And the Angels Sing
Hamilton Allen Tippins rarely spoke about it. He had bigger fish to fry, he always said.
Prior to 1929, the youthful man enjoyed steady employment working in a busy office machine shop. Located just blocks away from the banking district of a metropolitan seaport, the repairman would soon learn the horrifying news on the same day of the infamous crash: the Mercer National Bank of Savannah, Georgia had, for all practical purposes, vanished on that Black Monday, along with all of his hard-earned money.
Over the next few decades, he, like countless others throughout America, struggled to rebuild their lives and provide for growing families. By his own account, he did survive to prosper, and he did exceedingly well for himself.
However, this is not meant to be a story about the father whom I love.
But at some point during the mid-fifties, pa received a mysterious check in the mail. It had been sent to him by the famed composer and lyricist, Johnny Mercer. The amount on the check included every dollar dad had lost during those bleak years, along with every bit of interest accrued.
What a huckleberry friend was Johnny Mercer.