Yesterday afternoon, I wondered up to the front of the office while I was on a call. As I often do, even at work, I was talking to a client on my cell phone with my AirPods in, which allows me the freedom to roam a bit during a long call. I like that because it keeps me from being stuck behind my desk all day.
During my call, I saw a headline in the Williamson Herald (in our magazine rack) that after 38 + years, the Bunganut Pig closed last week. That hit me hard.
The Pig, as everyone called it, was the oldest restaurant/bar in Franklin. Tucked away in the basement of Carter's Court for almost three decades before it expended, the Bunganut Pig had a very "Cheers-like" quality to it, in large part because you had to walk down stairs to get to it and their were no windows. It was a true hole-in-the-wall known only to locals in the days before tourists traipsed through downtown Franklin every weekend.
My dear friend, Ed Silva, was in the Pig at the beginning as an investor, although in the early days it was called the General's Retreat and, at some point, the Rebel's Roost, appropriate names given that it's located across from the Carter House and in the middle of the battlefield for the Battle of Franklin. You almost had to know where the Pig was to find it and that was kind of what made it special, at least to me.
The point, of course, is that the Bunganut Pig was "old Franklin," something that doesn't really exist any longer. One need look no further than a few blocks down Columbia Avenue toward downtown Franklin, and our office, to see all of the old commercial buildings - hardware store, bakery, etc. - being torn down as developers are building 2 - 3 million dollar condominiums in a new development, most of which are pre-sold. It's crazy.
Part of the reason the Bunganut Pig is so special to me is that after my partner, Chas Morton, joined our law firm, we moved our office to Carter's Court, above and behind the Bunganut Pig. We were there for five years, from roughly 2001 - 2006, before we bought and renovated the building we're in now directly across from the Courthouse.
In fact, I have a newspaper clipping from the Review Appeal, framed, on the wall at work with a photo of Chas, Mark, and me in our office at Carter's Court, right after we moved in there. The theme of the piece, probably written by Mindy Tate, is about "three local boys starting a law firm together." Moving into our office in Carter's Court marked the end of Puryear & Newman and the beginning of Puryear, Newman & Morton. 25 years later, the rest is history, as they say.
In the five years we were there, our practices grew as we added lawyers and got busier and busier. We expanded multiple times until, at the end, we had the entire top floor of the back building and part of the bottom floor, as well. I have many fond memories of that office and our time there.
A huge snowball fight with the Eric and Ted Boozer's group, whose office was directly below us. Diane Livingston and Lee Dreyer - God rest both of their souls - whose office, later, was directly below us. Hosting our annual Pigskin Picks Open House - now defunct, sadly - before football season every year. At one memorable Pigskin Picks party, we played cornhole on the brick walkway outside the office late into the night. I drove Mark home, as I recall, and his wife, Elizabeth, and I played ping pong in his garage before I drove home to Nashville.
Blake Sempkowski ("Super Blake"), the first attorney we hired, worked in that office, as did Rachel Harmon. Raven Hardison. Lisa Johnson. Diane Radesovich. Traci Carter. Deb Rubenstein. And others whose names I can't recall.
More work days than not, I walked downstairs from my office and had lunch at the Bunganut Pig by myself. I checked in with (Ohio State) Eddie or the owner, then, Marty, sat down with latest issue of the Nashville Scene, and ordered a Caesar salad with blackened salmon. Always the same order, as I a creature of habit if nothing else.
In those days, Jude used to say we practiced "Pig Law," and we did, in a way, as all of our partners' meetings were held at the big over a beer or two after work. I loved our office and its proximity to the Pig, although Ed Silva always made fun of me and suggested we needed a bigger, better office. He wasn't wrong, I guess, which is why we subsequently bought the building we've been in for almost 20 years.
In those days, before Franklin and Spring Hill had grown so much and added restaurants, the Bunganut Pig was almost the only game in town or, the only game in downtown (Franklin). The Pig had a regular lunch crowd. At 4:30 p.m. or so, all of the Franklin and Williamson Country politicos stopped in for a drink or two, always sitting at the long table just outside the tiny bar and the half glass divider that separated it from the rest of the restaurant. There was a good dinner crowd. Then, after that, the music crowd came in.
There was a small stage in the back corner of the restaurant where bands played. My law partner's wife, Christa, and her '80's band played there often, as did Neil Diamond impersonator, Denny Diamond. To my recollection, there really wasn't anywhere else to hear live music in or near downtown Franklin, except maybe Kimbro's Picking Parlor. The music at the Pig was a real thing for a long time.
For years, too, smoking was allowed at the Pig. As you might imagine, in a basement restaurant/bar with no windows, the smoke lingered . . . everywhere. In fact, the girls in our office rarely went to the Pig, even for lunch, because when you left, all of your clothes smelled like cigarette smoke.
I used to joke and say that the Bunganut Pig was the den of iniquity because it was open late and a lot of things happened inside, and in the parking lot, that led clients to me in divorce cases. I'll leave it at that.
For many years, my friend, Eddie, worked there, day and night. Ohio State Eddie. He was at a point in his life, I think, where he was trying to figure things out. As often happens in the restaurant business, he got stuck in one place for longer than he planned. When Eddie finally left the Pig, the atmosphere there changed and not necessarily for the better.
Mark and Amy Goodson bought the Bunganut Pig close to 20 years ago, right about the time we moved into the building we bought and renovated in Third Avenue South, across from the Courthouse, where our office is currently located. Mark, an Air Force veteran and Wharton School of Business graduate (University of Pennsylvania) graduate, left a high stress, high paying job in health care with a plan to run the Bunganut Pig as a family business.
Mark saw real potential in the Pig and he quickly set about modernizing it. First, he eliminated smoking, which was long overdue. Next, he worked a deal with the landlord, Fernando Santisteban, and opened up a patio outside, complete with tables, cornhole sets, and a small stage for live music. He also rented the space directly above the Pig - where the Heiress (a hair salon) had been for the entirety of my youth - and put in a pool table, flat screen televisions, and new tables. He even leased a small space next door and opened up a larger bar, also long overdue as the Pig's original bar was tiny.
In short, Mark and Amy Goodson turned the Bunganut Pig into a much larger, attractive, versatile Franklin bar/restaurant with more to offer its patron. In my view, the Pig under Mark and Amy retained some of its old school charm while, seemingly overnight, morphing in to a modern eatery. Mark ran it much more professionally and like a real business than did Marty, the previous owner.
After five or six years, Mark and Amy decided to move to Florida. In 2016, they sold the Bunganut Pig to Mark Rindermann, who quickly ran it straight into the ground. The service declined precipitously, the quality of the food fell, and all of the great work that Mark and Amy put into modernizing the Pig was wasted. Rindermann completely closed the downstairs, cut staff, and just let the once proud eatery fall into a state of disrepair.
Rindermann ignominiously closed the Pig, with no notice, on June 23, 2025. He set up a GoFundMe page, which is maybe the most embarrassing part of his tenure as owner of the Pig. As of this morning, he had raised a paltry $813 dollars to "save the restaurant." Mark Rindermann had no business running the Bunganut Pig, or any other restaurant for that matter.
In the end, Mark and Amy Goodson probably got out at the right time. Since they sold the Pig, downtown Franklin and Spring Hill have exploded in growth. New bars and restaurants and bars are everywhere, as a result of which competition for customer is fierce.
Still, I'll remember the Bunganut Pig fondly. I'll especially remember the five years when Mark, Chas, and I practiced "Pig law" there.
