In this Issue of Hey Cherokee County…

✅ Letter From the Publisher

✅ Why Cherokee County's Board of Commissioners Chairman Walked Away Mid-Term

✅ Murphy Town Council Votes to Hand Over Park to Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians 

Cherokee County Events

July 17th

August 1st

September 16th-19th

September 26th

October 31st

November 21st

This isn't something I planned.

I spent more than 11 years in journalism — working in four different states, covering communities, sitting across from people and asking them hard questions, then trying to relay what they said in a way that was honest and fair. I did some of that work right here in Cherokee County, for the local paper. And I was good at it.

But I left. And when I left, I didn't think I was coming back.

I didn't leave quietly or without reason. I left because I got fed up. Not with the work itself; I've always loved the work. I love interviewing people. I love finding the real story underneath the official one. I love sitting down with somebody and having an honest conversation and then figuring out how to put it on a page in a way that does it justice.

What I couldn't stomach anymore was watching that process get hijacked — and I'm not talking about any one newsroom or any one publication. I'm talking about the industry. Nationally, the pattern was the same everywhere you looked: the spirit of a conversation twisted to fit a narrative somebody had already decided on before they ever picked up the phone. The bias was baked in. The spin was intentional. And I didn't want my name attached to a profession that had made that its operating standard.

So I left. Not the paper. The industry.

I walked out the door and into my own company.

That was four years ago. Since then, I've written a book — Create Your Calling — with more on the way. I've got screenplays finalized and sitting on my production slate, waiting for financing and the other pieces to fall into place. My marketing agency is growing. I help businesses tell their stories and reach the people they're trying to reach.

That's the work I set out to do, and it's going well.

This newsletter is not a departure from any of that. It's an addition to it.

For a while, I didn't see it that way. People in this community kept telling me — “you should start a competing publication” — and honestly, my first reaction was to push back. I'm not in the business of competing with anybody. I don't wake up in the morning trying to outdo the paper down the street or outdo another marketer in this region. That's not how I think. We live in an abundant world. There's room.

But then God showed me the through line — and once I saw it, I couldn't unsee it.

This fits. It fits everything I'm already building. It fits the way I think about media, about community, about honest storytelling. There are gaps here that need filling — not because the paper is failing anyone on purpose. I know how this industry works. I know what time constraints look like. I know what it means to be one person short when a story breaks. I'm not here to replace anybody. I genuinely hope the local paper stays strong. Every community needs one.

But I have a skill set. I have experience. And I have a real love for this county. If I'm sitting on all of that and the community is asking me to use it, that's not an opportunity. That's a responsibility.

So here's what this newsletter is going to be.

It's going to be honest. If I sit down with someone and they tell me something real, I'm going to put it on the page the way they said it — not the way that's convenient, not the way that fits a predetermined angle.

It's going to be local. Not local as in small — local as in yours. Your county, your people, your issues, your events.

It's going to be as frequent as the news allows. If I've got something worth your time every day, I'll publish every day. If I don't, I won't. I'm not going to fill your inbox with fluff.

And it's going to be a two-way conversation. I need you. Send me story ideas. Send me businesses to feature. Send me events. One of the biggest gaps I see right now is a master events calendar — one place where everything happening in this county actually shows up. If you're putting on an event that people can attend, I want to know about it. Reach out.

We're kicking off with a four-part series I'm blessed to bring to you. Former Cherokee County Board of Commissioners Chairman Alan Bryant sat down with me for an unfiltered conversation about why he resigned mid-term. It's the kind of interview that doesn't happen often, and the kind of story that deserves to be told the right way.

I hope you'll read it. I hope you'll share it. And I hope you'll stick around.

There's a lot more coming.
— Penny Ray, Publisher

Publisher’s Note: This is Part 1 of a multi-part series based on an exclusive interview with former Cherokee County Board of Commissioners Chairman Alan Bryant.

He ran to protect his county. He answered every phone call. He read law books at three in the morning. And then, after a year and a half on the Cherokee County Board of Commissioners, six months as chairman, Alan Bryant turned in his resignation.

The question everybody in the county has been asking: why?

Bryant sat down with Hey Cherokee County for a candid, unfiltered conversation about what led him to that decision; and he didn't hold much back.

It started with the right reasons.

“Being raised here all my life, I wanted to see the integrity of what the county had always been stay that way," Bryant said. 

He was concerned about rapid development, rising property taxes hitting longtime residents on fixed incomes, and what he saw as a slow erosion of the community he grew up in. He ran believing he could make a difference.

And for a while, he tried.

But the reality of the job wore him down fast.

The phone never stopped. Constituents called at 6 a.m. on Saturdays. They called during Sunday dinner. Bryant says he answered every one.

"My wife would literally come in here and say, 'Honey, can you get off the phone and sit down and eat dinner with the family,'" he said. "And I'm like, 'Let me talk to them, just give me a minute.' So I was putting my family on hold."

He wasn't just fielding calls. He was studying. Preparing. Trying to know the law well enough to push back when he thought something was wrong.

"I prayed about this a long time before I turned my resignation in," he said. "But mentally, it drives me crazy. Just the stress of it. I'd come in here and read laws. You'd think I was going to school to be a lawyer. I would sit here and read law books three, four in the morning."

He was giving everything. But he began to feel like it wasn't going anywhere.

"In the big picture, I was actually accomplishing nothing," he said. "Because we had no more new jobs. And I got to look back at a lot of the commissioners that say 'We're gonna do this, we're gonna do that' — and it's not being done."

Then there were the people who promised to back him.

Bryant had supporters — or people who said they were. They told him they'd show up to meetings. They'd follow him. They'd stand behind him.

"They never showed up," he said. "And when you're stuck out there hanging out to dry and you're trying to work to what you believe in and what's the best, and everybody puts it down — it just discourages you enough to where you say, 'Why do I even bother?'"

He was also navigating what he described as a board that couldn't get — or stay — on the same page. Someone, he says, was always causing problems just when things seemed to be moving forward. He summed it up with one of the more memorable analogies you'll hear from a county official:

"If I built me a brand new swimming pool and I invited my dearest friends and family to come swim in that swimming pool with me…one person can pee in the pool, one, and everybody will get out if they know they peed in the pool. And that's what our commission board…somebody was always peeing in the pool up there. And you just have to get out for a minute and let it kind of go away, chlorinate it again and start over. And about the time you'd start over, somebody pee in the pool again. Eventually you just get tired of swimming."

He also talked about something more personal — the tension between his faith and the demands of the job.

"You can either be 100 percent Christian and stand on values and stand on what's right, or you can be 100 percent politician,” Bryant said. “But when you start becoming 50 percent Christian, 50 percent politician, you are going downhill quick because the two don't mix."

He says the anger that was building in him was a warning sign he couldn't ignore.

"I knew right now the best thing for me to do was to get out,” he said. “Because it's not being afraid. It's not being a quitter. It's being disgusted and over it. Completely over it."

So what's next?

Bryant says he's going back to normal life. Back to work. Back to his family.

"I wish the county the best, I really do,” he said. “And I'll be praying for them — everybody on the commission board and all of our county people, our county employees, everybody.”

He made clear this isn't the last anyone will hear from him, though just in a different way.

"You've not heard the last of me on things that need to be said and stood up for in the county," he said. "Because there's a lot of things that need to be stood up for."

The Murphy Town Council has approved a resolution to transfer Fort Butler Park and Historical Site to the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians at no cost.

Fort Butler sits near present-day Murphy and carries one of the heavier chapters in American history. The site served as an Army headquarters during the forced removal of the Cherokee people in 1838 — what history would come to know as the Trail of Tears. The park currently sits on land in the vicinity of that original fort.

The resolution, approved by the full council, authorizes the town to begin the legal transfer process. Until that process is complete, the park remains under town ownership and maintenance. Once finalized, the town and the Eastern Band plan to mark the occasion with a formal ceremony recognizing both the transfer and the significance of the site.

The idea reportedly came out of a broader community conversation about the long-term stewardship of the property. Mayor Tim Radford publicly framed the decision as one rooted in honesty and respect — an acknowledgment that the people most directly connected to this history should be the ones to tell it.

Local officials say they anticipate the Eastern Band will work to improve the park and may add monuments or attractions that could draw more visitors to the area — a potential boost for tourism in Cherokee County.

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