The Dump – April 11, 2025
Originally posted April 11, 2025
This week in Williamson County: the House roasted the caucus process, Thompson’s Station bonded with debt, Brentwood threw shade and emojis, and Spring Hill served up a roadside resurrection of the Exxon Valdez.
Meanwhile, your county commissioners quietly laid the groundwork for a tax hike and called it “brainstorming.”
From courtroom cosplay at the Capitol to gas station roulette on Duplex, we’ve got all the chaos, cover-ups, and capital projects your inbox can handle.
Strap in—we’re hitting every bump on Columbia Pike, and nobody’s checking the suspension. Let’s dump it out!
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KISS THE CAUCUS GOODBYE: HOUSE TORCHES CLOSED-DOOR NOMINATIONS, WARNER WARNS HIMSELF
This week, the Tennessee House delivered a legislative throat punch to the cigar-room caucus crowd with HB855—a bill that says, hey maybe regular people should pick candidates, not a few cranky insiders huddled in a middle school gym with a clipboard and a superiority complex.
Presiding over the chaos was Chairman John Crawford, who looked like he was one white suit short of mint juleps on the veranda. Picture Colonel Sanders, but instead of frying chicken, he’s slow-roasting dysfunction with a gavel and a polite smirk.
The bill? Straightforward: party nominations for local offices—sheriff, county mayor, school board—must be done via primaries, not caucuses. That’s it. But you’d think the state was outlawing oxygen based on the hysterics from the “grassroots.”
A parade of party activists shuffled to the mic, clutching their pocket Constitutions and quoting Tashjian v. Connecticut like it was gospel. They claimed HB855 violated party rights, free association, maybe the Magna Carta. Then came Matt Mundy, the legislative attorney, who calmly annihilated their entire argument in under three minutes.
“No, it’s not unconstitutional,” he explained, citing 100 years of case law and Supreme Court precedent.
Translation: Please stop embarrassing yourselves in public.
Enter Rep. Todd Warner, always ready to add confusion to a conversation. Warner fumbled through questions about fiscal notes, nonpartisan elections, and declared that in five years he’d never seen caucuses be a problem—conveniently ignoring the fact that half the testimony came from his own neighbors begging to never experience one again. If there were a Jeopardy category for Missing the Point, Warner would still buzz in late and guess “What is voter suppression?”
Meanwhile, Rep. Lee Reeves stood tall—steady, sharp, and just the right amount of fed up. He walked colleagues through the simple math: 30,000 people vote in primaries. A few hundred show up to caucuses. If you’re worried about Democrats voting in Republican primaries, your solution cannot be “let fewer Republicans vote.”
And the citizen testimony? Devastating.
• Rick Shepherd, a retired National Guard vet, nearly choked up recalling how he voted from warzones—and now has to fight for that right here. (Thank you for your service.)
• Kimberly Calcote, a Williamson County mom of four, described a local caucus so disorganized that shift workers, single moms, and even elected officials couldn’t attend.
HB855 passed the committee 21–2.
Which raises the question: why did two people still vote against this? Maybe they were busy guarding the box of handwritten ballots pre-marked for their favorite candidate whose crowning achievement likely was president of the high school D&D club. (looking at you, Elliot Franklin)
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MEANWHILE IN THE SENATE: SB799 CLEARS THE FOG
A day later, SB799 passed the Senate 26–3 with Sen. Jack Johnson driving it across the finish line like a dad who’s done explaining. Johnson made it clear: the bill doesn’t touch party bylaws or leadership elections—it just ensures voters, not insiders, choose candidates.
“You can’t show up to a caucus on Saturday morning? Too bad. You’re disenfranchised.”
Johnson further stated, “That’s what we’re fixing.”
The vote wasn’t close. Even the Senate’s more cautious voices realized: you can’t claim to defend election integrity while defending a system that leaves out half your voters.
Tennessee has 95 counties. Over 90 already run primaries. This bill just locks the door behind the rest before they get any ideas.
The pro-caucus crew came armed with half-read court cases, fear-mongering, and tea-party vibes.
The legislature came with a lawyer, a landslide vote, and the moral high ground.
The result? Game over—final House vote upcoming.
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TOP DOLLAR, TOP DODGE — THOMPSON’S STATION FLOATS $15 MILLION ROAD PLAN WITH FEW DETAILS
Mayor Stover Announces $15M Plan, Details Still Under Construction
Mayor Brian Stover has big news: Thompson’s Station will be ponying up $15 million to fast-track the Columbia Pike Widening Project, originally scheduled to finish sometime between the next cicada cycle and the end of TDOT’s 10-year plan.
According to the mayor’s press release—posted on Facebook like all great municipal policy—the town’s Board of Mayor and Aldermen voted to issue bonds to fund the project. Which is government-speak for “we’re taking on debt, but let’s call it transformative.”
You might ask: How much road does $15 million buy us?
Answer: About three miles.
You might also ask: Wait, wasn’t TDOT already going to do this?
Answer: Yes, but not soon enough for the mayor’s ribbon-cutting calendar.
Enter Allison Hunt Anderson, a sharp-eyed resident and one of the few voices asking meaningful questions in the comments section:
• “Can you explain more about how this $15 million will be funded?”
• “Will the $15 million be split by Thompson’s Station and Spring Hill?”
• “Is this just the amount Thompson’s Station is responsible for?”
In return, the mayor offered a mix of sunny optimism and budgetary haze, culminating in the all-time classic:
“Appears to include SH up to Duplex.”
Appears.
That’s the word you use when you’re trying to remember if you left the oven on—not when you’re justifying fifteen million dollars in public debt. We’re not planning a backyard barbecue; we’re issuing municipal bonds, and the best we can do is squint at a map and guess?
Next thing you know, we’ll be allocating funds to pave a “connector road” through Narnia—right after the Carters Creek bridge gets its own interchange via Middle-earth.
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CATTY-CORNERED: BRENTWOOD ETHICS DRAMA GETS PERSONAL (AND EXTREMELY PETTY)
Things were already spicy in Brentwood. Now they’re full-on ghost pepper — with a heart emoji chaser.
Last week’s candidate forum turned into a backyard wrestling match when Gerald Witcher accused Commissioner Nelson Andrews of voting on a rezoning project near Maryland Farms without disclosing that he owns property “catty-corner” to the site. Andrews responded like a man who’s been here before — because he has — firing off a social media post accusing a now-familiar cast of characters (Spears, Gorman, MacMillan, Travis) of waging yet another coordinated hit job.
But then came a plot twist so juicy it could only have come from Brentwood: a formal ethics complaint was filed March 31 — not against Andrews, but against Mayor Rhea Little himself.
Enter: Rebecca J. Martinez, longtime Brentwood resident and emerging icon of municipal accountability. Her complaint reads like the script to a city hall reboot of Scandal — and friends, it delivers.
So what’s she alleging?
• That Commissioner Little used city resources to blast an email about the hot-button Concord Road racquet complex, complete with ominous warnings about “Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing.”
• That he sent this email to all six other commissioners, a move which—oops—violates the Tennessee Sunshine Law.
• And that he then directed the city’s head of IT to delete the email from all commissioner inboxes.
And confirmed the deletion.
With a heart emoji.
The complaint cites T.C.A. 39-16-504, aka Tampering with a Public Record, which is a Class E felony — a fancy way of saying “you can’t retroactively erase your paper trail just because it’s inconvenient.”
As a bonus, she also accuses Little of violating Brentwood’s own Municipal Code Section 2-233(b) for abusing his authority.
The fallout?
No comment from Mayor Rhea Little.
No rebuttal from Sarah VanWormer, Brentwood’s IT director.
Just digital erasures, legal citations, and one very bold resident reminding everyone that email servers aren’t a personal doodle pad for disappearing decisions.
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GULF STATION SERVES UP UNLEADED… CHAOS
Well folks, it finally happened: the gas station at the corner of Lewisburg Pike and Duplex Road took the phrase “running on empty” to disturbing new depths — namely, the bottom of their fuel tanks, where diesel, water, and mechanical mayhem were apparently waiting in ambush.
According to a viral post lighting up the Williamson County, TN (Franklin, Brentwood, Spring Hill, etc.) Facebook group, customers at B&D Market filled up and promptly broke down. Dozens of vehicles stalled out along Bethesda-Duplex like some tragic parade of good intentions and bad fuel.
One woman’s check engine light came on before she even hit 840. Others were waved off mid-pump by Good Samaritans with iPhones and haunted eyes. Meanwhile, the tow trucks circled like vultures with flashing lights.
What Went Wrong?
• Possibility A: Water seeped into the tanks after recent storms.
• Possibility B: A delivery driver pulled the ol’ switcheroo and pumped diesel into the gasoline tank.
• Possibility C: Both. Because why choose just one disaster?
To be clear, nobody thinks the owners of B&D did this on purpose. In fact, several commenters went out of their way to say the folks who run the station are kind, responsive, and likely just as blindsided as the guy whose car died twenty minutes after topping off with what turned out to be 87-octane swamp juice.
Tri Star Energy is now on the case, fielding insurance claims like a crisis hotline for combustion victims—one flooded engine, one lawsuit, and one nervous intern away from lighting a match and walking off the job.
If you were a victim of the Great Spring Hill Fill-Up Fiasco™, you can call Sandra at 931-626-8220 to report damages and add your name to what may soon be a class-action reunion.
And despite all this?
Reports say people kept pumping.
Let that sink in.
Dozens of cars stalling. Warnings online. A growing trail of broken dreams and intermittent fuel pumps.
And yet, there they were — still swiping, still filling, still betting on B&D like it’s blackjack in Vegas.
Spring Hill: where optimism lives and dies on the same tank of gas.
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FINAL FLUSH: THE ART OF THE INEVITABLE
Let’s not kid ourselves. The only thing more inevitable than a new Brentwood pickleball complex is that Williamson County is about to raise your property taxes—and half the commission will act like it was forced upon them by divine lightning bolt.
At the April 1 Budget Committee meeting, the budget director calmly peeled the Band-Aid:
“Right now, we’re looking at a $14 million increase in expenses… and only a 2% increase in revenue.”
That’s not a gap. That’s a crater. But rather than respond with urgency—or even a basic spreadsheet—the committee responded with approvals.
• Raises? Approved.
• Overtime? Approved.
• A $50,000 lobbyist for the sheriff’s office? Approved.
• Software packages with vaguely heroic names like “Paragrin” and “Guardian RFID”? Fast-tracked.
But don’t worry—they’re brainstorming “creative revenue options.” Not one real idea, just vague gestures toward “partnerships” and “conversations.” The county’s running toward a fiscal cliff, and the plan is apparently to hold a visioning session on the way down.
Then came the one honest moment.
Mayor Rogers Anderson finally dropped the veil:
“Unless the revenue changes… you are looking at a property tax increase.”
DING DING DING — and just like that, someone accidentally said the quiet part out loud.
And the room? Dead silent.
No one followed with a plan.
No one hit pause.
No one offered even a symbolic gesture of restraint.
They just kept going—business as usual, budgets as usual, and every dollar passed with the kind of casual indifference that happens when you’re spending other people’s money.
Another commissioner solemnly declared that we can’t cut law enforcement, infrastructure, or schools. Which sounds responsible—until you realize that’s the entire budget. It’s the local government equivalent of saying, “We’re out of money, but we’re unwilling to spend any less.”
Here’s the thing: if you’re going to raise taxes, say it. Own it. Make your case. What you don’t get to do is perform budget theater for a month straight and then act surprised by the plot twist.
Because when this all shakes out, and the mill rate quietly creeps up to close the $14 million gap, every single commissioner who voted ‘yes’ on every budget and ‘no’ on the tax rate should be required to knock on every door in their district and explain how they managed to do both.
That’s not leadership. That’s a well-rehearsed sidestep in a budget ballet no one asked for.
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That’s a wrap.
We laughed, we cried, we nearly ran out of gas.
And remember: if your elected officials say “revenue enhancement,” check your wallet—and check Williamson Wrong.
See y’all next week.
- Williamson Wrong