KC mayor Quinton Lucas gave the world his cell number, and he only regrets it a little
To the fine people of Kansas City: please stop texting the mayor invitations to smoke weed with him.
And, yes. This is a thing that happens. Although, to be fair, Quinton Lucas should’ve known better than to post his personal cell phone number on Twitter, a very public website with more than 145 million daily users and more than 30,000 who follow him.
But, either way. The mayor is not going to come smoke weed with you.
“I’m like, ‘Hey, thanks, but no thanks,’” he said.
Lucas posted his number — 816-679-1662, because he still hasn’t changed it — out of frustration. That’s how this whole thing started. A man told Lucas he wasn’t doing enough to slow violent crime, Lucas realized his office had emailed the man months prior, and the man said he was available anytime.
So, posting your cell phone number is one way to cut through government bureaucracy.
This was March 1. A Sunday. Before COVID-19 had spread to the point of pandemic, before sports shut down, before businesses closed. A simpler time, you might say.
Lucas did not ask anyone on his staff whether giving the world permission to buzz his phone was a good idea. Did not tell his chief of staff or media liaison or anyone on city council he was doing it. He’s not aware of any mayor of a similar or bigger city doing such a thing. He just did it.
He sent the tweet and went on a hike. The calls and texts rushed in, immediately. He came back to more than 200 messages. By the next afternoon, the office landlines rang with people who found Lucas’ cell phone voicemail full but still wanted to leave a message. In the 52 days since, thousands have texted or called.
“I really don’t want to tell you this in a story but you remember it, too,” Lucas said. “People are like, ‘How do you handle this?’ But I’ve done enough stupid things on social media.”
That last line was a reference to the time he — while running for mayor — suggested the Chiefs play a regular season game in St. Louis. But who amongst us hasn’t said something dumb on social media?
Mayors: they’re just like us.
In some ways, this level of accessibility isn’t new for Lucas. His cell phone number — the same number — was on his campaign fliers when he ran for city council. He likes to operate quickly. You wouldn’t be the first to approach him with a problem, run through a few potential solutions, and then hear: You know what? Just call me.
He’s also very active on social media — Instagram, Facebook and Twitter, mostly. Folks have been sliding into the mayor’s DMs long before he was the mayor. He thinks of himself as (in his words) “the perma-person,” meaning he’s a permanent responder, the guy you can always reach.
But posting your phone number as a candidate for city council is one thing. Doing it as the mayor of a major American city is quite another.
Plus, let’s be honest. Instagram messages don’t have the same personal tone as a text message. One man sends Lucas daily prayers. A woman called once at 5:30 in the morning, and they talked for 17 minutes. He’s been invited to barbecues, churches, and vigils.
Lately, as you’d imagine, most of the texts are about COVID-19. When Lucas extended the stay-at-home order last week, well, that was a particularly busy day for his phone. Some thanked him, others criticized, and at least one asked if he was taking a paycut. Not all have been nice.
“Y’all don’t do (expletive),” Lucas said. “That’s a pretty constant refrain.”
Pro tip: if you want a response from the mayor, text him he don’t do (expletive).
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Or, even better, text him something about feeling sorry for the staff member who has to go through all the texts. That’s a good way to hear back from, well, from said staff member.
“I kind of love the opportunity to be like, ‘No, I see it and I’m texting you back at 4 a.m.,’” he said. “I have this strategy where if I respond really early in the morning then they won’t actually reply. I’ll hit people while they’re asleep. The classic lawyer trick, right?”
They’ve written in with (deep breath) perspectives on what other cities have done, with pictures of friends delivering groceries to people, with questions about unemployment benefits, with complaints about not receiving crime stoppers reward money, with plugs for self-help methods, with questions about how to start nonprofits, with complaints about essential workers not receiving hazard pay, with questions about why COVID-19 tests aren’t more accessible, with recommendations on who to hire at city hall, with requests for hair salons to open, with offers to deliver him food, with invitations to neighborhood meetings, and with criticism when he said he was going to watch Tiger King.
Lucas estimated he responds to 60 percent of his texts. Some, he’s learned to leave alone. Like that last one.
“You can’t out-troll the troll,” he said. “But I’m a single man in my mid-30s, so I’m made for random reactions on social media and text messages because this is mildly entertaining for me.”
The exercise has been useful. It’s not all trolls and weed invites. There are some ideas he passes along to those around him, and he feels more connected with the city he’s charged with leading. He’s always believed in crowdsourcing as a way to create solutions.
A few texters have become something like friends, even if Lucas knows them only by phone numbers. One, an Uber driver, shares pictures and stories from what he sees around town.
“This is just really damn informative,” he said.
But, yes. Headaches. He made himself virtually unreachable for a few days. He probably still misses some texts and calls on more pressing business. He’s also been shown how little the city and other governments share what they’re doing, because a lot of suggestions — here he mentions cops in schools, mental health awareness — are already in place.
And it has created something like a bottomless basket of work. It’s hard to unwind, or see family, or date someone when, in Lucas’ words, “instead you’re talking to some dude you’ve never met.”
So, sure, Lucas can simultaneously see the benefits of being connected and understand why most he works with believe it’s plainly stupid to give literally everyone access to your pocket.
But he doesn’t regret it. The only thing he wished he did differently was give out the city hall cell phone he keeps on him, and not the personal number he uses for business.
In some ways, being available is part of the job, right?
“Even the most negative person I feel like it’s my role here to say, ‘Somebody’s listening to you,’” he said. “The president doesn’t have time to respond to you, your senators may not, and if your congressperson doesn’t, I do...
“If this moment is showing us anything it’s there are different ways to engage. And I think we’ve always unfortunately seen (the people texting) as ancillary. It’s like, ‘The real people with the voice are the ones that can come to city hall and make their voices heard.’
“And I had problems with that even before, and now this is a recognition and I try to tell people: ‘You’re actually talking to the mayor in your pajamas.’”