The Video Orange Beach Wouldn't Release

ORANGE BEACH, Ala. - The question began with one police response.

On September 2, 2024, Orange Beach police were called to a city-related location at or near the Coastal Resources office building in connection with an incident involving Mayor Tony Kennon and an unidentified woman.

According to original reporting Police were called because Mayor Tony Kennon's wife, Paula Kennon, phoned Orange Beach Police on September 2, 2024, reporting that she was locked inside the Coastal Resources building and that Mayor Kennon was outside the door yelling at her and refusing to let her leave.

According to records, court filings, and documentation compiled by C.C. Dixon-Moreno, the call was tied to an alleged domestic disturbance or possible domestic violence-related police response.

For months afterward, the public did not see the body-camera footage. What followed has become far larger than a single call, a single video, or a single elected official.

A public-records dispute pursued by Dixon-Moreno has grown into federal litigation, discovery battles, allegations of retaliation, questions about selective disclosure to City Council members, and broader scrutiny of how the Orange Beach Police Department handles politically sensitive information. At issue is not simply what happened that day, but what city officials did afterward: what they withheld, what they disclosed, who was allowed to see it, and how aggressively the city fought to keep certain records from becoming public.

The dispute has also raised a question that reaches beyond Orange Beach:

When a police response involves a public official, public employees, public property, and public law-enforcement resources, how long can a city keep the public from seeing what happened?

A Records Fight Becomes a Federal Case

Dixon-Moreno began filing public-records requests in 2025 seeking documents, body-camera footage, communications, and other materials related to the September 2 incident.

According to Dixon-Moreno, the City of Orange Beach denied, delayed, narrowed, redirected, or otherwise resisted production of records connected to the call. The city, she says, relied heavily on Alabama's investigative-privilege protections, arguing that certain materials could not be released because of an ongoing or protected law-enforcement matter.

That explanation is now one of the central issues in litigation.

Dixon-Moreno later filed a federal lawsuit against the City of Orange Beach and Mayor Kennon. According to Dixon-Moreno's summary of the court record, the case includes claims tied to public records, First Amendment retaliation, and liability under 42 U.S.C. §1983. The federal court allowed key claims to proceed, meaning the city and mayor remain subject to discovery on several of the core allegations.

That discovery has produced a significant paper trail: sworn responses, interrogatories, requests for admission, requests for production, city explanations, correspondence, portal records, and litigation filings.

Those documents matter because they move the dispute out of the realm of rumor. They create a record of what the city and mayor have admitted, denied, avoided, or qualified under oath.

And they create a basis for comparison.

What did the city say publicly? What did it say privately?

What did city officials tell Dixon-Moreno in public records responses? Verses what did it later say in federal court?

Those are no longer abstract questions. They are document questions.

The Selective-Disclosure Problem

The most important unresolved issue may be whether the city treated the disputed footage as confidential only when the public asked to see it.

According to Dixon-Moreno's investigation, members of the Orange Beach City Council were reportedly shown the body-camera footage or related video, meanwhile the city continued to refuse to release it publicly even after formal freedom of information requests were made seeking the same information.

If accurate, that fact could become central to the story. The city's position, as described by Dixon-Moreno, was that the footage could not be released because it was protected by investigative privilege. But if the footage was too sensitive for public disclosure, why could elected officials view it? Who authorized that viewing? Was it shown for an official investigative purpose, for legal advice, for political management, or for public-relations damage control?

And if the city could show the footage to selected officials, why could it not release a redacted version to the public or allow members of the press to see it?

Those questions go to the heart of the controversy. Investigative privilege exists to protect legitimate law-enforcement interests. It is not supposed to function as a political curtain, shielding officials from public scrutiny while allowing insiders to have access to the same material.

The answers to these questions may help determine whether Orange Beach applied the law consistently in the case of the allegations about the Mayor or used it selectively.

Who Decides What the Public Gets to Know?

The dispute also highlights an uncomfortable governance question inside City Hall: who actually controls public information in Orange Beach?

According to Dixon-Moreno, the City Council reportedly moved toward releasing the footage, or at least toward taking action that would make release possible. That effort, she says, was stopped after intervention by City Attorney Jamie Logan.

The distinction matters.

If elected council members supported release but the city attorney effectively blocked it, residents are entitled to understand why. Was Logan providing legal advice that the council accepted? Was the release legally prohibited? Was there disagreement among city officials? Was the decision based on litigation strategy, public-records law, political risk, or some combination of all three?

Municipal attorneys routinely advise cities on records, litigation, privilege, and liability. But when legal advice has the practical effect of preventing disclosure of politically sensitive information, the public has a legitimate interest in knowing the basis for that decision.

The September 2 footage is not merely a piece of evidence. It has become a test of institutional power.

The mayor was involved in the underlying incident on September 2. The police department responded. The city controlled the records. The council reportedly viewed at least some of the material. The city attorney advised against release. And the public remained outside the room.

That chain of events is precisely why public-records laws exist.

Retaliation Allegations Add a Second Layer

Dixon-Moreno's claims do not stop with access to records.

She alleges that after she pursued the September 2 records and continued pressing the city, public officials and politically connected individuals tried to undermine her personally. She says she has collected screenshots, social-media posts, pleadings, and other documentation showing efforts to portray her as unstable, obsessive, dishonest, or politically motivated.

Separate defamation litigation, according to Dixon-Moreno, involves statements accusing her of not being a real lawyer, acting as a hired gun, or otherwise participating in the Orange Beach dispute under false pretenses.

Those allegations remain contested and would require an independent review of the court filings and underlying statements. But their existence is significant because they show how quickly a public-records dispute can become a personal war.

If a citizen asks for records involving a mayor, the government can respond in two ways. It can produce what the law requires and explain what it lawfully cannot release. Or it can fight the request, attack the requester, and make the controversy about the person asking rather than the records being withheld.

The federal lawsuit appears to test which path Orange Beach chose.

Council Divisions

The controversy has also exposed apparent divisions among members of the Orange Beach City Council.

According to Dixon-Moreno, Council members Jeff Silvers, Ginger Harrelson, and Robert Stuart moved forward with ethics-related complaints or accountability measures connected to the incident or its aftermath. Councilman Jack Robertson reportedly did not.

Robertson's role has drawn additional scrutiny because he is a sitting councilman, has commented publicly on related matters, and his wife is employed by the city. Dixon-Moreno argues that Robertson's silence or refusal to join accountability efforts contrasts with other council members' actions.

Those facts, if verified, do not prove wrongdoing. But they do raise legitimate questions about how Orange Beach officials responded internally once the incident became politically sensitive.

Did the council act as an oversight body? Did it defer to the mayor, the city attorney, or city staff? Were council members given the same information? Did any council member have a conflict, personal interest, or institutional reason to avoid pressing the issue?

The answers may help explain whether Orange Beach's elected officials acted independently or whether the city's response was shaped by loyalty, fear of liability, or political calculation.

Beyond One Incident

The September 2 case is the center of the records fight, but Dixon-Moreno argues it is part of a larger pattern in Orange Beach: suppress inconvenient facts, invoke privilege or ongoing investigations when useful, minimize public controversy, attack critics, and quietly resolve disputes before they become politically damaging.

He points to other matters, including issues involving Orange Beach City Schools, Randy Wilkes, the Walborn matter, employment disputes, family complaints, and broader allegations about how the city responds to residents, employees, and critics.

Those matters should not be collapsed into one story without careful verification. Each has its own facts, documents, witnesses, and legal posture.

But they may belong in the same investigation if they reveal a recurring institutional habit.

The question is not whether every allegation against Orange Beach is true. The question is whether the city has repeatedly used the same tools - delay, privilege, nondisclosure, settlement, executive session, public spin, and personal attacks - when confronted with politically uncomfortable information.

That is a pattern question. And pattern questions require documents.

Follow the Money

One of the clearest ways to test that pattern is through the city's checkbook.

Dixon-Moreno says the investigation should examine settlement payouts, wrongful termination claims, severance agreements, legal invoices, insurance payments, confidentiality provisions, employment complaints, and executive session activity.

That financial trail could be crucial.

Public bodies often resolve controversies through mechanisms that are technically lawful but difficult for ordinary citizens to track: confidential settlements, insurance-funded payouts, outside counsel invoices, employment separations, nondisparagement clauses, and broad releases of liability.

Each individual payment may be explainable. Together, they may show how much public money has been spent managing disputes that the public barely understands.

If Orange Beach has repeatedly paid to resolve employment claims, retaliation complaints, school-related disputes, or politically sensitive controversies, residents are entitled to know how much was paid, who approved it, what allegations were resolved, and whether confidentiality language kept the underlying facts from public view.

The money may tell the story that meeting minutes do not.

The Public Interest

Orange Beach is often viewed from outside as a beach town: tourism, development, vacation homes, fishing tournaments, restaurants, and waterfront politics.

But the city's internal fights matter beyond Baldwin County.

For readers across Alabama, the story is not just about Orange Beach. It is about how local governments across the state handle scrutiny when the subject is one of their own.

Public records laws mean little if cities can indefinitely delay release, invoke privilege without meaningful explanation, selectively disclose materials to insiders, and then accuse requesters of harassment for continuing to ask questions.

The September 2 incident involving Mayor Kennon may or may not show misconduct. That remains a factual question.

But the city's handling of the records is already a public issue.

The police response involved public resources. The records were created by public employees. The requests were made under the public records law. The litigation is proceeding in federal court. The legal defense is funded, directly or indirectly, by public money. And elected officials may have been given access to materials withheld from the public.

That is not gossip. That is government accountability.

The Questions Orange Beach Still Has to Answer

Nearly two years after the incident, the central questions remain straightforward.

What happened on September 2, 2024?

Since the incident involves the Mayor of the City,(the direct superior of the police chief) why did the Orange Beach Police Department not immediately recuse themselves from this investigation and refer the matter to the Baldwin Country Sheriff's Department, the District Attorney's office, ALEA, or the Attorney General's office? Even if nothing criminal happened, allowing an independent investigation would have eliminated the appearance of a coverup,

Who made the decision to handle this investigation internally and not bring in independent investigators?

What records exist?

Was body-camera footage created? If not, then why not and who made that decision?

Who has seen it?

Why was it withheld?

Who authorized any selective viewing by council members?

Did the city waive any claimed privilege by showing the footage outside law enforcement?

Why was a redacted release not considered or produced?

What role did City Attorney Jamie Logan play in preventing or delaying disclosure?

What did Mayor Kennon know, request, or direct regarding the records?

How much has the city spent responding to the records fight and related litigation?

And has Orange Beach used similar tactics in other politically sensitive disputes, including the Danny Williams death investigation where Orange Beach allegedly refused to share body camera footage even after it was subpoenaed by Williams' family?

Until those questions are answered with documents, not talking points, the controversy will remain unresolved.

The issue is no longer only the September 2 police response.

It is about whether Orange Beach residents and Alabama taxpayers watching from elsewhere can trust the city government to tell the truth?

Is Orange Beach covering up this and other incidents because it may be embarrassing to the people running the city or are they covering this up because they are actually covering up real criminal conduct?

Tony Kennon was re-elected in 2025.