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After a Mayor’s Mysterious Death, a Land Dispute Divides Republicans in Tennessee: A development battle is splitting a deep-red county over what it means to be conservative (Wall Street Journal)
July 15, 2025 at 9:46 pm ET
MANCHESTER, Tenn.—Smack dab between the swelling urban centers of Nashville, Chattanooga, and Huntsville, Ala., rural Coffee County was poised to become Tennessee’s next boomtown, with subdivisions rapidly replacing farmland.
But when the county’s pro-growth mayor, Judd Matheny, died under unusual circumstances last year, it unleashed a development battle with a Southern Gothic twist that has split this deeply red area over the fundamental question of what it means to be conservative.
County officials are pushing hard to limit development across the area’s vast farmlands. In March, the county imposed a three-month moratorium on all large subdivision projects in areas zoned for agriculture. After that ended, officials passed an ordinance ruling that property owners in agricultural areas could only sell land in a minimum of 5-acre-lot increments, effectively halting large subdivisions in those areas.
On one side: the county’s multigenerational farmers and those seeking to preserve a community where rolled bales of hay still dot open fields. On the other side: developers, builders and real-estate brokers who believe the area is primed for tremendous growth.
Rival camps have hired lawyers and clash on social media through dueling Facebook pages, “Coffee County for Responsible Growth” and “Protect Coffee County Land Rights.” Planning commission meetings, typically mundane affairs where leaders wear jeans and work boots, now draw heated crowds and viewers on streaming.
In a county where everyone knows everyone else, tensions have strained relations at church, school and shopping centers.
A conservative divide
The feud reveals the complexity of modern Republican politics in a place where Donald Trump won 75% of the vote in 2024. Both sides invoke conservative principles. An anti-moratorium sign at a local meeting read: “Vote like a conservative! Less government. Less rules. Less regulations. Lower taxes.”
A pro-moratorium group responded in a post that, “Historically, conservatism has emphasized order, prudence, stewardship, and a deep respect for heritage…It’s about preserving traditional values and communities—not selling them off for short-term gain.”
“It’s shocking how differently we can look at the same issue,” said former Coffee County GOP Chairman Greg Sandlin, who supports more development.
Farmer Shawn Jones, 40, whose family has farmed in the county since the 1800s, supports the restrictions and opposes a proposed subdivision near his property. “This land here, I’m attached to it 100%,” he said. “I don’t know how much of my family’s blood, sweat, and tears are in this land.”
But Nick Graham, 47, whose family also has farmed here for generations and who has fought to build a subdivision near Jones’s property, is incensed about the new rules. “They took all landowner rights away,” he said.
Both sides agree the battles currently under way wouldn’t be happening if Matheny still lived. Last year he was found dead in the back seat of his car, in his driveway, under compromising circumstances, according to records reviewed by The Wall Street Journal.
‘Growth is coming’
Tennessee, like many Southern states, has experienced a dramatic influx from California and the North.
In a 2022 report, the American Farmland Trust estimated that without stricter growth policies, Tennessee would lose more than 1,500 square miles—roughly 8%—of its farmland by 2040.
Such tensions are under way nationwide, but few have taken as strange a turn as in Coffee County, founded in 1836 in Middle Tennessee. Long a sleepy farming community, it’s known, if at all, for Bonnaroo, the annual musical festival that usually doubles the population every June.
Matheny, a former state representative and local GOP chairman, won election as county mayor in 2022 on a pro-growth platform. “Prudent people need to understand this growth is coming,” he told a local streaming program in 2023. “We have to embrace it and grow with it.”
He championed a state-owned 1,800-acre industrial megasite and argued for overhauling land-use rules, including reducing areas deemed agricultural.
More residents and housing would mean increased revenue and jobs, improving everything from government operations to dining options, he argued.
His pro-growth approach rankled some. Edward North, who served as county attorney under Matheny, said the mayor dismissed detractors, telling him, “They’ll get over it.”
In November 2023, Matheny tried to remove five of the seven Planning Commission members, arguing they lacked proper training. Those targeted included Dennis Hunt, a longtime planning member and a prominent member of the county board of commissioners, and planning board chairman Steve Cunningham. Furious supporters flooded meetings, and though the county commission blocked Matheny’s move, both sides stewed.
Cunningham, a farmer who remains planning chairman, said Matheny wanted to get rid of him and others because “he was a rubber stamp for development. Whatever they wanted, he wanted.”
An unusual death
Then came April 2, 2024. Matheny, the divorced, 53-year-old mayor was found dead in the back seat of his car, in his driveway. The Tennessee Bureau of Investigation took over, confiscated evidence, and quietly closed the case. Under state law, the TBI isn’t required to release investigative material. The medical examiner ruled the death accidental, citing cocaine and kratom in Matheny’s blood plus heart disease.
Speculation about the death has gripped residents, with some finding it suspicious and others questioning the investigation’s thoroughness. Some who disliked Matheny saw it as a tragic end for a man pushing change too fast.
“If you don’t think there’s karma, there’s a perfect example right there,” Cunningham said.
‘All hell broke loose’
Hunt, who had served on the planning commission Matheny sought to purge, was appointed interim mayor and won election to the post in August to fill out Matheny’s term. Hunt’s campaign supported farmers, and he won handily. “I hate to see agricultural lands turned into subdivisions,” he said during a public forum.
The flashpoint came in January, when Graham, the farmer-developer, proposed a 51-lot subdivision on some of his land in an agricultural area. He later revised the project to 39 lots.
Nearby residents balked, and meetings turned raucous. The plan got preliminary approval under existing regulations, but a movement coalesced around stopping such projects in rural parts of the county. In March, the county commission, led by Mayor Hunt, voted to impose the moratorium on subdivisions. When that ended, the county imposed the minimum 5-acre-lot limit on land sales in its rural areas.
Housing units per square mile
50
100
500
1,000
TENN.
ALA.
GA.
Nashville
Cookeville
Murfreesboro
COFFEE COUNTY
Manchester
Tullahoma
Chattanooga
TENNESSEE
ALABAMA
GEORGIA
Huntsville
Supporters of the commission’s moves included farmers Jones and Mike Bryan. They had long worried about growth, but became active only after learning about Graham’s project, which they said would overwhelm the area’s infrastructure and roads, impinging on their ability to farm.
Jones launched an online petition, and both men began speaking up at the planning commission. After every live-streamed meeting, they say, their phones exploded with supportive calls and texts.
Hunt’s view is that dense development, outside of areas set aside for it, “will have a negative effect on the rural quality of life in our county.” The growth won’t bring in enough tax revenue to cover the cost of infrastructure upgrades and government services needed, he wrote in an email. “That in turn puts a greater burden on the legacy taxpayers of the county, in other words tax increases.”
Graham said he was shocked by the opposition. He owns more than 1,000 acres and sees his land as retirement security, worth more developed than as farmland. “We weren’t trying to do anything but a legal subdivision to build houses that I could sell and make money off,” he said.
Surveyor Nicholas Northcutt, who works for Graham and others, said he has five clients wanting to develop land in the agricultural area but “right now, we’re in a state of limbo.” Lifting restrictions would “require a change of administration,” he said, referring to next year’s county elections.
Signs of expansion still abound. Construction crews dig and drill throughout Tullahoma and Manchester, the county seat; real estate for-sale signs line roads. Tennessee’s population is projected to grow from 7.1 million to 9.3 million by 2070, the county from 63,000 to 95,000 residents.
Yet vast stretches remain serene. Come June, orange daylilies line ditches along sloping roads while rows of corn stretch acre after acre. Cows roam pastures with bleating calves trailing behind.
“It scares me that one of these days we’re going to wonder where all our farmland is gone,” said Jamie Weaver, 45, who has worked his family’s farmland most of his life. He supports the new zoning restrictions and believes “development needs to slow down” in agricultural areas.
Dylan Sandoval, 28, grew up locally but spent his college and early-career years elsewhere. Now married with three children, he moved back a few months ago into a subdivision. Coffee County’s more affordable prices, he said, “played a huge role.”
“I am in support of the growth,” he said. “I don’t understand why people don’t want change.”
Both sides agree on some things: More fights are brewing, pressure to build is mounting, and Matheny’s death unleashed one of the county’s biggest political conflicts in memory.
“After he died,” North recalled, “all hell broke loose.”
Write to Cameron McWhirter at Cameron.McWhirter@wsj.com
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