People have said teachers sometimes go crazy after a lifetime of dealing with students. And these days, plenty of teachers and principals will tell you that dealing with the Metro public school system's administration is enough to drive anyone crazy. But no one really expected Brent Hurst, a highly regarded 30-year veteran of Metro schools, to resign amid controversy last week from his post as principal of Rose Park Magnet Middle School.

But then again, no one expected him to send e-mails to his faculty in which he called Cuban-born schools director Pedro Garcia "Poncho" and chief instructional officer Sandy Johnson "the Dominatrix." And no one expected a teacher to tape record some inappropriate comments Hurst made during a faculty meeting he was leading.

What could cause a former president of the Metro teachers' union, an alumnus of Leadership Nashville and a onetime Metro teacher of the year contender to snap and publicly—foolishly—rebel against his bosses in print? In an effort to find out, the Scene reviewed nearly 40 pages of e-mails provided by Metro schools under an open records request. In those e-mails, and in conversations with the handful of friends and colleagues who would talk to the Scene about Hurst, a portrait emerges of a devoted but frustrated educator, a jovial motivator whose disdain for current school leaders led to a career-suicide-inducing disregard for their rules.

Hurst's misguided missives often came in the form of lengthy "staff notes" that he sent to all faculty members. Early last semester, he enthusiastically celebrated the opening week of the 2004-05 school year, praising his staff for their energy and teamwork. "What an AWESOME week!!!," the principal wrote on Aug. 21. "By launching quickly into teaching, focusing on high expectations, and consistently working our plans and procedures you made it all possible. But most of all, the concern you showed for our 'children' was abundantly clear and invigorating to me."

In the same e-mail from his government account, Hurst goes on to narrate a disagreement he had with Johnson, the school system's No. 2 in command. "During my earlier meeting in Dr. Garcia's office, I told him that I understood the concept of 'going over people's heads' and was fully aware that Dr. Johnson would exact revenge but that it couldn't get any worse than it already has—every request I'd made to her had been responded to with a 'No.' " He then says Garcia took his side in the dispute: "Don't you just love chain of command and that everybody has a boss?" he asks, before explaining that he was willing to take his fight to the mayor's office.

Not a month later, Hurst sent a staff update from his private e-mail account to his teachers' private e-mail accounts. This time, it included a lengthy confidentiality disclaimer at the top that referred to "the free speech rights afforded to all Americans by the Constitution of the United States of America." In this e-mail, he referred to "the Poncho/Queen biumvirate" (the duo of Garcia and Johnson), which he defined as "rule by two egotistical meglamanicial [sic] Machiavellian micromanaging morons." Then he jokingly predicted that the "reign" of the "Teutonic Moronic," a.k.a. "Pedro the Delegator," will come to an end in 652 days, as supposedly foretold by Nostradamus: "And a great beast will rise from the land south of the Bermuda Triangle and wield his deathly sword, smiting or transfering [sic] or firing or demoting all that oppose him, until the day when he, himself, is smitten and fired and, bloodied and battered and limping, boards the first available non-stop flight to Los Angeles, ticket being purchased by 8000 Metro Schools employees tossing in 10 cents a piece."

Not exactly the words of a man concerned about keeping his job.

He frequently refers to "micromanaging" by the fictitious "Central Intelligence Office" (which shares initials with "chief instructional officer"). He forebodingly mentions "CIO e-mail-snoopers" and complains of "interference from the central office ("their backbones are made of spaghetti").

And yet, the guy is totally transparent and light-hearted with his staff. Judging from these e-mails, he's a model of openness —even to a fault. He may never have opened a book or picked up the phone without e-mailing everyone to let them know what was going on. His messages were digressions upon digressions, a humorous stream-of-consciousness that give the impression of a man sharing triumphs and unloading troubles in a thoughtless form of e-mail release.

"He is the best leader I've ever worked under," says one Rose Park teacher, who wishes to remain anonymous. This person says Hurst was well-liked by most teachers and students and praises his devotion to educating middle school students. "He would spend time with them after school, at the basketball game, he would take them home. He would just find a way to reach that kid," the teacher says. "To him, fairness was based on the individual."

But Hurst apparently just didn't know when to stop writing. Or talking. So when a Rose Park teacher recorded him bad-mouthing school administrators generally, and Johnson specifically, at a faculty meeting not long ago, it was the last straw. The teacher turned over the recording to administrators and forwarded a thick file of e-mails. Hurst was called to the Bransford Avenue central office, where he resigned last week, officially for "personal and health reasons."

But what drives a widely respected educator to this unprofessional low? And what's it like to work in a climate where someone may secretly be recording you?

To some Metro educators, that's what it's like to work in Metro schools circa 2005. No one defends Hurst's boneheaded and inappropriate actions, but it's clear that many share his criticisms of the administration. Chief instructional officer Sandy Johnson—whom Hurst seemed to refer to as "WWWC," which some school system insiders say stands for "Wicked Witch of the West Coast"—has come under fire in recent months for having too much power in Metro schools. School board members euphemistically refer to these as "span of control" issues; they have directed Garcia to reorganize the upper levels of his administration so that responsibility is shared among several people rather than concentrated in Johnson's office.

Garcia, for his part, puts a premium on loyalty—and Johnson has certainly been a loyal right hand to him. As such, he's been less than eager to make the long overdue changes. It's absolutely vital that he reorganize administrative responsibility for next school year, multiple board members say. "Sandy Johnson may be the most brilliant person in Metro schools," says board member Kathy Nevill. "But it's a question of leadership style. She is absolutely the best—and often the worst—thing that has ever happened to this school system." Will whatever positive changes Garcia and Johnson make be undermined by their micromanaging leadership style? Will any creative, independent thinkers be left in Metro schools?

Only time—and a redesigned organizational chart—will tell. Hurst is the obvious bad guy in this case, but other school employees are all too familiar with the micromanagement that prompted his over-the-top reactions. "We need school system leadership that says, 'You know what, I'm hiring you to lead; that's where your gift is. Do whatever it takes that works in your school and works with your learning style, and I'll help you along the way,' " says the Rose Park teacher. "You can't lead by threatening people."

Meanwhile, at least Hurst enjoyed his last months on the job. "This year, everything is fun to me, even when I get yelled at by someone from the Central Intelligence Office; I just don't care what they say this year because I've got my time in for retirement," he wrote in a rambling 10-page e-mail last September. "I almost feel like I'm working for the FBI sometimes, which was always a dream of mine. I also dreamed about being a policeman, a detective, a bus driver, a taxi cab driver, a psychiatrist, a band director, a coach, manager of a professional baseball team, a politician, and, more recently, a greeter at Wal-Mart. So instead of being all those I became a teacher and later a principal, which meant that I got to be all of those other things and more. Don't you just love being an educator?"