🗞️ THE DUMP — JUNE 5, 2026
YOUR LOOK AT THE WEIRD, THE WILD AND WILLIAMSON COUNTY
Hey neighbors.
We’re cruising into another weekend, and as always, the news gods have provided.
This week, a Nashville judge took one look at a Franklin fishing expedition and decided to reel it in. Williamson County Schools discovered that “secure storage” is apparently a shoe organizer.
Meanwhile, a wastewater leak celebrated another anniversary, Brentwood’s most determined amateur parks director added a few more lines to his résumé, and Tennessee politicians once again proved that X isn’t breaking democracy — it’s just documenting it.
It’s your look at the weird, the wild, and Williamson County.
Let’s dump it out.
🪦 THE GREAT WHODUNIT GOES FISHING
Well, folks, it turns out there is a limit.
Cast your mind back to last July, when a 128-page packet called Save the Heritage Foundation started making the rounds. The ask, at the time, was modest. Some numbers looked funny, some longtime employees had headed for the exits, and a touch of transparency seemed in order — the sort of thing you’d think a beloved local preservation foundation would be only too happy to provide.
What the public got instead was subpoenas. Not a lawsuit, mind you.
In November, Heritage Foundation president Bari Beasley went to court and filed a Rule 27 petition. Rule 27 has a narrow purpose: preserving testimony that might disappear before a lawsuit can be filed. Think a dying witness or someone about to leave the country. What it is not, Tennessee courts have repeatedly said, is a tool for figuring out who to sue; it most certainly is not a fishing license.
All of it was filed in Davidson County — a good half hour up the interstate, far from Franklin, where Beasley lives, the Foundation sits, and the whole dispute was born. It’s also where seven of the eight subpoenaed witnesses happen to reside. A Williamson County fight, in a Davidson County courtroom. Make of the scenery what you will.
The subpoenas went out in waves. Four right before Christmas — Cynthia Stielow, Shelly Birdsong, Mary Catherine Mousourakis, and Miriam Wiggins. Three more in late April — Pamela Lewis, Walter Green, and Brian Laster. And on May 5, an eighth, to sitting Franklin alderman Patrick Baggett, whose apparent offense was being a public official receiving communications from his constituents.
Eight subpoenas — no lawsuit. Just a widening net thrown over notable neighbors and public servants, hunting the names of people who’d asked uncomfortable questions.
Then came Wednesday, in that Nashville courtroom, where Judge Amanda McClendon read the whole production and was clearly unimpressed.
She found “Tenn. R. Civ. P. 27.01 was misapplied and the mechanics of Tenn. R. Civ. P. 27.01 were not followed.” Then she reached for the phrase that’s going to follow this case around: “To avoid a potential slippery slope allowing further overly broad pre-suit discovery, a fresh start is necessary by Petitioner to better determine if the pre-suit discovery is a fact-finding mission or a fishing expedition.”
Ah. Not a fishing license.
“Misapplied,” “not well-taken,” and “fishing expedition” — all stacked together in a single order, and the plain-English translation reads a lot like: counsel, approach the bench, and let me walk you through what the letters G, T, F, and O stand for.
She didn’t stop at mere letters and words, either. The motions to compel were denied. The December order that started the whole machine — vacated. Every last one of the eight subpoenas, right down to the alderman’s, quashed. What Beasley got, in the end, was an instruction: file a Rule 27 petition that actually follows the rule, or file a real lawsuit with named defendants who get to stand up and defend themselves.
As the order itself suggests, the whole point of this exercise was to find out who was behind the packet. But those filings went where filings go: into a public court file. Among them is an affidavit Beasley filed to establish she is “not identified as a subject” of the Tennessee Attorney General’s investigation into the Foundation. Which is an interesting thing to file if there wasn’t an investigation to begin with.
According to Stielow, there was. The Foundation’s former Chief Advancement Officer has sworn the AG’s office interviewed her about the Foundation before this lawsuit was ever filed — and that Beasley had instructed staff “not to share financial information with the Board.”
Ho boy.
WW BOTTOM LINE:
A great deal of effort went into finding out who put certain information in front of the public. The result is that a great deal more information is now in front of the public, stamped and filed and free for anyone to read. Funny how that works.
Also, please don’t sue us.
👟 SECURE STORAGE IS A SHOE POUCH
Last fall, the Williamson County school board spent months debating student phones. After reviewing the research, hearing from educators, and ultimately deciding the state hadn’t gone far enough, the board adopted an “away for the day” policy requiring phones to be securely stored during the school day beginning in August. The administration’s assignment over the spring was straightforward: test a few storage methods and bring back one that accomplished that goal.
On Monday night, after a full school year of discussion, a nine-week pilot, and a meeting that stretched past three hours, Dr. Lee Webb delivered the recommendation: a shoe pouch. The problem is that a shoe pouch isn’t “secure storage” under the policy several board members believe they actually passed.
Webb’s recommendation would have students place their phones in a pouch when they arrive, retrieve them when the bell rings, carry them through the hallway, then place them in another pouch at the next class. The devices would be away during instruction but back in students’ hands during every passing period.
Vice Chair Claire Reeves argued that approach directly conflicts with the board’s intent, noting that transition periods had originally been included in the policy language before being amended during later negotiations. Board member Jay Galbreath raised similar concerns, questioning whether a phone that returns to a student’s possession six or seven times a day can reasonably be described as securely stored during the school day.
Lockers, which every high school already has, were suggested. Webb responded that on a large campus there is no practical way to verify students are actually using them, and teachers are unlikely to spend their day patrolling hallways looking for violators. That answer, however, seemed to reinforce the board's concern rather than resolve it. If the challenge is what happens between classes, a shoe pouch still puts the phone back into the student's hands every time the bell rings.
Set the pilot data aside and the whole dispute comes down to a single word: secure. The board used it deliberately. The administration is now asking whether a phone hanging in a shoe pouch for fifty minutes, then riding through the hallway in a student’s pocket, satisfies it. Either secure means away from the student, or it means convenient to administer. The entire debate lives in that gap.
Superintendent Jason Golden told the board he would do whatever it directed. (Deep sigh.)
WW BOTTOM LINE:
An elected board spent months debating a phone policy and eventually adopted one. A year later, the administration returned with a recommendation that several board members believe doesn’t satisfy it. The debate wasn’t really about phones or shoe pouches. It was about a question every governing body eventually faces: when policy collides with practicality, enforcement, or accountability — as Williamson County has also discovered with its IEP documentation debate — who decides which one gives way?
💩 TEN YEARS DOWNSTREAM (AND STILL FLOWING)
A wastewater treatment plant has one simple job. Sewage goes in dirty and comes out the far end as regular old water. The Limestone Wastewater Treatment Plant in Grassland has spent the better part of a decade skipping the part in between. And frankly, Cartwright Creek is tired of putting up with this sh…enanigan.
Residents have reported leaks, overflows, the occasional floater, and other unwelcome surprises from this spot for years. The sewage just keeps coming, clearly straining to pass through the system. You’d think something would’ve moved by now.
It hasn’t.
This week’s episode hit new olfactory lows. Neighbors reported the usual smelly business, and scientists showed up, took samples from the leak, and sat down to process the results. The E. coli levels literally maxed out the testing equipment.
While regulators talk about another fine, the problem stays backlogged. After ten years, threatening this leak with $2,000 fines is like threatening an overflowing septic tank with a plunger.
WW BOTTOM LINE:
Most anniversaries come with cake. This one comes with fresh testing kits and another round of “we’re looking into it.” After more than a decade, the county still can’t seem to flush out the problem.
🛠️ SERIAL IMPROVER
Most people get reprimanded by the city and become more cautious. Ryan Reid apparently gets reprimanded by the city and starts another improvement project.
Last week, Brentwood residents learned that Reid, a Brenthaven resident and former member of Brentwood’s Park and Tree boards, had transformed roughly 16 acres of city-owned greenway into an unauthorized arboretum complete with trails, benches, play equipment, signage, and curated trees. He even sought official Level 1 Arboretum designation from the Tennessee Urban Forestry Council — all on land the city says it didn’t know was being developed.
As it turns out, the arboretum wasn’t the beginning of the story.
According to Mayor Nelson Andrews, the city previously directed Reid to remove a fire pit and exercise equipment from the property in 2021. Then, in 2023, city officials say he was cited again and forced to remove a small golf course.
A golf course.
The fact that Reid formerly served on Brentwood’s Park and Tree boards makes the “maybe there was an oversight” defense a tougher sell. He knew the process and simply did it anyway. And his explanation to NewsChannel 5 — that the city doesn’t really own the property because “God owns it” — becomes even more amusing when this is apparently the third disagreement with City Hall on the subject.
The irony is that most repeat offenders are accused of making things worse. Reid’s apparent offense is an inability to stop trying to make things better. The problem, from the city’s perspective, is that even well-intentioned improvements still require public approval.
Mayor Andrews says no criminal charges are pending and hopes Reid will voluntarily remove the installations. The alternative, apparently, is legal action nobody wants.
WW BOTTOM LINE:
Three warnings, a fire pit, exercise equipment, a golf course, and now an arboretum. At this rate, Brentwood’s best chance of getting Reid to stop improving public property without permission may be sentencing him to improve public property with permission — picking up litter along I-65 in an orange vest.
🚽 FINAL FLUSH: OFF THE DEEP END
Every generation gets its great rivalries. Jefferson had Adams. Jackson had Clay. Not so long ago, Ronald Reagan had Tip O’Neill. They fought like alley cats during the day and somehow managed to function in the same republic afterward. Every era eventually reveals itself through the people doing the fighting.
This week Tennessee was treated to two examples, both unfolding on X, which increasingly appears to be where our politicians do their best work.
The first features Congressman John Rose and Representative Monty Fritts, two men currently engaged in what can only be described as a spirited campaign for second place. Every poll in the Tennessee governor’s race has Marsha Blackburn so far out front she may need binoculars to see these two.
Rose kicked things off by posting that he is “the only major candidate in this race who was born and raised in Tennessee,” with the word major doing enough work to qualify for overtime pay. Fritts wasted no time replying, “John, did your AIPAC handlers approve this message?” Rose then responded with a statement explaining that he is a Christian, a businessman, an employer, a job creator, and, most importantly, not Monty Fritts.
Gentlemen, the frontrunner is over there.
Still, as entertaining as that exchange was, it wasn’t even the funniest political rivalry in Tennessee this week.
That honor belongs to Congressman Andy Ogles and, apparently, a member of Congressman Andy Ogles’ communications team. Or, as much of Tennessee quickly concluded, Andy Ogles.
On Tuesday, Ogles’ official account posted, “Homosexuality has no place in America. Happy Nuclear Family Month.” The reaction was immediate, including from plenty of people who normally find themselves on Ogles’ side of political fights. By that evening, the congressman had an explanation.
“Earlier today while working on the farm, my phone began going crazy because of a post made by a member of my comms team,” he wrote. The employee, he assured everyone, “has been reprimanded.”
Now, we’re not saying Congressman Ogles doesn’t own a farm. He does, after all, wear boots with suits often enough that we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. We are saying that asking voters to believe a rogue staffer independently logged into his account and published a message perfectly aligned with the congressman’s public persona while he was out tending the farm is a fairly ambitious ask.
Which leaves Tennessee with two possibilities. Either Ogles posted it himself, or he employs a communications aide who talks exactly like Andy Ogles, posts exactly like Andy Ogles, has access to Andy Ogles’ account, and occasionally freelances culture-war missiles while the boss is stacking hay.
And that, in a nutshell, is Tennessee politics in 2026. John Rose has Monty Fritts. Andy Ogles has Andy Ogles.
Maybe social media has changed politics. Maybe it has simply removed the curtain and given everyone front-row seats. Either way, the show is free, the actors are enthusiastic, and there is no sign of intermission.
Get on X. They’re already there.
Well, that’s enough out of us. Thanks for sticking around.
Have a great weekend, stay out of court, stay upstream, and if you feel the urge to build something on public property, maybe call City Hall first.
We’ll see you next week.
Stay wrong.
