The Last of My Lions

This is a post that I never want to write.  In fact, it's one I've not been able to complete since I stared it a couple of weeks ago.  More than with almost any post I've written in this space, I've stopped and started so may times.  

I don't know where to start and I don't know where to end.  

On the morning of September 28, 2026, my friend and mentor, Ed Silva, died peacefully at Alive Hospice in Nashville.  His wife, SuSu and his son, Tony, where with him when he died, as was his close friend, Carmine Grassi.

It's ironic that a man who was larger than life in every sense, a man with such a big personality, left this earth so quietly. 

Initially, I planned to write an obituary of sorts, but I don't want to do that.  I'm just going to write how much Ed meant to me, personally and professionally. 

Ed was the last of my lions.  He was someone I looked to in my life for professional inspiration.  For proof positive that I could be a fierce advocate for my clients while maintaining a (mostly) friendly relationship with other attorneys.  Like Ed, I strive to be a family man - dedicated to my wife and children - while building and maintaining a thriving family law practice.  Also like Ed, I've tried to be involved in the community and to give back, although the depth of his contributions and connections to the Williamson County community is something I never could hope to approach.

Monday morning, September 28, 2026, at Alive Hospice in Nashville, shortly after a priest administered the last rites, Ed Silva died peacefully.  His son, Tony, had arrived a few minutes earlier with Ed's wife.  Ed's dear friend, Carmine, was there, too.  I've am so sad, bereft really, but I am comforted by the fact that Ed was with loved ones when he died.  

Ed was a philanthropist who gave his time and very quietly gave his money to organizations he believed in, like the Heritage Foundation of Williamson County, the Downtown Franklin Association, Nashville School of Law.  He was a respected community leader.  

Ed was a businessman and, once upon a time, a restaurateur.  In 1985 or 1986, he and Danny Anderson invested in and opened the General's Retreat (General's Quarters), a local bar and restaurant that later became the Bunganut Pig.  It was an English-style pub in the basement of Carter's Court, a Cheers for Franklin.  It was a gathering place for Franklin politicians and locals, a music venue, and, at the time, one of the few places in Williamson County with a liquor license.  

The Bunganut Pig holds a special place in my heart because Puryear, Newman & Morton's first office was around the corner and upstairs from the restaurant.  I ate many, many lunches there.  Mark, Chas, and I often had beers after work there in the early days of our law practice.

Looking back, I can't think about the 30 + year history of our law practice without thinking about Ed Silva.  A couple of years in, he took Mark and me to lunch, then tried to hire us to come to work for him afterwards at Hartzog and Silva.  Mark and I didn't even need to meet to discuss it.  As we sat in Ed's car on Church Street, outside our office, we immediately told Ed we were flattered but, no, we wanted to run our own law firm, just like he and Mark Hartzog had decided to do many years ago.  

It's funny but the last time I saw Ed at the hospital, when he was still conscious, he told the nurse that Mark and I turned him down many years before when he tried to hire us.  Ed being Ed, under heavy pain medication, what he said, laughing, was "those guys f*cked me when I tried to hire them!  They turned me down!  What a couple of assholes!  Can you believe that!" 

Through his pain, he laughed and laughed.  I did, too.  I will treasure those last couple of hours we spent together for the rest of my life.  What a gift for me to be able to sit and talk with Ed for a couple of hours before he fell asleep, more or less for good, later that night.   

There are so many stories.  Too many to write about here, really.  Also, stories about Ed Silva are better told in person, preferably with a bourbon or other alcoholic beverage in hand.  

Ed always complained halfheartedly, that Mark, Chas, and I didn't invite him on our annual trip to Las Vegas during the first round of the NCAA basketball tournament.  Finally, one year, Mark sent him the dates, hotel reservations, and flight information.  Ed claimed he was going to join us on the trip and, of course, we thought otherwise, now that we had called his bluff.

On the day we departed, our jaws hit the floor of the Southwest airliner when Ed walked down the aisle, late, looking for a seat.  I couldn't believe he actually was going to Vegas with us.  As memory serves, this was at least 15 years ago, maybe more, so Ed was in his late sixties.  Ed was going to Vegas with us!

Now, truth be told, he didn't have as much fun as we had hoped.  He complained . . . a lot.  We stayed out too late.  We ate dinner too late.  We wouldn't go to any shows.  We wouldn't get up early and eat breakfast with him.  We watched too much basketball.  In fact, Ed called his wife, Suzanne, and told her he was coming home after two days.  She talked him out of it, suggesting that Mark, Chas, and I would never have let him hear the end of it if he had come home early.  She was right.  We wouldn't have.  

My fondest memory of that trip was Ed, Doug Brown, and me playing black jack one evening.  The table was hot and we were rolling.  Making money.  Having a few drinks.  Laughing and talking.  The dealer and the pit boss loved Ed because he was, well, Ed.  Funny.  Engaging.  Charismatic.  Sarcastic.  And the best conversationalist ever.  The three of us had so much fun playing blackjack together.  I didn't want the night to end.  

In later years, our relationship deepened as I got older and became a seasoned trial attorney and mediator.  We became colleagues, peers, and close friends.  I mediated for him and he mediated for me.  We called each other to discuss cases.  We talked about our families.  

One of my fondest memories is from a couple of years ago, when Ed agreed to serve as a mediator in the Nashville School of Law domestic trial practice class that Lee Davies, Sr., and I taught.  The only catch was I had to drive him to class, then drive him home from Nashville to Franklin after class.  No problem, I told him.  However, he had to go with me to watch my older son, JP, play baseball for the MBA junior school team.

It was a beautiful early spring day, as I recall.  Ed and I drove to the baseball field at 42nd Street in West Nashville, where we sat in camping chairs behind the backstop in the first base side and watched JP pitch a gem of a game.  It filled me with pride and made me so happy - it still does, actually - to have Ed at JP's baseball game, watching him play.  The last few years, Ed has brought up that day to me, and others, many times.  He enjoyed being here almost as much as I enjoyed having him there.  

Was Ed a father figure to me?  Maybe, but mostly he was a mentor and close, close friend.  Someone I always could count on for advice, support, and friendship.  One of my North Stars, professionally.  

Last Saturday, I was a pall bearer at Ed Silva's funeral at St. Philip Catholic Church in downtown Franklin.  It was the honor of a lifetime for me.  It also was a fitting way for me to say goodbye, or try to say goodbye, to a man I cannot believe is gone.  When I unpinned the single red rose from my jacket and laid it on his casket at the graveside service, I silently said a prayer.  

Godspeed, Ed, my dear friend.  Until we meet again.