Welcome to the memorial page for
Edward A. Filina
July 3, 1935 ~ May 16, 2017 (age 81) 81 Years Old Light a Candle
Leave a Condolence
Message from Rob Filina
May 23, 2017 12:11 PM
Rob's speech:
First off, for those of you who knew my Dad and his “obtuse genius”, I am sorry for your loss. For those of you who never had a chance to meet him, I am sorry for your loss. He was an original.
I struggled with this speech. Not due to the lack of material, but because I found it impossible to encapsulate a man’s life into a five minute speech; nor can I convey what he meant to me without perhaps resorting to poetry.
So instead I thought would just tell a couple stories and I’ll be brief.
My dad was born in 1935. And as such he was wide-eyed eight-year old boy right in the heart of World War II. Like most boys then, I’m sure, he was fascinated with news reels and war stories. He was particularly drawn to the airplanes. The Flying Tigers, P40s, the P51 Mustang. One of his favorites and most admired was Britain’s Royal Air Force-- the R A F, and their intrepid pilots in the Battle of Britain.
As he got a little older, he became a model airplane enthusiast building dozens of airplanes--as my dad was an extremist in most everything he did. By the time he was twelve or so, about the age of my son Edward Adam Filina the II, he had built enough airplanes to have gleaned a basic understanding of model airplane design and aerodynamics.
He decided to design his own. He blueprinted it; bought the wood; cut the wood, put it together and mounted the engine; mounted the prop.
His dad came over while young Eddie was admiring his finished project, and shook his head and said,
“It will never fly.”
Somewhat deterred my dad went outside and planted his plane down and started up the engine.
Not only did it fly, it soared. Out of sight. He said he had a combination feeling of astonishment and “I told you so.”
My dad was an extremist. He had to build dozens of airplanes as a kid. And later when he had young family in the 70s he discovered a new hobby. Trailer camping. Hiking and biking. But we couldn’t camp, one or two times a year. We had to go every weekend. Every weekend from March to November.
As I recall most people thought this idea would never fly with kids. Being torn from their neighborhood friends and normal weekend activities, only to be transported to a wilderness in a random Ohio State Park.
But Karen and I didn’t know any better. Soon we were running through the woods; involved in junior naturalist programs; sight identifying things like May Apple, Jack-in-the-pulpit, Queen Anne’s Lace--and knowing the stories behind these botanical names.
Late at night, as the fire died down and my mom and sister went to bed, we’d have “man to man” talks. That’s where I learned the story of the airplane; the value of a man’s word; and that he chose a middle name for his son that started with the letter A so he could have the initials R A F.
As Karen and I continued to develop a love of nature. My dad looked on again with a combination of astonishment and “I told you so”. Not only did his idea fly, but we soared.
So I actually would like to close with something my sister said to my dad when he was in the hospital. I’m paraphrasing.
My dad was loved and lovable. He should be proud of his life and his impact. Though he has gotten on his bike and rode off so-to-speak, we’ll see him at the trailhead or the campground.
-Robert A. Filina
First off, for those of you who knew my Dad and his “obtuse genius”, I am sorry for your loss. For those of you who never had a chance to meet him, I am sorry for your loss. He was an original.
I struggled with this speech. Not due to the lack of material, but because I found it impossible to encapsulate a man’s life into a five minute speech; nor can I convey what he meant to me without perhaps resorting to poetry.
So instead I thought would just tell a couple stories and I’ll be brief.
My dad was born in 1935. And as such he was wide-eyed eight-year old boy right in the heart of World War II. Like most boys then, I’m sure, he was fascinated with news reels and war stories. He was particularly drawn to the airplanes. The Flying Tigers, P40s, the P51 Mustang. One of his favorites and most admired was Britain’s Royal Air Force-- the R A F, and their intrepid pilots in the Battle of Britain.
As he got a little older, he became a model airplane enthusiast building dozens of airplanes--as my dad was an extremist in most everything he did. By the time he was twelve or so, about the age of my son Edward Adam Filina the II, he had built enough airplanes to have gleaned a basic understanding of model airplane design and aerodynamics.
He decided to design his own. He blueprinted it; bought the wood; cut the wood, put it together and mounted the engine; mounted the prop.
His dad came over while young Eddie was admiring his finished project, and shook his head and said,
“It will never fly.”
Somewhat deterred my dad went outside and planted his plane down and started up the engine.
Not only did it fly, it soared. Out of sight. He said he had a combination feeling of astonishment and “I told you so.”
My dad was an extremist. He had to build dozens of airplanes as a kid. And later when he had young family in the 70s he discovered a new hobby. Trailer camping. Hiking and biking. But we couldn’t camp, one or two times a year. We had to go every weekend. Every weekend from March to November.
As I recall most people thought this idea would never fly with kids. Being torn from their neighborhood friends and normal weekend activities, only to be transported to a wilderness in a random Ohio State Park.
But Karen and I didn’t know any better. Soon we were running through the woods; involved in junior naturalist programs; sight identifying things like May Apple, Jack-in-the-pulpit, Queen Anne’s Lace--and knowing the stories behind these botanical names.
Late at night, as the fire died down and my mom and sister went to bed, we’d have “man to man” talks. That’s where I learned the story of the airplane; the value of a man’s word; and that he chose a middle name for his son that started with the letter A so he could have the initials R A F.
As Karen and I continued to develop a love of nature. My dad looked on again with a combination of astonishment and “I told you so”. Not only did his idea fly, but we soared.
So I actually would like to close with something my sister said to my dad when he was in the hospital. I’m paraphrasing.
My dad was loved and lovable. He should be proud of his life and his impact. Though he has gotten on his bike and rode off so-to-speak, we’ll see him at the trailhead or the campground.
-Robert A. Filina
Message from Karen Wilson
May 23, 2017 12:09 PM
Speech for my Dad:
Edward A. Filina. My Dad. Not really Edward. Never Ed. Eddie. Or he liked his nickname, Fast Eddie. Which was funny to us because he was never really fast at anything.
Over the years our family, my mom, brother and I and even our spouses later, would sometimes say to one another “Don’t be an Eddie;” which basically meant “Don’t be so frustrating; so hardheaded!” My Dad was stubborn. He didn’t like doctors—he never saw one until he was well into his seventies—and he wouldn’t do things like screenings. So I’ll pause now to say “Don’t be an Eddie, schedule your regular colonoscopy.”
But, I’ve had time to think more about “Being an Eddie” lately.
My dad liked to mow the lawn and drink a beer.
He liked his work. He was an electronics technician and even enjoyed it as a hobby, too, in what he called his “lab” on his workbench in the basement. He may have liked his work, but not necessarily his job:
He lived for the weekends.
He liked to camp, and hike, and bike. And he took this hobbies to an extreme. Every weekend we would pull the trailer somewhere--from March through November. We earned medals for hundreds of organized walks. And he logged tens of thousands of miles on his bike. And when I say logged, I mean that quite literally.
He liked to take notes. He carried folded paper and a pen on his rides and other events. He always wore shirts and nice pants. The shirt had to have a pocket for some paper and a pen. Always. In fact, he has paper and pen in the upper breast pocket of his shirt right now. No matter if he was biking or mowing the lawn, I never saw him wear shorts, jeans or T-shirts. Ever.
More about the paper and pen…his note -taking. He would literally stop and note every crossroad on his bike rides, the time, and the miles progress on his bike computer. If we came upon a historical marker or monument, he’d take down the entirety of the text of the marker. You can imagine it took him a long time to complete rides. “Fast” Eddie.
Also, family time was very important to him. Not just Thanksgiving and Christmas, of course, but Memorial Day, Labor day, Mother’s day, Father’s day, birthdays, Fourth of July.
And vacations. We took 3- or 4-week long cross country trips pulling the trailer behind us everywhere. The Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore, Sequoia forest…lots of miles.
So… what I hope we all can learn from my Dad is this:
Soak in the sun.
Drink beer. Wear whatever you want.
Find some things you really enjoy, that you love to do, and Go. All. In.
Put family time above work. Make root beer floats together, go sledding, kick crunchy leaves in the Fall.
Go places, do things. Take notes. Remember.
Be an Eddie.
[Pour a beer]
When we’d go places—the Rocky Mountains, the Skyline Drive—he’d exclaim “New Horizons!” That’s one of many “Eddie-isms.” New Horizons.
Please join me now, loud and clear:
“New Horizons, Dad.”
Edward A. Filina. My Dad. Not really Edward. Never Ed. Eddie. Or he liked his nickname, Fast Eddie. Which was funny to us because he was never really fast at anything.
Over the years our family, my mom, brother and I and even our spouses later, would sometimes say to one another “Don’t be an Eddie;” which basically meant “Don’t be so frustrating; so hardheaded!” My Dad was stubborn. He didn’t like doctors—he never saw one until he was well into his seventies—and he wouldn’t do things like screenings. So I’ll pause now to say “Don’t be an Eddie, schedule your regular colonoscopy.”
But, I’ve had time to think more about “Being an Eddie” lately.
My dad liked to mow the lawn and drink a beer.
He liked his work. He was an electronics technician and even enjoyed it as a hobby, too, in what he called his “lab” on his workbench in the basement. He may have liked his work, but not necessarily his job:
He lived for the weekends.
He liked to camp, and hike, and bike. And he took this hobbies to an extreme. Every weekend we would pull the trailer somewhere--from March through November. We earned medals for hundreds of organized walks. And he logged tens of thousands of miles on his bike. And when I say logged, I mean that quite literally.
He liked to take notes. He carried folded paper and a pen on his rides and other events. He always wore shirts and nice pants. The shirt had to have a pocket for some paper and a pen. Always. In fact, he has paper and pen in the upper breast pocket of his shirt right now. No matter if he was biking or mowing the lawn, I never saw him wear shorts, jeans or T-shirts. Ever.
More about the paper and pen…his note -taking. He would literally stop and note every crossroad on his bike rides, the time, and the miles progress on his bike computer. If we came upon a historical marker or monument, he’d take down the entirety of the text of the marker. You can imagine it took him a long time to complete rides. “Fast” Eddie.
Also, family time was very important to him. Not just Thanksgiving and Christmas, of course, but Memorial Day, Labor day, Mother’s day, Father’s day, birthdays, Fourth of July.
And vacations. We took 3- or 4-week long cross country trips pulling the trailer behind us everywhere. The Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore, Sequoia forest…lots of miles.
So… what I hope we all can learn from my Dad is this:
Soak in the sun.
Drink beer. Wear whatever you want.
Find some things you really enjoy, that you love to do, and Go. All. In.
Put family time above work. Make root beer floats together, go sledding, kick crunchy leaves in the Fall.
Go places, do things. Take notes. Remember.
Be an Eddie.
[Pour a beer]
When we’d go places—the Rocky Mountains, the Skyline Drive—he’d exclaim “New Horizons!” That’s one of many “Eddie-isms.” New Horizons.
Please join me now, loud and clear:
“New Horizons, Dad.”
Message from Greg Sushinsky
May 19, 2017 8:05 PM
Fast Eddie always had a good word for everyone when he was out riding his bike on the trails. He was a kind and gentle soul who will be greatly missed.
My sympathies to Beth and all Eddie’s family.
My sympathies to Beth and all Eddie’s family.
Message from Adrianna Berrada
May 19, 2017 2:13 PM
MONET'S GARDEN TABLE BASKET was sent by Your Niece.
Aunt Beth and Family, Our sincere condolences to all of you. Regards, Adrianna Berrada (Signor) and Family
Message from Deva Simon
May 19, 2017 9:33 AM
Fast Eddie as he liked to be called was an important member of the Valley Vagabonds club. His support and friendship since 1984 will be missed by the club members and especially myself. My prayers are with the family during this difficult time.
© 2024 Baker, Osinski, Kensinger Funeral Home. All Rights Reserved. Funeral Home website by CFS & TA | Terms of Use | Privacy Policy | Accessibility