Skip to main content

Let's Get Social

Let me take you back to the days when “MaBell” dominated how you communicated with distant family and friends. I’d venture to say your primary means was a rotary dial telephone, undoubtedly a party line, some had to crank, attached to the wall in your home. Getting social meant the neighbors were listening in to your phone conversations.

How times have changed! Today’s pilot can communicate with their friends and former squadron mates worldwide on a variety of devices. A cellphone, laptop computer, tablet, smartphone, or a television connected to your home WiFi network. Social media, via the internet, provides a much broader range of options. Thousands communicate daily from a visit to a museum, a video segment from an airshow, or post a compelling story shared with a veteran. 

For our patrons, it all begins at the Foundation’s website. This is the launch point for all our public activities, educational outreach, and social media outlets. We’re proud to report our active Facebook community has grown to over 25,550 likes! This summer we launched two social media initiatives; Twitter, @FlyUSMC1 and a YouTube channel.

If you’re new to social media, Facebook allows the public to post photo’s of aircraft, tributes and videos that our audience loves to comment on.

For example; “The beloved Phantom 4. 232 flew the J bird 1973-1975 while I served with them at Iwakuni and other parts of WestPac. Now they fly out of MCAS Miramar.” (From Mike Wifler one of our proud docents.)

Twitter is where we share museum activities and quotes from Medal of Honor recipients. For example,  "To observe a Marine, is #inspirational. To be a Marine, is exceptional." GySgt Charles F. Wolf, Jr.

And YouTube allows us to share videos of airshow, museum, and restoration hanger activities and special events on the museum grounds.

So, let’s get social. When you post comments, photos or videos to your personal social media site, simply tag them with #FlyUSMC1. This will allow us to print comments in future editions of the Log Book to share with your fellow foundation members who have not yet made the leap to social media.

To support your foundation’s efforts, we’ve also recently established a PayPal account. Donating is support of the Flying Leatherneck Historical Foundation has never been easier! Just click on Donate Now. The Flying Leathernecks Aviation Museum charges no admission. We rely on your generous donations to support our preservation efforts and the operation of the Museum.

Thank you for your continued support - Semper Fidelis

(This post appeared in Fall/Winter 2014 edition, Flying Leathernecks Log Book)

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

The Gopher Problem and the High Powered Solution

Vacationing in Maine this week, just a short drive down the coast from Freeport, it is hard not to think about the outsized impact one frustrated outdoorsman had on the gear we all use today. Bad equipment can ruin a perfectly good day on the water or the trail, but it takes a special kind of vision to turn cold feet into a century-old empire. This is the story of the company we now know as L.L.Bean, but more importantly, it is a masterclass in integrity, learning from failure, and standing behind your work. In 1912, Leon Leonwood Bean faced a persistent problem: returning from expeditions in the Maine woods with cold, wet feet. Instead of complaining, he got creative. He had a local shoemaker stitch waterproof rubber soles onto the flexible leather uppers of a hunting boot. He called it the Maine Hunting Shoe and mailed a flyer promising perfect satisfaction. Then reality arrived. Ninety of his first 100 pairs failed when the rubber separated from the leather. Not an effective product...

On Becoming Real

Some things get better with wear: old shoes, old friendships, and old books. Especially old books. A new volume arrives with crisp corners and a spine that hasn’t yet learned to bend. An old one has been somewhere. It has traveled through time in the hands of people who may no longer be around to tell us what they found inside. The copy of The Velveteen Rabbit (first published in 1922) on my desk is one of those books. My friend Don Hanley gave it to me. This late-1950s Doubleday edition features William Nicholson’s original illustrations and cream paper boards softened by age. Worn corners, a split spine, and colored tabs mark passages worth revisiting. Don didn’t hand me a keepsake. He gave me homework. When we talked about the book recently, he pointed me straight to the nursery conversation between a young rabbit and an old Skin Horse. The rabbit had noticed the mechanical toys around him—the ones with internal gears, bright paint, and stick-out handles that seem terribly impressiv...

A Dog, a Beer . . . and the Ghost of 1912

Whenever you step into an American cathedral of our National Pastime built before modern ergonomics, municipal zoning, or crowd-flow dynamics, an unspoken understanding forms, creating a welcoming, timeless atmosphere. You trade legroom, sensible corridors, and personal space for the privilege of communing with ghosts. Last week, Lori and I made our pilgrimage to Fenway Park to watch our Chicago Cubs take on the Boston Red Sox (a taut 0–2 contest that felt spiritually tied to their 1918 World Series meeting). Staying just across the Charles River at the Courtyard Marriott in Cambridge gave us one immeasurable tactical advantage: we walked. While the automotive gridlock around Kenmore Square took on the character of the Siege of Yorktown—horns echoing across the asphalt like musket fire—we simply strolled across the Boston University Bridge, enjoying the river breeze and feeling smugly superior to everyone trapped behind a steering wheel. Fenway, built in the spring of 1912, holds rough...

Paris – the End of Silence

✈️  In this special episode: Paris – the End of Silence Sometimes, connection arrives in the most unexpected form—not through grand gestures, but through a quiet voice carried by technology. In a Paris apartment, I finally understood my family’s words . . . and felt my mother’s presence in every sentence. Since I was a little boy, France has been both a beautiful and frustrating paradox in my life. Every six to nine years, my mother, Mauricette, would take my brothers and me back to La Rochelle to visit our French family. The moment we arrived, the air would fill with a sound I loved but couldn’t share in—the rapid-fire, musical rhythm of French. My aunts, uncles, and cousins would warmly sweep me into hugs and kisses, their words flowing like a lovely melody I couldn’t quite catch. I’d smile brightly, trying to communicate with my eyes and hands. But as soon as we stepped off the plane, my mother and her sister-in-law, Joséan, started talking animatedly. They were gone, chatting h...