Carl Stevens' Journal: A Poem For Anthony Silva's Retirement
Gold is gold, and silver's silver
but nothing shines like Anthony Silva.
For thirty-six years the man never got old,
pounding out the hits here on Soldiers Field Road,
thousands of ears are his grateful witness,
this man gave all of New England the business,
acquisitions and mergers, bankruptcies too.
Anthony's the one who would say "it's true."
He spewed out the numbers with no hesitation,
talking mortgage rates and depreciation,
inflation, deflation, recessions, and stocks,
herding sheep of coherence into his verbal flocks.
In the woods of intelligence his tree was the tallest,
his number was on every CEO call list.
When breaking a story that man was fearless,
when it came to the business that man was peerless.
He was so good it was almost scary,
more reliable with money than a tooth fairy.
If you needed an answer, Anthony was there
he could give you a small cap's earnings per share
and he did all with a grace and a style,
and an energy that propelled him through that extra mile.
He rides his bike all across the North Shore,
and is in mighty good shape at sixty four.
You taught us a lesson, and I hope that we learned it,
because it's time for retirement, my friend, and you earned it.
But I know you're not finished. I know you're not through,
so call us up, some time, with a stock tip or two.
Good luck, my friend!
Listen to Carl's poem:
