The Howard Hill Story

Howard Milton Hill and I “breakfasted” our way from his home to my
home to a wide assortment of restaurants and ice cream stands and
park benches over a 14-16-month period, as he shared some of the
highs and lows and in-between times of his long career and even
longer life. When I finally read him the last draft of my manuscript, he
smiled and said he was pleased.

I admitted that we could have been finished months earlier but I didn’t
want to stop these very precious visits. He laughed his patented
laugh and said – “We ain’t finished until you say we’re finished. So,
don’t say we’re finished.” Unfortunately, we were working towards a deadline to have his biography off the press in time for his birthday and barely made it.

I have a feeling that the Howard Hill he permitted me to see was a
much deeper, somewhat more vulnerable man than the one others
around him got to see. “My” Howard Hill took all kinds of risks,
continued to seek ways to tweak the noses of the powerful, or as he
once said to me, “early on I learned how to tell ‘em to go fish but
make it sound like I thought they were the best of the best.” He
‘permitted’ some to take advantage of his generosity, forgave some
for their weaknesses, tolerated others who he thought should have
known better and would have willingly gone through fire for his
children or especially for his grandchildren.
He truly loved life. Music was his ticket to a life and lifestyle he might
have paid for the right to be part of, but fortunately, kept that to
himself.

I miss Howard. I miss his wisdom, his wit, his thirst to live life to its
fullest.

God rest your soul, dear Howard.
Rest in peace old friend.
You have earned it.