Four Inane Questions with Kansas City Museum’s Glenn North

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Glenn North’s never-ending curriculum vitae reads like a short novella. It makes us wonder if the man ever has time to sleep. Not only is North the Director of Inclusive Learning & Creative Impact at the Kansas City Museum, he’s also the author of City of Song, a collection of poems inspired by Kansas City’s rich jazz tradition. Plus, he’s a Cave Canem fellow, a Callaloo creative writing fellow, and a recipient of the Charlotte Street Generative Performing Artist Award. 

Oh, and no big whoop, but he’s also the adjunct English professor at Rockhurst University and is currently filling his appointment as the poet laureate of the 18th & Vine Historic Jazz District. (Again, this man sleeps—when?)

As if that weren’t enough, North also is currently one of the storytellers of this year’s “Ghost Light,” an annual event conceived and produced by KC Rep’s artistic director Stuart Carden. “Ghost Light: A Haunted Night of Songs and Stories from KC’s Cultural Crossroads” is a free (and frightfully fun) event happening October 13 and 14 in Roanoke Park. No telling what his story is, but we’d lay odds it’s not to be missed. 

We caught up with the hardest working man in showbusiness to pepper him with our myriad of moronic questions.

The Pitch: What piece of artwork could you stare at for an infinite amount of time? 

Glenn North: During the closing credits of the TV show, Good Times, a painting called “The Sugar Shack” by Ernie Barnes would appear. I have gazed at that painting countless times, and each time I encounter it, I am filled with joy. 

It’s a scene of Black folks dancing at a juke joint. Elongated brown bodies are gyrating, pulsating, and contorting. You can almost hear the tune the four-piece band is playing that’s making the walls sweat. In that crystalized moment, there’s so much joy, so much pleasure, there is no room for oppression.  

What’s a sandwich combination that sounds hideous but is a culinary staple for you?

The first thing I ever learned to cook was bologna. I would take the round slice, cut four small slits around the circumference, and fry it in a small skillet. Learning how to fry an egg came next. My go to sandwich was a slice of fried bologna and a fried egg with melted cheese on top. I would have it on white toast with butter and strawberry jelly. 

One morning while making one of those sandwiches, I discovered, much to my horror, that we were out of strawberry jelly. Oh, what to do? What to do? In that moment, my ingenious 8-year-old brain said, “What about maple syrup?”  That Saturday morning, back in 1974, the bologna, egg, cheese, and syrup sandwich was born. It was one of my faves growing up—so how dare you call it hideous?

Tap dance, square dance, or breakdance? Which one would you suck at the least? 

I have no rhythm. But when I was in college, I became a member of Omega Psi Phi fraternity. Marching or stepping was one of the things my fraternity is known for. For those who may not know, stepping is similar to the kind of percussive, syncopated, choreographed body movement that drill teams do. Back then I would practice for hours on end. 

Miraculously, I became proficient enough to be a part of my fraternity’s step team that won a prestigious national competition. With that in mind, I think I could possibly pull off tap dancing. But don’t worry, Mr. Bill “Bojangles” Robinson, your legacy is safe. 

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Name one household chore you struggle with.  

Washing clothes is something I’ve become good at. I have it down pat. 

The problem is, when those clothes come fresh out of the dryer, someone must fold them and put them away, and I am just not that guy. Currently, in my apartment there are piles of cumulus-cloud white T-shirts, piles of blue jeans in various shades, piles of business casual button downs, piles of socks, and piles and more piles of boxer briefs. 

So, if you happen to drop by unannounced and you are forced to navigate a couple of piles of clothes to get to the couch, don’t judge me. I know I have a problem. And that’s half the battle, right? 

Bonus 5th Question: How long did it take you to recite the alphabet backwards without assistance?

I’m not quite sure I can do that now. Back in college we would play drinking games. One of them involved attempting to say the alphabet backwards. The simple rule was each person would take a turn attempting to say the alphabet backwards and if you took too long a pause or said the wrong letter, you would have to take a shot. Needless to say, there were many mornings I woke up in a strange dorm room, having missed my 8 a.m. class. 

My undergraduate transcript is spotty at best. Numerous “I” grades, a couple of withdrawals, and a “D” or two here and there. I finally obtained an English degree, but saying the alphabet backwards still throws me for a loop.