My magnificent Dad in his flying machine
And a Happy Father's Day to all the Dads
Perfecting Equilibrium Volume Four, Issue 7
Up, down, flying around
Looping the loop and defying the ground
And they're all frightfully keen
Those magnificent men in their flying machines
They can fly upside down with their feet in the air
They don't think of danger. They really don't care
Newton would think he had made a mistake
To see those young men and the chances they take
The Sunday Reader, June 15, 2025
Tony Feola enlisted in the US Navy the day he turned 17. A month later the Japanese surrendered and World War II ended.
For the rest of his life Tony told anyone and everyone that the Japanese surrendered rather than face him in battle.
After his short stint as a seaman Tony worked as a diesel mechanic, and then entered the home building trades, soon becoming a master floor layer. He found the business side of construction more interesting, however, and founded two companies. Twilight Homes and Legend Estates built hundreds of residences in Deer Park, Brookhaven and surrounding Long Island towns during the 60s, 70s and 80s, most of which are still home to Long Islanders today.
Tony always had a fierce interest in flying. He earned a private pilot’s license, reconditioned a biplane, then went through a series of single-wing planes culminating in a Navion. As his family grew he gave up direct ownership of planes, but continued to fly rentals and trainers into his 80s.
He never lost his fascination for the sea. He taught generations of children to fish, and built a house on Smith Creek in Hampton Bays. He spent the 70s and 80s prowling Shinnecock Bay in a 15-foot open skiff he dubbed “El Tub” as the scourge of fluke, flounder and porgies.
Tony has been gone for a decade. Still miss you every day, Pop.
I’ve never been much for titles, though I’ve had a bunch. But there are a handful I have worn with pride, such as sergeant in the US Army. I’ve always said that there is no greater title than father, but these days I find myself partial to Lolo, which is Filipino for grandfather, and what my grandsons call me.
A year or so ago the Powers That Be decided that my oldest grandson was old enough to ride in my convertible with the top down since he was about to turn six years old.
Strapped into his booster seat in the back, he ignored the family members snapping his picture and looked around the roofless Camaro in that serious manner only children can manage and said “Lolo? Why your car don’t got a lid?”
We started rolling down the street.
“Lolo? The wind is tickling my hair!”
We went fishing in the Camaro this week, and he again he was gigling as the wind tickled his hair.
Life is good. And Happy Father’s Day to all you fathers.