The Moth Podcast: Kansas City
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There's an African proverb that says that until the lion learns to write, the hunter will be glorified in every story.

And in that moment, I had become the lion that could write. Hear stories like that and more from your local community at the Moth Grand Slam in D.C. on Monday, November 18th at Lincoln Theatre. Ten champions from our story open mics will share hilarious and high-stakes stories. The crowd will decide who becomes the D.C. storytelling champion.

Buy tickets now at themoth.org forward slash DC. That's themoth.org forward slash DC. We hope to see you there. Welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm Chloe Salmon, your host for this episode. On Thursday, September 12th, we had our very first Story Slam in Kansas City, Missouri. It was an incredible night at a place called Knuckleheads, which has this super cool honky-tonk vibe. The atmosphere was electric. I mean, just check out the crowd.

Welcome to the inaugural Story Slam here in beautiful Kansas City! Oh, that's amazing right there. That's the energy we want all night long as storytellers make their way to the stage. All right. Every Story Slam is special. The uncertain magic of it. The fact that anyone who puts their name in the hat might get up to tell their story. The intimacy of sharing the room with people who just poured their hearts out on stage. It's a unique combination you just can't get anywhere else.

But the show in Kansas City was even more special because it's our first new slam city we've opened since the pandemic began. To celebrate that night and to entice you to come to our next Kansas City show if you're in the area, we've got two Kansas City stories for you today. Our first one comes from that very first slam, Hot Off the Presses, which we put on with our incredible partner, KCUR. The theme of the evening, appropriately enough, was firsts.

Here's Glenn North at the inaugural Moth Story Slam in Kansas City. So mine is a story of first told in two parts and it starts on a warm August night way back in 1988, part one. So it was

the night before the first day of classes at Lincoln University in Jefferson City, Missouri, a historically black college I'm very proud to be an alum of. But anyway, that year I had just been elected student government president, which is a big deal to me, right? So all the guys were hanging out over my friend Vince's house,

And Vince had brought back a new dirt bike. And everybody was taking turns riding the dirt bike. Have never, or at least at that point, had never ridden a dirt bike before. Everybody looked like they were having a good time. And I figured why not give it a try?

I also had an agenda in that the night before the first day of class, all the girls were moving into the dorm. And I thought, how cool would it be if I rode up on a dirt bike over by the girls dorm to show how cool I was. So I got on the bike, took off, everything was going fine.

Rode over in front of the girls dorm just like I had planned. Scattered out all the new freshmen. Saw one of the young ladies that I thought was really hot. Pulled off really fast. And so as I got back onto the street, there was this big pothole. And so my instinct was to slow down. I pulled back on the throttle. Well, if you've ever driven or ridden a motorcycle before, you realize when you pull back on the throttle, you accelerate.

So I hit the pothole, the dirt bike stopped, but I didn't. I flew up in the air and I was up high enough to be able to think about how I wanted to brace myself for the fall. So I tried to land on my hands but the impact was so hard that I hit my mouth and I slid and I literally remember feeling tooth crumbs piling up on my tongue. My knee was gashed really bad.

Thank goodness the dirt bike was still intact. Drove it back to Vince's house, just sat it down and walked off really quietly because I didn't want anybody to see how messed up my face was. Well, being the student government president the next day, I have to give this speech to welcome everybody back to the new semester.

So as I'm walking on stage with the University President and all the dignitaries, there's a crowd like you all are here. You can literally see everybody's face going like, "Oh my God, what is going on with your face?" My lip was all messed up, my teeth were broken. And so I told a little joke in my speech about how I had ridden the dirt bike and everybody was really gracious.

So afterwards, my job was to give a group of incoming freshmen a tour around campus. I had on this really nice blue blazer with the brass buttons, some really nice khakis, and the girl I had seen the night before was in my group. And so we were in front of the buildings and I was giving the history of the building and she raised her hand and I was like, "Yeah, you got a question?" And I'm trying to be all cool and stuff. She said, "No, I have a comment. Your knee is bleeding."

So I looked down on my khakis, my knee was just like a sea of blood. It was horrible. I probably should have gone to the hospital, but anyway. So went back home, called the dentist, and went and had some caps put on waiting for a crown to be a permanent replacement.

So part two, I'd always had a crush on this girl named Siobhan and I finally got up enough courage to ask her out and even with the scarred face and the bloody knee, she said yes. So we went to a really nice restaurant, we were having a good time and I said something that I thought was really funny and I kind of reared back my head and laughed and the cap fell off and I caught it in my hand and I popped it back on

And I tried to keep talking like nothing really happened. But she was just leaning back looking at me like, "What did I just see?" So I took her home and I leaned in for a kiss, but she was already out of the car. And I figured a date with me was once enough for her. So yeah.

In the course of a month, back in August of 1988, I had two firsts that became two last. And I just thank God that I lived to tell about it. Thank you. That was Glenn North. He's a community-based poet, the director of inclusive learning and creative impact at the Kansas City Museum, and co-founder of the African American Artists Collective. Hashtag poetry everywhere is his mantra.

To see a photo of Glenn with his fraternity brothers, just visit our website at themoth.org slash extras. In addition to being a storyteller, Glenn is also actually going to host the next Moth Story Slam in KC. If hearing the energy of the crowd has got you hankering to attend, just head to themoth.org slash Kansas City to find the event schedule and grab tickets.

And, as a reminder, we've got recurring story slams in 28, yes, 28 cities across the globe. From New York to Los Angeles, from Seattle to Chicago, from London to Melbourne. There's a very good chance there's a slam near you. To check them out, just go to themoth.org/events and select "story slams." Up next, we've got a story about an important part of KC history. Susan Marie Moreno told this at another show we had in Kansas City, this time a main stage.

Here's Susan live at the mosque. I was born and raised in Davenport, Iowa, the Corn Belt of the United States. Well, it was a great childhood growing up in Iowa, but I always felt a little out of place. I always just was kind of different. And my mother would say, "Susie, you really beat to a different drum." And I know I did.

But I just kept looking and searching and being myself. So I had an opportunity to go to the University of Iowa. They were recruiting for diversity and also I was a shot putter for Title IX was then. And...

And so that was 1975. And I thought, "This is great! I'll find my people! I'm looking for some lesbians! Some lesbians of color!" I thought, "Yeah!" So I go up there and I'm looking, I'm searching, and I'm like, "Well..." I'm still in Iowa. But I see a few women, you know, and that, and I'm just happy.

I always wanted to be an art teacher, so I went and pursued my education degree at the University of Iowa and had an opportunity after I was there. I was on the seven-year plan and they had an opportunity to move to Kansas City and do my student teaching. I thought, "I'm going there. I'm searching for those lesbians. Maybe a bigger city.

More people they'll be like me I came down here one suitcase I'd never been to Kansas City before but I knew it was the Midwest so I was happy started teaching doing my Thing meeting other teachers still no lesbians well We did have a magazine that was called lesbian connections. It came out of Michigan whoo

It's still out there. And it was kind of like the African American green book where you could look and see and find other lesbians or safe places to go while you travel. So I'm looking through and it came in the mail with a brown paper bag because it was considered pornography or I don't know what. You didn't want any. It just was not cool to be a lesbian during the 70s.

So I was looking through there and I went around Kansas City and I found the Phoenix bookstore 39th and main yeah, you remember you know and We used to have the only way of communication back then because remember we didn't have internet. We didn't have cell phones Oh my gosh, how could I find some more lesbians? I?

The bookstore, the women's bookstore. So I went up there and I had my little note, my note card and my tack and there was a bulletin board up there. I started writing, single Mexican woman, long walks in the park, dog friendly, looking for friendship. Nobody answered. Nobody called me.

So I thought, oh well, I'm just going to keep becoming a teacher, pursuing. They're out there somewhere. I got invited to a baby shower of a good friend. And I went and I go and there across the room, oh my gosh, I saw the most gorgeous African-American woman with these honey brown eyes.

Just beautiful, just reeling me in like I had a magnet going towards her. So of course, I have to go over there, introduce myself, and she says, "Hi, I'm Beverly Powell. I'm a teacher too." And I was like, "Oh, hi." We talked and talked. It was like we were in our own world. We started dating. It was about a year or so later.

And we were sharing what were your dreams and things. And Bev had always wanted to own her own house in Kansas City. And so I thought, that sounds great. I hadn't lived with a woman before, so I thought, oh, this is going to be wonderful. So we started going to banking institutions. The first thing that they would say back in the early 80s and mid-80s was, what does your husband do for a living? Can you bring your father into Coastline? What? What?

Because we were professional teachers and at that time it wasn't cool to put down there that you were a lesbian and we were looking for houses together. It just wasn't cool. So, or accepted. So we were disappointed because it was just blatant discrimination in the financial institutions. And so Bev didn't give up the dream, but we just went looking and one day Bev comes home

She was a teacher also and says, Sue, Sue, I found out there's going to be an informational meeting. I said, what? What kind of information? There's this pack of lesbians and they're trying to form a neighborhood, an intentional neighborhood called Woman Town. I thought, what? Yeah, yeah. I started thinking, what?

I have my woman. I don't need to be around a bunch of pack of lesbians. Uh-uh. No, no. I did that before. I said, okay. Bev was like, Sue, I don't care what you say. I'm getting a house. And I thought, if Beverly Powell moved to the end of the world, I was going with her. That's how much I love that woman. So we go and start looking at these houses. The houses were all beautiful.

boarded up or abandoned, but people were still living there. But it was not the best neighborhood in Kansas City. Bev was all excited. Sue, we can do it. We're going to do it. And I was like, hmm. But I said, well, let's see. She said, well, let's try to put some information up there at the

bookstore. So we put it up there and there was a couple that founded it, Andrea Nadinsky and Marianne Hopper, and they had gone to music festivals and started advertising through Lesbian Connection and inviting women to come to this intentional neighborhood. We just wanted people, women to come over and help us get the house fixed.

So Bev was an incredible cook. She started barbecuing. I started getting the brushes and everything together. And because our house, let me give you a picture of it. We opened the door. This is the house Bev picked now. We opened the door, and it has avocado green shag carpet. Oh!

Wallpaper, seven to ten years of wallpaper. Paneling, you remember how popular that was back then. I was like, oh my god, they had lowered the ceilings with some kind of foam. You know, I was like, ah! But underneath all of that was beautiful oak, beveled stained glass window. Just the bones of those houses were just beautiful.

I told Bev, I said, "Bev, I don't think anybody's gonna come over and help us." You know, and so we're out there, she's like, "No, Siri!" She's getting the barbecue grill ready, I'm going out buying my favorite beer, Pabst Blue Ribbon in Milwaukee, best light. You know, getting a little natural light in there, because you know we like that. So then, we're all ready. Next thing I know, women start coming.

They start showing up. Some even had tool belts on. I was like, "Hey!" It was great. Women came from all over out of curiosity. Maybe they knew Bev was a good cook. They just wanted to hear what was going on in womantown. So it was great. We got the house going and we'd go around and that neighborhood started to thrive.

Women started moving from Hawaii, New York, California, all over the United States. It was fantastic. We met all kinds of women. We'd go around and help each other with the things that we could do. We even had a roofer come from Topeka, come and help the women. Whatever was needed, you put it out there and women showed up. It was a great community.

Well, as we were living there, it was a matter of we wanted to become more of the neighborhood. So we thought, let's start going to the Neighborhood Association meetings. There was 12 of us that showed up. In those days, it was so cool to have a rat tail coming down. Don't forget to get your mullet trimmed up. It was the best style. I loved it. Of course, many of us had flannel shirts on.

our boots, we were ready to join. We went as a group. When we went in that meeting, silence. There was a hush. We got side-eyed. We got the stink eye.

People started whispering. I felt like I was this tall. It reminded me, it triggered feelings that I felt of loneliness and isolation back in Iowa. I was like, oh no. Well, they obviously did not want us there. They thought that we were going to be recruiting their daughters, their children. I don't know what was, you know, they were just afraid of change. And we were pretty, you know, good looking group of dykes. So...

So what happened is that we joined the meetings and there was a lot of tension and resistance. I went home, I said, oh, Bev, they do not want us here. They do not want us in this neighborhood. They are not happy we're here. And Bev was like, Sue, just quit going. You know, we've got our house. You don't need to go anymore. We have what we need. I looked at Bev with love in my eyes. I said, you know what, Bev?

I am fighting for this. We're staying. We are not going to say no. We are not going to be rejected from this area. We belong here. Yeah, so...

We kept going to meetings, showing up. We started joining committees. We started beautifying our own homes and others. Renters start moving into the place. We started, of course, having potlucks. We love those. And people just were getting along. Women, at one time, we had 82 women that lived in that neighborhood in Longfellow, Dutch Hills.

Yes, yes. And so, and it was great. People were finally starting to see a little difference, but there still was a lot of mistrust.

One day they decided to, one of the women said, "When women move in, we're going to give them a banner." And you put it on your front door, and it had three tulips signifying Dutch Hills Longfellow neighborhood. And it was also our way to show that lesbians live there, and that it was a safe space. So when women moved in, they got their banner, they displayed it, and it was just a wonderful feeling. It was the best community.

They decided that we're going to have a tulip festival because that was part of our flower for Dutch Hills. Somebody had donated a bunch of tulips. Everybody came that day. Bev was barbecuing, of course. We had garage sales in May. We had all kinds of things going on. It was in the fall because we had to plant them. Everybody took home about a dozen or two dozen tulips that were donated to the neighborhood.

Next thing you know, people were having fun and laughing. Other neighbors were coming by. We had it set up in a big empty lot. Of course, the crafts women set up other crafts. People were tarot card reading, all kinds of different things, and lots of camaraderie. Later on, that

That spring, you started seeing the tulips coming up. The neighborhood is beautiful. It was then, and it still is. It just showed me in my mind and in my life, when you plant a seed, a bulb, and invite people through love and beauty, it will grow.

Womantown is still there. In fact, our mayor will be putting a plaque up in Longfellow this June for Pride and commemorating all the hard work and the contribution that this strong pack of lesbians gave to Longfellow Dutch Hills. Thank you so much for listening to my story. Thank you.

That was Susan Maria Moreno. She was born in Iowa in 1956 as a second-generation Mexican-American. A retired art teacher in the Kansas City area, she's also an artist and storyteller who explores themes of family, lesbian identity, and resilience in her work. That's it for this episode. Remember, whether you're in Kansas City or anywhere around the globe, you should come to a Story Slam. To check them out, just go to themoth.org slash events and select Story Slams.

From all of us here at The Moth, we hope you have a story-worthy week. Chloe Salmon is a director at The Moth. Her favorite Moth moments come on show days when the cardio is done, the house lights go down, and the magic settles in. Sue Moreno's story was directed by Chloe Salmon. This episode of The Moth Podcast was produced by Sarah Austin-Janess, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Sollinger.

The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Christina Norman, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Marina Cloutier, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant Walker, Leigh-Anne Gulley, and Aldi Caza. The Moth would like to thank its supporters and listeners. Stories like these are made possible by community giving. If you're not already a member, please consider becoming one or making a one-time donation today at themoth.org slash giveback. All Moth stories are true, as remembered by their storytellers.

For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org. The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the public radio exchange, helping make public radio more public at PRX.org.