfortable shoes.” And, most ominously, “be in good physical shape.” Wait, what was that last one? Before I knew it, I was airborne, en route from a base in Norfolk, Va., to the HST as it conducted exercises in the Atlantic. We were welcomed aboard by the ship’s arrestor cables, which yanked our plane to a stop on the short runway. I learned later that I was now part of the exclusive club of those who have landed on a carrier: a “tail hooker.” I resolved to do some reflecting before tattooing that on my arm.

If you have never been on an aircraft carrier, there is no easy way to convey the colossal scale of it. A floating city, really a moving island, with its own airport and nuclear power plant to give you some sense of the complexity. But the scale is something you must feel for yourself. At more than 1,000 feet long and as high as a 20-story building, it was built to house, feed, and protect over 3,000 crewmembers. It has an almost unlimited range and a fuel supply that can last for decades. The sheer size alone almost brings the impossible into reach.

But not quite -- because the thing that seemed most impossible to me, even as I watched fighter jets being catapulted off a 300-foot runway, was not the technical marvel of the thing but the cooperation, coordination, and humanity of the crew. During my visit, I was fortunate to meet both the current and prospective commanding officers of the HST. Both were impressive and thoughtful sailors as well as masters of the intricate logistics of the ship. But their orders and designs were carried out by a crew of thousands, most of whom were 18 to 22-year-old kids.

One of the first crewmembers I met during my visit was a 25-year-old seaman from Puerto Rico. He told me that his daughter was born while he was deployed. I commiserated. When my daughter was born, I almost missed the back nine of a golf match. Yes, but here he was, making that sacrifice alongside thousands like him. Whatever their backgrounds, whatever their political persuasions, whatever camps they might belong to back home, here they all awoke at dawn and went to work in the name of something larger than themselves. And, although I met hundreds of sailors during the visit, not one of them ever mentioned anything about a “remote” work environment!

Over two exhausting and exhilarating days we met more of the crew by exploring the entire ship and climbing and descending more stairs than any workout. We went to sleep around midnight in our “VIP staterooms,” which included twin bunk beds and a roommate, a 50-yard trek in the dark to the “head,” and the dulcet sounds of the takeoff catapults running until 2 a.m. Reveille, of course, was at 6 a.m. sharp.

I left the ship with a new appreciation for the service and sacrifice of the men and women in our military. Without their diligence and their dedication to service -- to the nation and to each other -- even a multi-billion-dollar ship like the USS Harry S. Truman would be a mere hunk of metal, not a floating American city carrying out a mission to serve and protect our great country. Contemplating this as I left the ship behind, I took with me a renewed sense of duty of my own - to support our service people who put their lives on the line to protect and preserve the American way of life.

Ron Kruszewski Chairman and CEO Stifel Financial Corp.