📰 THE DUMP — SEPTEMBER 5, 2025

Your weekly look into the weird, the wild and Williamson County

Sep 05, 2025

Welcome back to The Dump — your weekly look into the weird, the wild and Williamson County. This week, Brentwood got a constitutional yard sale, Columbia’s mayor dished politics with sprinkles, and Pride learned who its real friends are. Meanwhile, Franklin argued over how tall is too tall, Main Street found religion in bourbon, and a senate hopeful wades into zoning wars.

Grab a seat and top off your glass. Let’s dump it out.

🐘 STACK ’EM HIGH, CUT ’EM DEEP: GOP HOPEFULS TURN LIBRARY INTO CONSTITUTIONAL YARD SALE
Friends, you could hear a pin drop at the library Tuesday night. Not because folks were lost in novels, but because the Republican Women of Williamson County had packed the John P. Holt Brentwood Library with voters eager to see seven GOP hopefuls fight over Mark Green’s empty congressional seat. Green’s July resignation left the 7th District wide open, and now every ambitious Republican in Middle Tennessee wants the keys.

Rep. Lee Reeves drew first blood. His opening promise? End birthright citizenship. The 14th Amendment, he said, had been “misread” for more than 150 years, and he was just the man to fix it.

Then came Tres Wittum, who looked at one amendment and raised him two. His first act in Congress would be repealing both the income tax and the direct election of senators. That feels like less of a promise and more of a time machine to 1912. Even Wittum admitted it wouldn’t happen, sighing, “We’re going to run for reelection the minute we get there.”

The veterans’ talk from Matt Van Epps and Joe Leurs sounded sane enough, which meant it got lost in the shuffle.

Because then the circus arrived: Stewart Parks, a Jan. 6 defendant pardoned by Trump, turned his mic into a thank-you speech. “President Trump was there for me, so I’m going to be there for him.” Nothing like running for Congress on the strength of your rap sheet.

When asked if they supported Trump’s agenda, every hand shot up like middle schoolers on pizza day. Van Epps bragged he was “doing DOGE before DOGE.” Reeves showcased his constitutional scissors. Parks clutched his pardon papers.

And then came the jaw-dropper: crime. Would they back Trump sending the National Guard into Chicago — and Memphis? Rep. Jody Barrett said yes, if it was “constitutionally sound.” Wittum fretted about precedent. But Rep. Gino Bulso didn’t flinch. He’d send troops into Memphis tomorrow and called Florida’s immigrant lock-up — lovingly nicknamed Alligator Alcatraz — “innovative.”

WW BOTTOM LINE:
What Brentwood saw wasn’t a forum — it was a demolition derby. Reeves took out the 14th, Wittum swung at the 16th and 17th, Parks campaigned on a pardon, and Bulso promised soldiers in Memphis with alligators as consultants. Every hand flew up for Trump, every amendment was up for auction, and by the end, the only thing left standing was the disco ball waiting for Friday night’s sequel at the CabaRay.

Put on your dancing shoes.

🍦 MOLDER MELTS INTO THE RING: COLUMBIA MAYOR TAKES HIS SHOT AT OGLES
Chaz Molder, Columbia’s two-term mayor, kicked off his congressional campaign at Hattie Jane’s Creamery — because nothing says “take me seriously” like sprinkles and waffle cones. Flanked by family, Molder leaned into his small-town roots and promised to be the opposite of Andy Ogles: present, responsive, and not an embarrassment.

The Nashville Scene quoted Molder throwing shade: “Being a mayor provides a front-row perspective to the needs and challenges our communities face. I think Congressman Ogles, in a lot of ways, forgot who sent him there. I think he’s more interested in chasing national headlines for the wrong reasons instead of local headlines for the right reasons.”

Translation: Ogles is still busy auditioning for cable news while Maury County is stuck on hold.

And because no campaign launch is complete without Washington fingerprints, the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee — the national party’s campaign shop — parachuted in a press secretary from D.C. to clap politely — extra nuts on this clown cone.

The reality is that Ogles may be drowning in debt and headlines, but he still holds the advantage. Molder’s banking on ice cream charisma to make a dent — and that’s a tall order in a district where Republicans haven’t broken a sweat.

WW BOTTOM LINE:
Voters get two scoops in 2026: Rocky Road with Molder, or Rocky Ogles with debt and wedge issues. Either way, the brain freeze is included.

🌈 PRIDE TAKES A HIT: BIG SPONSORS BAIL, LOCAL FESTIVALS SCRAMBLE
Rainbows are out, restructuring is in. That’s the new corporate playbook in Tennessee, where Nashville Pride is now patching a $270,000 hole after longtime sponsors ghosted faster than a bad Grindr date. As reported in the Nashville Scene by Hannah Herner, Vanderbilt University Medical Center, Nissan, Cracker Barrel, Dollar General, and Jack Daniel’s all pulled support, some within days of the June festival.

Vanderbilt wins the gold medal for timing: one week before the parade, it yanked emergency standby support, leaving Pride with a $30,000 tab. This after it already gutted its LGBTQ health program under pressure from Sen. Marsha Blackburn, who steadily echoed Trump’s executive order to kill off DEI in federally funded institutions.

Pride President Tina Tousignant lit into the ex-sponsors, saying they “cower down and bend the knee to politics.” That’s a bold strategy, given those same companies were writing checks just last year. But maybe she’s not wrong — it doesn’t take a forensic accountant to see what’s going on.

And then there’s Franklin Pride, where the hit was even harder: 70% of funding gone in 2025, including its largest backer, according to Williamson Scene. They had to scramble with a February concert and a hat-passing effort to keep the festival alive.

WW BOTTOM LINE:
Tennessee’s corporate retreat is less about balance sheets and more about politics. The trifecta is right there in neon: Trump issues the order, Blackburn brings the pressure, and Robbie Starbuck, man bun gleaming like a lighthouse of grievance, spends weeks shaming Cracker Barrel until the rocking chairs roll off the rainbow porch.

So yes, Pride will march on — but not on the back of Fortune 500s. It’ll be funded by regular folks digging into their pockets. Which, honestly, might be the most Pride thing of all.

🏗️ HEIGHT WARS ON COLUMBIA: FRANKLIN DREAMS BIG, NEIGHBORS SEE SHADOWS
Franklin packed into an August 28 joint workshop to finally answer the mystery of 926 Columbia Avenue: what to do with one of downtown’s last big empty lots. The answer, according to developers? Cram in a 3-story mixed-use block, rows of townhomes, and a 4-story hotel right in the middle like the world’s blandest birthday candle.

City staff already frowned at the height jump. Then commissioners started unloading. One waved off the hotel as “courtyard-ish” (their word, not ours), which is Franklin-speak for “looks like you Googled ‘default Marriott.’” Others groaned at the thought of hotel windows peering into Franklin Housing Authority backyards while parking lot floodlights turned Short Court into Neyland Stadium on game day.

And Columbia Avenue? Too tall, too close, too much wall. The fix on the table: push that third story back, widen the sidewalk, and stop pretending a 53-foot “transition zone” is anything but a billboard for overreach. Toss in pointed reminders to honor Historic Natchez Street and suddenly the glossy renderings started to look more like warning labels.

Developers pitched walkability, underground parking, outdoor seating, even the dream of a little grocery anchor. But the mood was unmistakable: Franklin likes growth — just not if it shows up dressed in Holiday Inn chic.

WW BOTTOM LINE:
Franklin wants something at 926 Columbia — just not a Courtyard Marriott knockoff. Until the hotel slims down and the Columbia wall eases off the curb, this project is stuck at check-in with a big red “do not disturb” sign.

🥃 SPIRITS HIGH ON MAIN: FRANKLIN’S NEWEST TEMPLE TO WHISKEY
Franklin just got a new living room—and it’s stocked with a whole lot more bourbon than your uncle’s den. The Leiper’s Fork House of Spirits has been open just over a month at 334 Main, and walking in feels less like finding a bar and more like stumbling into a whiskey museum where you’re actually allowed to touch things. Copper still gleaming in the middle, barrels stacked along the wall, chandeliers hanging overhead—this place doesn’t just pour drinks, it stages them.

The cocktails? Worth the hype. Whether it’s an old-fashioned with a Franklin twist or something pink, frothy, and minty that looks like it belongs on the cover of Southern Living, they’re dialed in. We didn’t get into the food this time, but plates were flying past the bar like runway models—smoked chicken, roasted potatoes, and small bites dressed to impress. Throw in some live music and you’ve got the kind of Main Street spot that makes you forget you swore you were “just stopping in for one.”

WW BOTTOM LINE:
Franklin’s fanciest new whiskey museum lets you drink the exhibits—but bring your wallet, because Main Street admission isn’t cheap.

🚽 FINAL FLUSH: PROMISES MADE
Gary Humble is back in the ring for 2026, taking another swing at Senate Majority Leader Jack Johnson. He’s been spotted at Franklin and Williamson County meetings, nodding along with the neighbors and sprinkling “responsible growth” into his campaign stump. To some ears, that sounds like zero growth — lock the gates, stop the subdivisions, freeze Franklin in time.

But here’s the tough love: a Tennessee state senator cannot deliver that. Not now, not ever.

Zoning, rezonings, site plans, subdivisions — those are controlled locally. Aldermen, county commissioners, and planning commissions decide what gets built where. A state senator has no seat at that table. At best, he’s got the same two minutes at the microphone as any other citizen.

But what does the law say? Back in 1955, Tennessee gave cities sweeping annexation powers. They could annex by ordinance without asking anyone’s consent. Farmland and neighborhoods could be absorbed overnight, like it or not. That lasted until the late 1990s, when the Growth Policy Act forced counties and cities to collaborate on long-term growth plans — Urban Growth Boundaries, Planned Growth Areas, Rural Areas. And by 2014, the state slammed the door on forced annexation entirely. Since then, cities can annex only with written consent of property owners or through a local referendum. Period. Tennessee is now one of the most consent-heavy states in the country.

So when Humble implies he can deliver “no growth” from the Senate floor, what he’s really suggesting is rewriting decades of law, tearing up hard-won reforms, and dragging Tennessee back into the bad old days. Does anyone honestly think a freshman senator is going to walk in and pull that off?

Because here’s the other reality: freshmen don’t run the show in Nashville. They don’t chair the key committees. They don’t decide what bills get heard. They don’t have the coalitions it takes to pass major legislation. Even seasoned lawmakers spend years trying to shepherd meaningful reforms through the General Assembly, and most of them fall short. Annexation changes are never the work of one person; they come from years of study, public hearings, and broad coalitions.

And it’s no secret how Gary Humble has operated. He’s been featured as Dummy of the Week on this platform. His habit of making impossible promises is well documented. But this isn’t about recycling past failures. This is about voters demanding more. Not just listening for the words they want to hear — “I’ll take care of it,” “I’ll fight for you” — but pressing for the details. How? What’s the plan?

Because in Humble’s case, the things he’s promising are already blocked by precedent, law, and sheer political reality. No senator can single-handedly stop growth. No senator can rewrite annexation law on a whim. And no senator can deliver zero growth to Franklin while developers follow the codes already on the books.

And yes, the frustrations are real. Nobody enjoys sitting on Mack Hatcher while traffic crawls… or likes seeing rows of rooftops sprout overnight. But people also like greenways, sidewalks, and parks — the things that make a growing community livable. That’s where smart planning comes in. And smart planning doesn’t happen by burning it all down. It happens through coalitions — citizens, lawmakers, government employees, and yes, even developers — working together.

Call it hopelessly romantic, but there’s still a way to balance these things without vilifying everyone in the process.

Campaign season, though, is full of capes and fairy tales. Anybody can say they’ll stop growth. Anybody can say they’ll fly. But there’s a difference between promising flight and actually building the rocket. The first gets applause; the second gets results.

Always ask for the rocket.

And remember this: please don’t throw your vote away on a fantasy. A vote should be rooted in reality — just like any promise worth taking seriously.

And that’s this week’s swirl. Thanks for riding along — amendments, sprinkles, rainbows, and whiskey all in one pour. Around here the stories never stop stacking, and neither will we.

See you next week, Williamson.

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