Skip to main content

Save the Museum

Podcast - Save the Museum . . .

You may have heard by now that the Flying Leatherneck Aviation Museum in San Diego, CA. is closing? What can you do to help?

Join the grassroots effort! Sign the Petition.

After more than 20 years of sharing the legacy and history of Marine Corps Aviation with local citizens and countless visitors to San Diego, California, the Flying Leatherneck Aviation Museum is scheduled to be permanently closed on March 31, 2021.

The Flying Leatherneck Aviation Museum shares Marine Corps Aviation history with visitors from around the world.

Visitors come for different reasons. Parents bring their children to see amazing aircraft and to hear stories of the brave men and women who maintained and flew these aircraft. Veterans come to see the aircraft that saved their lives. And still, others come to pay their respects to the aviators who served to protect our great nation.

Nevertheless, the leadership at Headquarters Marine Corps (HQMC) has decided to close the Museum.

This decision is particularly painful to countless veterans and citizens that value our celebrated Marine Corps Aviation history and support this unique, national treasure.

The non-profit organization that helps run the Museum, the Flying Leatherneck Historical Foundation, was told that this decision was based on financial considerations even though the Foundation Board volunteered to assume all operating and maintenance costs.

A great many people, including veterans who serve as volunteers at the museum, were stunned by this decision.

These brave men and women fought for our freedom; they fought alongside others who died for our freedom. And to see them brushed aside with an explanation that doesn’t make sense is heartbreaking.

As news of the museum’s plight has begun to circulate San Diegans and aviation enthusiasts around the globe are expressing their dissatisfaction and sorrow.

Please help us stand up for these honorable veterans and help protect the place where they can still share their stories, their humanity, and their wisdom. They fought for us. Let's fight for them.

You can contact HQMC and the Commandant of the Marine Corps and/or the Secretary of the Navy at the following addresses:

Commandant of the Marine Corps
Headquarters, US Marine Corps 3000 Marine Corps, Pentagon
Washington, DC 20350-3000

MARINE.MAIL.FCT@USMC.MIL


Office of the Secretary of the Navy

1000 Navy Pentagon, Room 4D652

Washington, DC 20350


https://www.navy.mil/Resources/Contact-Us/


Select: Public Inquiries (Navy Programs and Current Navy Issues)


The Flying Leatherneck Aviation Museum needs your voice of support now more than ever! Please take action today!

If you enjoy our weekly visits, please share them with a friend.

This is Patrick Ball, thanks for listening, see you in the next episode.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Miss Murphy

Most Popular of All Time

Opening Day Magic 2026 . . .

It’s back. Baseball—yes, baseball ! If you’re someone who finds themselves inexplicably drawn to this peculiar ritual, let’s be honest with each other: it’s a bit odd, right? I mean, 162 games. That’s a lot of hot dogs, a lot of standing around, and a lot of grown men in oddly tailored trousers spitting with remarkable precision. And yet, here we are, poised on the precipice of another season. Thursday, March 26, 2026, to be precise—Opening Day. It’s a curious thing, this Opening Day. You walk into a stadium, or turn on the TV, and suddenly, everyone is infected with a highly contagious strain of . . . Optimism . It’s a spectacular form of collective amnesia. All of last year’s fumbles, the endless losing streaks, the existential dread of watching your bullpen implode in the eighth inning—poof. Gone. It’s entirely replaced by a wide-eyed, childlike belief that this year, finally, the baseball gods will smile upon us. The Cycle of Hope and Despair As a Cubs fan, I know this cycle intim...

Overcooking the Grid

In this episode, terrified of smart toasters, yet demanding infinite electricity for potato personality tests. Pull up that chair again, and let’s hope your coffee is safe this time. In our last chat, we talked about our well-meaning but occasionally delusional AI friend, Chef Adamas, and his penchant for hallucinating blueberries into your Carbonara. We learned how to manage his quirks by keeping our “digital pantry” organized. But today, we need to look past the chef and take a hard look at the sheer size of the kitchen we are building for him. And folks, that kitchen has gotten completely out of hand. Down in Louisiana, tech companies are currently building an artificial intelligence data center the size of 70 football fields. It is a four-million-square-foot digital brain that requires so much electricity they are building three new natural gas power plants just to keep the servers from literally melting down into a puddle of expensive silicon. And what are we using this god-like, ...

Sierra Reflections 2011

Wrapped in the cozy warmth of a down bag I’m jolted awake from a deep slumber - nature calls. The silence is shattered by the rustle of my sleeping bag. The sweet aroma of the mountain fills the air, and that ever-present biting crisp air on your cheeks!  The zipper moans as you free yourself, then the struggle to find your wool sweater, pants, and shoes to stumble into the brisk morning air. Another zipper whines as you crawl to escape the protection of your mountain shelter. Quietly . . .  do not disturb  is the invisible sign worn by your fellow campers. Photo: Robert Weldon Darkness surrounds you, it's early morning, late summer. It’s tranquil, except for the soft gurgle of the trout stream that lulled you to sleep the night before.  Finally - clear weather, the rains have stopped; millions of stars twinkle like tiny sparkling diamonds against a pitch-black sky. Orion, the hunter is clearly visible in the eastern sky; careful inspection you can see ...

The "Doctor" Who Never Was

In this episode: The "Doctor" Who Never Was — A Return to the World of Seuss. Let’s take a trip back to March 2, 2022.  I was four years younger, significantly more naïve, and I made the mistake of asking an innocent question that—somehow—still echoes through the halls of pediatric offices everywhere:  Where exactly did the name Dr. Seuss come from? Because if we pause for even a moment, the whole thing is absurd. At some point, we collectively decided to accept moral guidance, life advice, and the occasional existential gut‑punch from a man whose résumé included oversized footwear, gravity‑defying cats, and an aggressive campaign to convince us that green ham was not only edible, but desirable. No white coat. No stethoscope. No medical board.  Just rhymes.  This wasn’t really a question about a title. It was a question about authority—and how easily we accept it when it comes wrapped in whimsy and ends with a couplet. Theodor Seuss Geisel was born in Springfield, M...