“Some people will label you as vindictive, unforgiving or even evil for not allowing them to hurt you, yet again.”
Wayne Gerard Trotman
Why I Sued LINDA Mason, Bo Burnette and Dale Winters
Pre Story
To understand why I filed this lawsuit, you first need to understand who I am.
My name is Thomas Morgan. I’m an Eagle Scout. I’m a problem solver by nature. I work in real estate, and in 2021, I purchased 120 acres on the edge of Marion County — land that had previously operated as a membership club providing access to Aetna Mountain.
What I bought came with more than just acreage. The property I bought had a survey and title insurance, but it turned out the surveyor had misrepresented the property, causing a longstanding land issue. There were boundary disputes. Some neighbors had effectively taken control of portions of the road frontage that legally belonged to my property. And to access my land, you had to cross a railroad that intersected a county road at one of the most dangerous crossings I’ve ever encountered.
The crossing wasn’t just inconvenient — it was hazardous. It was steeply graded like a pool ramp, forming a blind hump where drivers cannot see approaching traffic from either direction until it’s too late. Pulling trailers across it is risky. Hauling equipment is worse. Even routine property cleanup became dangerous. We had two trucks sustain significant damage simply trying to cross while pulling trailers — especially gooseneck trailers, which are particularly vulnerable to sharp grade changes.
In November 2022, I went to a county meeting to formally ask for help addressing the railroad crossing. I wasn’t just pointing out a problem — I came prepared with solutions. I researched what it would take to establish a quiet zone, install proper crossing lights and signals, and improve the grading at the same time. I identified eight separate grant opportunities that could fund the project, which the county had not pursued.
My proposal wasn’t just about train whistles. It was about safety. It was about correcting dangerous grading. It was about preventing vehicle damage and potential injury. It was about solving a known infrastructure issue.
Instead of collaboration, I was met with opposition.
I was told to go find out how many people in Whiteside were actually affectedby Gene Hargis. I was challenged on whether trains caused any real mental health issues, as if that were the central point. The science and data I presented were dismissed. At one point, the tone shifted to mockery — suggesting I was simply trying to silence train whistles, ignoring the documented safety hazards and the dangerous grading.
I was also told the county road budget was just $10,000, as though asking the county to address a dangerous county road was unreasonable. The implication was that I should feel guilty for even bringing it up.
That meeting was a turning point for me.
That’s when I started paying much closer attention.
January 2024.
By January 2024, the tone had changed.
At a county meeting that month, Commissioner Morrison stood at the podium making an urgent case for Brow Trail. He spoke passionately about the need for a “third way down the mountain,” calling it a critical public safety issue. I remember him saying it needed to get done “at any cost.” They discussed using either general funds or federal funds — including the $1.7 million grant I had previously recommended.
What struck me was the inconsistency.
They emphasized that there were no homes on Brow Trail, yet suddenly it was a public safety emergency requiring millions of dollars. Months earlier, when I had presented documented safety concerns about a dangerous railroad crossing on a county road — complete with funding solutions — I was told the road budget was only $10,000 and essentially made to feel unreasonable for even asking.
It was hard not to notice the contrast.
Later in that same meeting, Don Leonard spoke during the agenda portion. We had been dealing with an ongoing issue involving a neighboring property owner firing weapons — including in the direction of a small amount of railroad crossing infrastructure we had installed, and toward his cabin located on my property. We had repeatedly contacted the sheriff’s department, but nothing meaningful was ever done.
When Don spoke, it felt like he was quickly brushed aside. The response was simply, “We’ll get the sheriff involved,” even though we already had. Repeatedly. That’s why we were there — appealing to the legislative branch after getting nowhere through law enforcement.
When the public comment period began, I stood up and said I would like to speak.
Throughout the meeting, several people had spoken without using the podium. But as soon as my comments became critical of the Brow Trail project, Linda Mason interrupted: “We’re not going there, buddy.”
I responded, “It’s my time to speak, ma’am.”
She told me to go to the microphone. When I did and began speaking, she interrupted again. I asked plainly, “Are you going to allow me to speak or are you going to talk over me like you have to everyone else?”
Her response was: “I’ll have you removed.”
Knowing my rights, I replied that she could do that if she chose — but it would result in a First Amendment lawsuit. Removing a speaker because you disagree with their viewpoint is textbook viewpoint discrimination. Americans have the right to petition their government and redress grievances. That’s not optional. That’s constitutional.
Moments later, I was removed.
Almost immediately after I left the room, she began reframing what I had attempted to say — portraying it as though I only wanted to talk about a railroad crossing. That wasn’t the substance of my comments. I was questioning the allocation and prioritization of public funds — why millions could suddenly be mobilized for one project while known safety issues on existing county roads were dismissed.
The narrative quickly shifted further. The implication became that I was disruptive. That meetings needed to be a “safe space” for commissioners. There were even insinuations suggesting I might return with a weapon — a serious and inflammatory suggestion. The story being told publicly did not reflect what had actually happened.
Suing the government is not something anyone takes lightly. I’ll be the first to admit I can be passionate. So I went back and watched the video multiple times to be certain of what occurred. I needed to confirm that I wasn’t misremembering events — because the public messaging afterward felt like open gaslighting.
I wasn’t yelling. I wasn’t threatening. I wasn’t being disorderly.
I was criticizing government spending priorities.
Over the following months, I continued watching meeting after meeting. I saw citizens come forward asking for help, only to be dismissed, redirected, or minimized. That pattern began to weigh on me.
Civil rights cases are rare for a reason. They’re difficult, expensive, and politically explosive. Very few attorneys are willing to take them on because you’re not just filing paperwork — you’re challenging entrenched power.
In my case, that meant challenging the sheriff, the wife of the Jasper police chief, a county commissioner, and the county attorney — all while they openly suggested that procedural statutes like the Sunshine Law somehow outweighed the foundational protections of the Constitution.
They began quoting compliance rules as if they superseded basic constitutional rights.
They don’t.
And that’s when the question stopped being whether I should speak up — and started becoming whether I was willing to defend the rights they were ignoring.
