The Best

As Bob Pryor closes his final column, his son celebrates a lifetime of stories, laughter, and a legacy that reaches far beyond the courtroom.

He held my hand and pulled me across Church Street toward the law offices of Gilreath, Pryor & Rowland. I’d been to my father’s law office on a weekday visit with my mother, but I was so excited to go on the weekend. It was just us, the guys. A life-sized plastic skeleton and other trial exhibits sat in the library/conference room where I was supposed to sit. Even at eight years old I loved being surrounded by the cabinets of files and the smell of old books. There were drawers of pens, pencils, tabs, clips and clamps. The legal pads were free for the taking, and I was encouraged to fill them up with stories and drawings to occupy myself so that my father could meet with a witness and prepare for a trial. He was the Wizard of Oz, shuffling files and rehearsing a closing argument behind the curtain. I listened intently as he practiced his closing argument – the story. “May it please the Court…” Given his focus on his work, and with perhaps more freedom than my mother would have liked, I eventually found a drawer of candy and a fridge full of Coca-Colas in small glass bottles. It just tasted better coming from a cold glass, and I was happier than Forrest Gump drinking Dr. Peppers at the White House. I walked the halls pretending to be a lawyer. I was probably the only kid in my class to ask for a briefcase that Christmas. I’ve now been practicing law for over thirty years, and when asked why I chose this profession, I point to the never-ending supply of bottled Coca-Cola. The truth of the matter is that no other profession seemed a possibility when considering my inherited love of storytelling and the prevailing belief that my father is The Best.

I’ve heard a lot of stories. Growing up, I witnessed what it took to tell a story to twelve citizens. I watched closely as he worked to command a jury’s attention. I observed him in seminars and in the classroom as a professor of law where he taught lawyers and law students to try cases. I’ve felt the bounce and satisfaction that comes with victory and the brutal heartbreak that comes with loss. I know what an honor and responsibility it is to speak with and on behalf of families touched by tragedy and how to guide them through what is a confusing and, at times, lengthy legal process. He has received the highest awards for professional storytelling. As a young lawyer I stood next to him as he accepted the Governor’s Award from the Knoxville Bar Association and, more recently, was delighted to present him with a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Tennessee Trial Lawyers Association at an annual convention in Destin, Florida.

The Best trial lawyer? Perhaps. That is a big statement. He certainly has accumulated a great many votes from his peers in this publication over the years, especially in the categories of personal injury and medical malpractice. However, when it comes to the man who has penned his last Pryorities feature, The Best in storytelling doesn’t only apply to the courtroom.

“Bob” (that’s what his friends and grandkids call him), has regaled you with stories of his youth and the Knoxville in which he grew up. Storytelling and performance came hand-in-hand in the home he provided for us (I am the oldest of three). He and his friends formed a group called Tennessee Troupe & Travel (TTT). Founded in the backroom of the old Frontier House on Kingston Pike, the group of friends roamed the southeast in buses chartered to Tennessee football games. They staged annual parties, family picnics, and rented out ballrooms to perform skits and lip-sync performances for each other’s enjoyment. His love of “the show” carried over to the Knoxville Bar Association where he took the lead in directing the same type of shows for and with his fellow lawyers. Our house had a revolving door as my parents’ friends, local lawyers, members of the judiciary and mayors would come to our basement to practice musical/comedic performances, tell stories, and laugh. It is where I first heard a great many of the stories he has told in these pages. He had the vision for the creation of memories and everyone just followed. In the days before digitized internet access and even CDs, my father’s record collection was immense. More than the music itself, he loves the stories behind the music - the songwriting, how the band got together, and how the producer found the musician. The music and the stories must still echo inside the walls of my childhood home in the Village Green subdivision.

On Saturday evenings my siblings and I were placed in the station wagon without seatbelts or car seats (NOTE: There were no seatbelts or carseats at that time) and driven to the original Buddy’s BBQ on Kingston Pike to hear bluegrass bands. The Pryors and the other kids would crawl under tables and chase one another through cigarette clouds and clanking bottles as Fox on the Run came from the stage. I can still smell the smoke and spilled beer whenever I hear a banjo, one of many Pavlovian responses associated with music from my youth. For the Pryor children, family vacations became the traveling version of our basement. Whether it was a beach vacation in Florida or a New Year’s celebration in Gatlinburg, we traveled with upwards of 10-15 families. Whether to friends, family, or a random stranger on the street, Bob’s gifts have always been delivered in the form of stories, music, or humor. You know that if you find yourself in the company of the man, you are about to hear a story or become a part of one.

The music and the stories must still echo inside the walls of my childhood home in the Village Green subdivision.

Lest you mistake this for an obituary, I tell you there is much to do for Bob Pryor at age 83. He loves the law. He is still very active in assessing cases, advising clients and mentoring our firm’s young lawyers. He persists in telling people that he works for me. He has two new hips and a skip in his get-along. I truly believe he got the hips replaced just so he can more efficiently roam the hallways of Pryor, Priest & Harber or the aisles of Publix looking to find his audience. He will shortly be able to hold my Mom’s hand and walk, free of cane, through the farmers market, inspecting tomatoes and making people smile. Then there is Henry Gillin - Bob’s first great-grandchild, born in Richland, Washington on September 21. There is a new audience.

The bank teller the other day asked me how Bob was doing. She hadn’t seen him in a while, and asked with the caution associated with such questions about the well-being of an 83-year-old man. When I told her he’d only had hip replacement, she lit up with relief and spoke of the last time he’d been into the bank. She could barely contain her excitement and laughter as she retold to me both a story from CityView and one I’ve heard the entirety of my life. I smiled and laughed with her, as this is a regular and welcome occurrence when your father is The Best.

You know that if you find yourself in the company of the man, you are about to hear a story or become a part of one.