LC’s without the man himself: Kansas City mourns loss of one of its ‘barbecue kings’
The smoke still fills the small dining room near the Truman Sports Complex in Kansas City. But the driving force and namesake of the legendary LC’s Bar-B-Q no longer commands his post from a table inside the humble joint.
L.C. Richardson died this week at the age of 86, according to family.
“It’s with great sadness that I share one of KC’s BBQ legends has passed away at 86 years young,” his granddaughter wrote on the LC Bar-B-Q page. “LC’s legacy will continue through providing great Kansas City BBQ!”
Richardson founded the restaurant in 1986 at 5800 Blue Parkway. He started by smoking meat in a steel drum outside before moving things to his iconic pit inside.
He opened a second location in Lenexa from 1999 to 2004, but closed it because of a rent increase. While LC’s never grew into a big chain like some other local mainstays, it has long beckoned a fanatic loyalty among barbecue connoisseurs in Kansas City and beyond. It’s also become a must-stop for many fans heading to or leaving Chiefs and Royals games nearby.
“He’s just one of our legends that’s going to be sorely missed,” said Ardie Davis, a barbecue contest judge and the author of several books on barbecuing and grilling.
In barbecue-obsessed Kansas City, LC’s has long loomed large. Well off the beaten path, it’s known for its hole-in-the wall aesthetics. Food is piled high on foam plates and bars cover the windows. The indoor smoker, which sits just behind the counter, leaves diners wearing the scents of brisket, pork and poultry.
Go for the food, get used to the ambiance
And Richardson himself was a big part of the charm. His office, as some called it, was a table among the diners. From his special chair, he would watch television, read the newspaper, instruct his employees and greet guests.
“I loved it when he would be in the restaurant and sort of hold court with whoever was interested in chatting,” Davis said. “We would just talk barbecue as long as we wanted. He always made you feel welcome.”
While some of Kansas City’s most popular barbecue establishments were birthed from innovators on the contest circuit, Richardson’s approach was decidedly and unabashedly old-school. He used only wood smoke — no gas-assisted smoker like some others might use. And LC’s is among only a few barbecue places still cooking on a brick pit built by local pitmaster Bill Chaney.
“You definitely went there for the food. You got used to the ambiance,” Davis said.
Neither LC’s food nor his restaurant changed much over the years. A pot of beans sat under rendering meats to catch the drippings. And Davis said the founder smoked meat with a unique touch by turning up the heat early on before moving to a low-and-slow approach — giving it the perfect mix of smoky bark and tender interior.
“It’s one of the tops,” he said. “You can tell when barbecue has been cooked with attention to details, especially in a brick pit with all wood cooking. It was one of the best. You were never disappointed there.”
‘A Kansas City barbecue legend’
Tausha Hammett, Richardson’s 40-year-old granddaughter, has helped out at LC’s since she was 12 and has been overseeing the operations side of the business for about five years.
“He was a Kansas City barbecue legend,” Hammett said. “And his legacy will continue through providing great Kansas City barbecue.”
Hammett said Richardson loved all of his customers like family, whether they’d been eating there for 40 years or were trying it for the first time.
“He trained every employee to make sure everything is made with love, as if they were making it for themselves or their family,” Hammett said. “LC looked at his customers as his family.”
The restaurant announced that a public viewing will be held for Richardson on Saturday, Feb. 27, from 4 to 7 p.m. at Watkins Heritage Chapel at 400 Emanuel Cleaver II Blvd.
The family plans a private funeral service in Jackson, Mississippi, at a later date, according to the restaurant’s Facebook post.
Richardson grew up in Mississippi, where he built a barbecue pit from an old tire covered with hog wire as a kid. He moved to Kansas City in 1953 and worked in restaurants, eventually becoming executive chef for Farmland Industries from 1973 to 1986.
He took early retirement to open his own restaurant.
“I just hope the family will carry it on,” said Deborah Jones, one of the sisters behind Jones Bar-B-Q in Kansas City, Kansas.
She knows how hard it can be to keep a barbecue joint alive without the founder. She and her sister, Mary, have kept their father’s original stand going for decades.
“He’s one of our barbecue kings,” she said of Richardson. “He will be missed in the barbecue family.”
An ‘old-school’ Kansas City BBQ experience
All barbecue is about the meat. But that’s especially true at a place like LC’s, where employees opened the pit right in front of the counter, revealing towering piles of smoky goodness.
“That’s a really unique, old-school Kansas City barbecue experience you don’t get at a lot of places,” said Ryan Cooper, who writes a national barbecue newsletter and blog.
There was nothing fancy about the atmosphere or the presentation.
“But once you took that first bite it was like whoa, I see what all the hype is about,” Cooper said. “I especially love LC’s sauce on almost anything, but the ribs, the burnt ends, the pork. — It wasn’t necessarily the most beautiful plate, but it just tasted so great.”
A Kansas City native, Cooper now lives in Omaha. He said LC’s enjoyed a following well beyond its local roots. He recalled hotshot competitors in town for the American Royal World Series of Barbecue making sure to get their fix at LC’s before heading home.
“And I’m talking big names from the barbecue world who you would expect to go to Q39 — you know, the hippest place in town,” Cooper said. “But they would go to LC’s and I thought that was really cool.”
Bill Teel, executive director of the Greater Kansas City Restaurant Association, didn’t know Richardson personally or professionally. But he knew his food.
Working in an accounting business years ago, Teel always made a stop at LC’s if an audit took him to that side of town.
“That’s kind of where I discovered burnt ends. I remember that,” Teel said. “He was kind of one of the first places to get known for burnt ends. You had to go to LC’s for burnt ends.”
‘It won’t be the same without him sitting in his chair’
For fans, it’s hard to imagine LC’s without L.C. himself.
Few barbecue joints tout a central character like him. Richardson was the founder and pitmaster, but also a sort of greeter, keeping watch over diners and employees alike from his corner of the room.
“There was just something about that constant presence of seeing LC every time you went,” said Tyler Harp, who opened the popular Harp Barbecue at Raytown’s Crane Brewing Co. in 2019. “That one was definitely right near the top of the list in terms of character and charm. And just the charisma of the place.”
Harp said LC’s remains one of his favorite barbecue spots. Especially after a long time away from Kansas City, nothing hits the spot like LC’s burnt ends, fries and beans, he said.
“Hopefully I can still visit,” Harp said. “But it won’t be the same without him sitting in his chair.”
In Kansas City, the choices for barbecue are plentiful and ever changing.
“But part of the soul of barbecue is the people who are making it,” said Jill Silva, a former food writer and editor at The Star.
Richardson was among only a few Black pitmasters in the area, Silva said, and was part of the very fabric of the LC’s experience. He loved to reminisce and chat with diners, whether they were working class or professional athletes.
While he had professional culinary training, Richardson purposefully kept the food simple. And consistent.
“It’s kind of like going to your grandma’s house if she was a great cook,” Silva said. “It’s familiar.”
And just like with grandma’s cooking, LC’s provided comfort as much as food, she said. And that lasts long beyond the last bite.
This story was originally published February 19, 2021 at 5:00 AM with the headline "LC’s without the man himself: Kansas City mourns loss of one of its ‘barbecue kings’."
