When you walk up to Coral Springs City Hall, it’s hard to miss the massive sun sculpture out front. Painted bright orange and yellow, it beams like Florida sunshine, welcoming everyone who steps inside. Etched on the inside of the sculpture are the words: “Everything Under the Sun.”

That’s Coral Springs’ motto, and it couldn’t have been a more fitting way to open this audit. Because when we’re talking about the First Amendment — the right to speak, record, and hold government accountable — we’re really talking about everything under the sun.

This was meant to be one big video covering Coral Springs City Hall, the police department, the local post offices, and the Northwest Regional Library. But as these things often go, the day’s events reshaped the project. The library footage had enough drama to earn its own release (and if you haven’t seen it yet, you can catch that here). The post office interactions — which include police being called and 911 audio where callers lied — will be next week’s feature.

Today’s story is all about City Hall and the Police Department — two sides of Coral Springs government that, as it turns out, set the bar high for professionalism and transparency.

Checking In at City Hall

The main entrance of Coral Springs City Hall feels more like a corporate lobby than a government office. Off to the left sits a security station manned by an Allied guard. A lot of auditors will tell you Allied Security has a reputation for mishandling First Amendment situations. But this guy? He was polite and professional from the start.

I asked where the building department was, and he told me to head to the “One Stop Shop” through the next door. He even buzzed me in.

Inside, I found myself standing in front of a kiosk that immediately asked for my phone number. That’s where my radar went up. Why should I have to hand over personal info just to access public services? I wasn’t about to feed my data into another system that could open me up to more spam calls.

Instead, I approached the desk, where I met Ashley. She asked my name and what I needed. I explained I wanted records on how many solar permits had been approved in 2025. Before long, an older staff member joined in. She asked clarifying questions — did I only want approvals, or applications too? Residential or commercial? She wasn’t defensive about the camera; she just genuinely wanted to make sure I got the right info.

When I clarified I only wanted approved residential solar permits for 2025, she assured me they could run a report. She even joked that to get the records, they’d need my driver’s license and DNA. We all laughed — it was the kind of good-natured professionalism you hope for in public service.

Ashley handled the request, double-checked the details, and confirmed I could leave my email instead of a phone number. She even made light of being on camera, asking if she looked okay. I told her the viewers were more concerned with how well she did her job than how she looked doing it.

That’s how public service should work: approachable, professional, and transparent.

Same-Day Records

Before I even left the parking lot, I pulled out my phone to check some footage — and there it was. An email from the city with my first records response.

1,305 active employees.

The very same day, I also received the full report of 2025 solar permits. If you’ve ever filed a public records request, you know how rare that is. Too often, governments drag their feet, overcomplicate the process, or try to intimidate requesters. Coral Springs, on the other hand, delivered same-day transparency. That deserves recognition.

Meeting the Deputy City Clerk

Before leaving City Hall, I circled back to the Allied guard and asked about seeing the city clerk. He asked what I needed, and I explained it was for another records request. Right at that moment, a woman called in on the video phone — clearly complaining about me recording.

The guard didn’t flinch. He told her flat-out that I had a right to film in the building. For an Allied guard to stand firm like that is worth noting. I even told him how much I appreciated the way he handled it.

A few minutes later, Deputy City Clerk Aaron came down to meet me. I asked how many employees the city had (which, unbeknownst to me, I’d already gotten the answer to). He explained that requests like that get entered into the city’s JustFOIA system, where I could track progress. I also asked about the immaculate landscaping outside — whether it was done by city employees or contracted out. He said mostly city workers, though sometimes vendors help.

Aaron was polite, professional, and efficient. Nothing more, nothing less.

Walking out of City Hall, I told the camera how smooth the entire process had been. And it really was.

Coral Springs Police Department

Next stop: the Coral Springs Police Department.

Out front, a bronze statue shows a police officer and firefighter with two children between them. Just to the right is a memorial garden for fallen officers. I cracked a quick joke about bronze prices being up but not worth stealing the statue, then made my way inside.

At the front desk, a young woman asked how she could help. I told her I wanted to file a public records request. She asked if I had a case number — I didn’t. She asked what it was related to, and that’s when I told her:

I had noticed an award in their trophy case for February 14, 2018 — the day of the Parkland school shooting.

Remembering Parkland

For context: Coral Springs is right next to Parkland, home of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. On Valentine’s Day 2018, 17 students and staff members were murdered in one of the deadliest school shootings in U.S. history.

As shots rang out and children bled on the floor, deputies from the Broward Sheriff’s Office — the agency tasked with protecting the school — stayed outside. They didn’t go in. That’s how BSO earned the infamous nickname: “The Cowards of Broward.”

Coral Springs officers, on the other hand, ran in. They passed those hiding deputies and entered the building ready to confront the shooter.

That’s what the award in the trophy case recognized. The inscription read:

“This award is presented to the Coral Springs Police Department in recognition of your agency personnel’s decisive actions and heroic efforts on February 14, 2018, when responding to an active shooter at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. Your courageous and brave actions were instrumental in saving precious lives.”

I told the clerk that my request was for the names and email addresses of the officers who went in that day. She seemed a little uncertain, but she pulled out a notepad and began writing it down.

Filing the Requests

She explained that the main reports were with BSO, but that Coral Springs had supplemental records. Either way, their records department would handle the request. She asked for my email, which I dictated while she wrote it down.

Before leaving, I added one more request: the police blotter from the previous Sunday. She made a note of that too, confirmed everything would be submitted, and told me they’d get back to me.

I thanked her for her time and left the building.

Outside, I reflected on camera: no matter where you live in the U.S., you’ve heard of the Valentine’s Day massacre. And whatever you think of law enforcement, you have to respect the fact that Coral Springs PD ran into that school when others didn’t.

Reflection

This Coral Springs audit was unlike many others I’ve done.

At City Hall, I was met with professionalism, good humor, and transparency — including same-day records responses. At the police department, I filed sensitive requests tied to one of the darkest days in Florida history, and the staff still treated me respectfully.

That’s how government should work. Not with hostility. Not with barriers. But with accountability, professionalism, and openness.

What’s Next

If today’s audit felt calm, buckle up — because next week’s post office audit is where things take a turn. The police were called, 911 audio was pulled, and the callers flat-out lied by saying I was irate. That’s not my style, and the record proves it.

Make sure you’re subscribed so you don’t miss it.

In the meantime, you can also check out the Coral Springs Library audit if you missed it — where a patron tried tattling on me and ended up getting schooled on the First Amendment.

It started out as a creative mission to help my dog. It turned into a sidewalk standoff, a 911 call, and one of the most respectful police responses I’ve experienced to date. Let me walk you through how things unfolded outside Jan’s Jewelers in Boynton Beach.

This wasn’t just about flexing rights — this was personal.

“You Got Me on Camera?”

My first interaction of the day came from the doorway of Phat Heads Barbershop, one of three businesses inside the plaza at 515 N Federal Hwy. A woman popped her head out and asked if I had her on camera. I told her I did.

Naturally, she was curious. So I told her the truth: I was just trying to help my dog.

That caught her off guard — there was no dog in sight. So I explained that my dog, Chi Chi, had been the victim of a hit-and-run and I was out here doing something a little outside the box to raise awareness and support for her recovery. The conversation never turned hostile. In fact, she wished me luck, and I wished her luck cutting hair. A rare and refreshing moment of mutual respect.

The Jeweler Wasn’t Having It

Next door, at Jan’s Jewelers, things played out a bit differently.

The jeweler stepped out wearing one of those magnifying headband visors that jewelers use to get up close with the details. Before he could even say anything, I pointed out his gear — let’s just say it made for an interesting look.

He asked what I was doing. I flipped it: “What are you doing?” He seemed genuinely unsure how to respond. I told him I was just trying to help my dog, and from there, confusion kicked in hard.

That’s when the familiar line came out: “You can’t film a jewelry store.”

I asked why not. He didn’t answer. He just said he was going to call the police and walked back inside. Before he closed the door, I let him know that if he called, they’d just bring more cameras — but he didn’t hear the full sentence. So I finished it for myself anyway: “…you’ll just make the video more interesting.”

Through the glass, we had a brief back-and-forth. He insisted I couldn’t point a camera at a jewelry store. I pointed out I was standing on a public sidewalk. He told me I wasn’t the police. I asked if that meant it would be okay if I was. No answer — just a phone call.

I didn’t hear what he said at the time, but I later obtained the 911 call through a public records request. He told the dispatcher there was a guy outside recording, “saying something about a dog,” and that it was freaking him out.

Then the Cavalry Arrived

A few minutes later, three officers from Boynton Beach PD rolled up. Before they even reached me, a man from the barbershop stepped outside to ask what I was doing. I tried to explain, but he was more interested in telling me where I should be filming. He didn’t like that I was out front. I told him it was a public sidewalk.

The first officer approached — fist bump. No demands. No barked questions. Just a calm greeting and a walk toward the jewelry store to get the other side of the story.

Soon, the other two officers approached as well — both gave me fist bumps, and the vibe remained chill.

We talked. I explained what I was doing. They didn’t try to intimidate me, didn’t demand ID, didn’t question my right to be there. One of them asked about my dog, and I told him what had happened to Chi Chi. That led to a conversation about how I make content in public spaces as a way to generate revenue and share stories that matter.

Coffee, the Constitution, and the Army

At some point during our conversation, one of the officers noticed my hat: “I Love It Raw.” He asked if it was coffee. That opened the door for a quick plug of Raw Naked Bean, our channel sponsor. I explained that it’s the best single-origin coffee I’ve had — no blends, just pure beans sourced from individual growers around the world. I let him know he could use code GCNN for free shipping.

He laughed. The other officers chuckled too. It was that kind of moment — the kind that reminds you some officers really do take their oath seriously.

Then I noticed a ribbon on one officer’s uniform that said Army. I asked if he had served. He said he had. I thanked him for his service and told him that I was out there exercising my rights, in part, to make sure sacrifices like his weren’t wasted.

That moment stuck with me.

A Quiet Exit

Meanwhile, back inside the jewelry store, something had clearly changed. The officer who initially spoke with the jeweler reappeared. The store’s hurricane shutters started closing. I called out, asking if the officer had “squared him away.” No answer.

But the store was shuttered, and that silence said plenty.

The final officer I spoke with — the one who had asked about Chi Chi — told me directly: “You’re not doing anything wrong.” That’s what I like to hear. I thanked him and his fellow officers for honoring their oaths and respecting my rights. I told them they handled the call perfectly and that I appreciated not being hassled for ID or told to move along.

They didn’t just walk away — they walked off like they had nothing to hide and everything to be proud of.

It was, without exaggeration, a walk of honor.

Final Thoughts

Not every audit ends in conflict. Sometimes, people come out swinging (verbally), and sometimes they come out curious. This one had a bit of everything — confusion, confrontation, and finally, calm.

But at its core, it wasn’t about a jeweler or a barbershop or a sidewalk.

It was about Chi Chi.

This was my way of doing something that might make a difference. And thanks to the professionalism of the officers involved, it became a moment worth documenting — not just for me, but for anyone who cares about free speech, accountability, or one seriously resilient little dog.

—

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LEGAL NOTICE:

All footage was captured from publicly accessible areas where no reasonable expectation of privacy exists. Interactions depicted are matters of public concern protected by the First Amendment.

When Liberty Troll tried to make a public records request at the Greenacres WIC Center, the response he got was both dismissive and legally questionable: “We don’t do that here.” That’s not how it works in Florida.

Under the state’s broad Sunshine Law — specifically Chapter 119 of the Florida Statutes — any person has the right to inspect or request public records from any public agency. Requests can be made in writing, by email, and yes — even verbally.

So when I saw Liberty Troll’s recently published video, even though he filmed it over a year ago, I knew I had to follow up.

I’d filmed at the very same location around the same time and didn’t run into any issues. No pushback, no drama — just a straightforward First Amendment audit. The difference in how Liberty was treated made me wonder: was it just a bad day for that staffer, or is this location hostile to transparency?

I reached out to Liberty Troll directly and got the full story.

FaceTiming with Liberty Troll: What Really Happened

Before heading back to the WIC Center, I connected with Liberty Troll on a FaceTime call from my office. His original video played muted on one of my monitors while I reviewed our GCNN website on the other.

During the call, Liberty confirmed everything. He simply asked if he could make a public records request — a question, not even a demand — and the woman at the front desk told him, “We don’t do that here.”

To his credit, Liberty didn’t back down. He asked to speak with a supervisor. Eventually, a supervisor did come out and agreed to take his request verbally. But here’s the kicker: more than a year later, he still hadn’t received any response. No records, no follow-up — nothing.

It’s one thing to have a misunderstanding. It’s another to knowingly ignore the public’s right to access government information.

So I printed out a still image of the employee from his video, prepped my warrant for public records, and hit the road.

Return to Greenacres WIC Center

As I arrived, I wasn’t there to start a full re-audit. This time, I had a very specific mission:

Identify the employee who told Liberty Troll “we don’t do that here” and confirm whether the office now respects Florida’s public records law.

Upon entering the building, I was greeted by a very friendly receptionist who asked how she could help. I showed her the printed image from Liberty’s audit and asked if the woman in the photo still worked there.

Without hesitation, the receptionist confirmed she did.

I then asked, “Can you tell me her name?” She replied:

“That’s Ashly Jean Baptiste.”

I thanked her and then pulled out my warrant for public records and asked if I should leave it with her or someone else. She called another staff member over to help.

Meet Linda Nolte: A Breath of Fresh Air

A few minutes later, I was greeted by Linda Nolte, who immediately stood out as knowledgeable, courteous, and professional. She confirmed that this location does accept public records requests, including verbal ones.

She took my warrant without hesitation and clarified the information I was requesting. There was no confusion, no resistance — just transparency and a great attitude.

I left the building feeling optimistic, but on my way out, I realized one thing: I hadn’t gotten a stamped copy of the request to confirm receipt.

So I turned around and walked back inside.

Once again, the receptionist greeted me without issue and brought Linda back out. Linda smiled and said she’d be happy to give me a stamped copy. A few minutes later, I walked out with the confirmation in hand — something Liberty Troll never got, despite asking over a year ago.

Why This Matters: Accountability Through Follow-Up

This isn’t about singling out Ashly Jean Baptiste or trying to stir up controversy for clicks. It’s about accountability — not just for one public employee, but for the entire system.

Liberty Troll’s public records request was ignored. That’s a violation of Florida law, and frankly, a violation of public trust.

When we as independent journalists, auditors, and watchdogs hold government offices accountable, we’re not doing it for fun — we’re doing it because we care about transparency.

The fact that my experience was the complete opposite of Liberty’s — polite, professional, compliant — tells us something important:

Cameras and community pressure work.

It may have taken a year, but when someone came back with documentation and persistence, this office handled things exactly the way they should have in the first place.

Know Your Rights: Florida Public Records Law

Here’s what every Florida resident — and public employee — should know:

• Chapter 119.01, F.S. guarantees access to public records.

• Requests do not need to be in writing.

• Agencies are required to respond promptly and in good faith.

• Failure to comply can result in legal action and fines.

If someone tells you “we don’t do that here,” ask for a supervisor. Bring documentation. And follow up.

Final Thoughts

This follow-up wasn’t about confrontation — it was about clarity. Liberty Troll asked a valid question, and his request was ignored. I showed up with a warrant and got answers.

Public records don’t belong to the government. They belong to us.

Watch the Video

YouTube Video: Public Records Request: @Liberty_Troll Told ‘We Don’t Do That Here.’ I Showed Up With a Warrant

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