THE DUMP: MAY 2, 2025
Originally posted May 2, 2025
Welcome back to your weekly dive into the weird, the wild, and Williamson County.
From collapsing houses to collapsing credibility, it’s all here — raw, unfiltered, and deeply unserious.
Let’s dump it out.
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NOLENSVILLE: WHERE INVESTMENT GOES TO DIE (AND THEN ROTS)
Welcome to Nolensville’s “historic downtown,” where the town’s idea of “preservation” is leaving abandoned houses to collapse slowly in public view — and calling it heritage.
A recent example? A widow tries to sell her crumbling one-bedroom. A developer offers to build a walkable, charming retail center — the kind that might generate actual sales tax in a town staring down a 200%+ property tax hike.
The Historic Zoning Commission said: No thanks. We prefer rot. Unanimously.
At first, it seemed like there might be a real conversation. But the outcome was rigged from the start.
Commissioner Terry Adams — Nolensville’s self-appointed guardian of “small-town charm” — warned of the horrors to come: ice cream shops, gyms, nail salons, and small commercial retail — apparently the Four Horsemen of the Nolensville Apocalypse.
Listening to Adams, you would think the mere presence of a waffle cone could trigger the collapse of Western civilization.
Commissioner Gretchen Anderson wasn’t about to be left out either. She spent most of the meeting cross-examining the developer like he was on trial for crimes against nostalgia, quoting ordinances, questioning research timelines, and treating every practical suggestion like it was a direct assault on the soul of Nolensville.
And then — because every Nolensville meeting needs some ceremonial fog — former County Commissioner Beth Lothers mailed in a letter. She didn’t attend. Just sent her ghostwritten ruling from wherever retired officials drift off to scold from afar.
Not everyone who spoke was living in a fantasy world. Mike Luszczek — more famously known as The Nolensville Insider — pointed out the obvious: “If it matters this much, the town should step in and save it. They should not devalue private property to save a building that even the owner doesn’t see the significance of.”
A rare moment of sanity in a meeting otherwise dedicated to embalming bad ideas.
But the ending was already written. The vote to deny demolition came faster than you could say “rising tax bills” — unanimous, joyless, and completely expected.
Thoughts after sitting through this predetermined theater: Multiple speakers tried to compare Nolensville’s situation to Franklin. But Franklin’s beloved downtown isn’t a museum of collapsing houses. When buildings couldn’t be saved, they were replaced — with period-correct charm and actual foot traffic in mind. Like the Harpeth Hotel: brand-new, old-looking, and thriving.
Nolensville? It treats every rotten shack like it’s Monticello. Even when the “historic” house is just… a house. That nobody wants. That’s falling apart.
And for the record, Terry Adams: You approved a cinderblock vape shop — but now you’re the saint of preservation? Apparently, mango-scented vape clouds are fine — but a kid eating ice cream downtown? That’s a bridge too far.
WW BOTTOM LINE:
Nolensville — where a widow can’t sell her land, a building keeps rotting, and your tax bill keeps climbing.
Good job, everyone.
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PHOENIX SCAM UPDATE: CASADA CAN’T SPELL IT, SMITH CAN’T HIDE IT
If you’ve been following the Casada-Cothren trial drama this week, congratulations — you now know more about public corruption than most lawmakers prefer you do.
Former Rep. Glen Casada’s name is all over the testimony, even if his co-defendants wish it weren’t. Robin Smith told the jury she helped launch Phoenix Solutions, pressured lawmakers into using it, and lied about who was behind it.
Asked what was actually illegal, she didn’t hesitate:
“Hiding our identities and deceiving our customers.”
Just your average day in constituent services.
Cade Cothren’s defense insists it was all above board — good old-fashioned marketing, government edition. Smith disagreed, calling it kickbacks with fonts.
Casada, meanwhile, was allegedly kept out of the loop on purpose because, according to Smith, he “had loose lips” and couldn’t resist name-dropping. She even told Cothren that Casada shouldn’t know the word Phoenix.
Which might be the most Glen Casada thing ever said about Casada.
Then came the taped call between Smith and Rep. Ron Gant. Gant tried to confirm who was running Phoenix. Smith gave him a backstory so fake it should’ve come with a disclaimer. She claims she thought Gant wanted to hire her — not help the feds.
And just to keep things lively, defense attorneys are now accusing Smith of getting hand signals from her attorney during testimony. He was reportedly in the gallery wearing a dark suit, holding an orange cup, and allegedly signaling like he was coaching third base. (They must have been fresh out of eye patches at the Evil Guy Store.)
Her team says they were “just chatting.” So either it’s a federal trial or Guess Who: Felony Edition.
And yes — House Speaker Cameron Sexton is expected to testify against his predecessor — looks bad, feels worse.
More embarrassment to come.
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KICKING THE CAN: COMMISSION ADMITS STATE FUNDING IS BROKEN
At long last, someone said it out loud: the state is stiffing Williamson County on school funding—and the County Commission knows it.
During Monday night’s Williamson County Budget Committee meeting, officials finally acknowledged the obvious: the state’s education formula, TISA, is leaving local taxpayers to shoulder more and more of the cost.
“Until this thing is addressed, you’re kicking the can down the road. That’s all we’re doing,” said Mayor Rogers Anderson, referring to the widening gap between what the state provides and what the county needs to fund public education.
The numbers are staggering:
• Williamson County receives just 32% of its K–12 funding from the state
• The statewide average is 55%
• 65% of WCS’s funding comes from local sources—more than double the state average of 27%
That means Williamson taxpayers now cover $379 million of the school budget—nearly twice what the state provides. And any push for competitive teacher salaries? It’s almost entirely on the county to fund.
WCS CFO Rachel Farmer explained the math: “Since our fiscal capacity is large, our portion is more. So therefore, every time [the total] gets bigger, what’s coming to us directly goes down a little bit.”
Superintendent Jason Golden added: “That CDF [Cost Differential Factor] is not being funded through TISA.”
Reader’s Note: The CDF was part of the now-defunct BEP formula. It gave extra support to high-cost counties like Williamson to offset higher teacher wages and operations. That means there’s no cost-of-living adjustment for one of the fastest-growing, most expensive counties in the state.
In other words, the more our schools grow, the less help we get. Even the $4 million the state tossed us this year? Mayor Anderson didn’t sugarcoat it: “It’s a Band-Aid fix.”
To their credit, several commissioners voiced concern and floated potential cost-saving ideas. But so far, there’s no coordinated push to lobby the state. No resolution. No loud demand for a fix.
WW BOTTOM LINE:
No, the County Commission didn’t invent TISA. But they’ve got a platform—and they need to use it. The formula is broken. The local burden is exploding. And unless someone starts shouting in Nashville, we’re going to be paying teacher raises out of pothole money.
We are kicking the can. But we shouldn’t be kicking it alone.
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THE GOVERNOR’S CLUB — Y’ALL OKAY OVER THERE, BRENTWOOD?
Mayor Mark Gorman just racked up another ethics complaint—because Brentwood politics can’t go five minutes without stepping on a rake.
This time, the allegation is that Gorman pitched his HOA management company to The Governor’s Club while hinting he could “help” with their zoning violations. That’s not just shady—it’s straight out of the Grift for Dummies playbook. You’re not supposed to sell access to City Hall like it’s mulch delivery.
No record he disclosed the conflict. No sign anyone at City Hall asked. And no hearing until May 8—two days after the election.
Gorman calls it a smear. Voters might call it the third rake of the season.
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FAIRE WARNING: TENNESSEE RENAISSANCE FESTIVAL RETURNS TO YE OLDE WILLIAMSON COUNTY
Sharpen your broadswords and loosen your bodices — the Tennessee Renaissance Festival is back, once again transforming Middle Tennessee into a vaguely British fever dream fueled by turkey legs, fake accents, and Elizabethan heatstroke.
For four weekends, Castle Gwynn — that gothic tower rising inexplicably off I-840 — becomes the epicenter of ye olde suburban escapism. Expect knights on horseback, jesters with student loan debt, and a Queen who definitely teaches AP English the rest of the year.
Vendors will happily sell you a “hand-forged” sword that would lose a duel to drywall. But the jousting is real. The falcons are majestic. The mead is warm. And the sunstroke is free.
It’s historical escapism with just enough medieval mystery to keep Brentwood moms intrigued and Nolensville dads wondering if that lute player is hitting on their wife.
And where else can you watch a grown man in chainmail get smacked with a pool noodle while sipping mead from a plastic horn? It’s not history. It’s not even coherent. But it’s a damn good time.
For tickets, schedule, and a full list of artisans, jesters, and people with suspiciously modern dental work: www.tnrenfest.com
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FINAL FLUSH: RINOs, REPTILES, AND REPROBATES
On a recent episode of The Tennessee Informer — a show with the production value of a hostage video and the pacing of a fifth-grade dance — State Executive Committee member Chris Morris gave viewers a front-row seat to one man’s deeply personal feud with reality.
He delivered his monologue in front of a sad beige wall, accented by what may have been thrift store art and a window AC unit that looked ready to file for Social Security.
He kicked things off by accusing Sen. Jack Johnson and Rep. Lee Reeves of pretending to support party registration while secretly working to kill the bill:
“They both signed on to this bill… and in my humble opinion [that was] more of a myth than them actually being true patriots for this bill.”
Then he dropped the mask:
“Now we have political arsonists. And what I mean by that — these are the guys that gaslight. These are the legislators that go around and tell you half-truths… or they just outright lie.”
He didn’t stop there. Morris personally lashed out at Johnson:
“He used to speak to me. Now if he doesn’t like you, he just looks down at you and always says, ‘Pretty good day for a RINO.’ That’s his by-line.”
A grown man, on camera, upset that someone doesn’t say hi to him anymore.
But wait — it gets pettier.
At the March 4 GOP reorg, dozens of Republican voters were turned away under a shaky “three out of four” primary test — enforced by clipboards and crossed fingers. When Rep. Reeves tried to help one of those voters, Morris snapped:
“No sir. He needs to stay in his lane.”
Excuse me, sir, but you appear to be in the wrong state.
According to widespread and credible rumor, Morris doesn’t even live in Tennessee. He’s reportedly residing in Ardmore, Alabama, and using his parents’ Tennessee address — held in a trust — to maintain SEC eligibility. Sounds totally legit.
If true, he’s already disqualified. Let’s go to the tape:
“An SEC member shall automatically cease to hold office… in the event of change of his place of voter registration outside the District which he represents.” — TRP Bylaws, Article IV, Section 4
And just in case that wasn’t clear:
“An SEC member shall have an affirmative duty to give notice in writing to the State Chairman of a move outside the District which he represents.”
So while Morris is YouTubing himself into irrelevance, he may not even legally qualify for the job he’s weaponizing.
And yet there he is, calling for party purges:
“Kick some of their rear ends out of the party. Take their R away from them and strip them and call them for what they really are.”
Strip them. That’s the vision. Because nothing says “constitutional conservative” like forced political undressing.
Then came the tired excuse: the Tennessee Republican Party is just a “private club.”
Except it’s not.
Here’s what the law says (and yes, it's long, but needs to be said):
• T.C.A. § 2-13-103 creates the State Executive Committee as the state primary board, giving it legal authority to conduct and oversee public elections for partisan offices.
• TRP Bylaws, Article II, Section 2 confirms the SEC “shall serve as the TRP’s state primary board,” with “immediate charge and full control of the political affairs of the TRP,” including candidate certification and disputes.
• Article IX, Section 2 requires the TRP to notify “the appropriate election official(s)” when the party disqualifies a candidate — because the government enforces their decision.
• Article VIII defines county parties as existing “to promote Republican ideals, values, and all Republican elected officials across Tennessee.”
Repeat after me, Chris: promote all Republican officials. Not slander them. Not strip their party labels. Not sabotage your own party’s majority leader because he won’t sit with you at lunch.
The TRP and its executive committee are baked into state law. SEC members are elected in public primaries, sworn in under state code, and entrusted with taxpayer-supported powers to oversee candidate eligibility. This is not a book club. This is a semi-public institution with real, legal responsibilities.
Morris also claims the new law requiring primaries — HB855/SB799 — is “unconstitutional.”
And the encore?
“Yes, we will challenge.”
To that, we say: feel froggy? Jump. You will lose — just like you lost caucuses.
The law is clear: if you want access to public ballots, you follow public rules. You don’t get to exclude voters and expect the rest of us to pay for it.
The truth is simple: Morris wants to shrink the tent, block the voters, and handpick the outcomes. And if elected Republicans get in his way? He slanders them on YouTube.
As one Republican official said this week:
“I lost brain cells listening to it.”
Same. My laptop still won’t recover from the secondhand embarrassment. This was actually the dumbest hour I’ve spent all week.
Hey Ardmore, Alabama — come get your boy.
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And there you go — that’s it for this week.
They’re making a mess and hoping you’re too busy to notice. Turns out, you’re paying attention — and we can laugh at this together.
We’ll see you next week. Bring friends.