What right has anyone to say
That I
Must throw out pieces of my heart
For pay?
In 1927, in what would prove ultimately to be a major disaster, Hughes met an elderly white philanthropist, Charlotte Louise Mason (1854–1946) of Park Avenue in Manhattan. She soon won his heart through an outpouring of maternal love and support he had never before experienced—including a handsome monthly stipend to encourage his growth as a black writer. Hughes clearly fell in love with “Godmother,” as she asked her various protégés to call her. Widowed since 1903, Mrs. Mason (born Charlotte Louise Van der Veer Quick in New Jersey) had devoted herself to a variety of interwoven causes involving ethnicity, spirituality, art, and humanity. Her intensity of vision would both inspire and bewilder Hughes. While Godmother wanted him to be a “primitive” poet true to her idealized vision of Africa, he had other interests, including leftist politics, which she found tiresome. Generally obedient and sympathetic to her goals, he was caught virtually naked emotionally and psychologically when in 1930 she suddenly, ruthlessly, broke with him. This rupture would also ruin his friendships with Alain Locke and Zora Neale Hurston, fellow “godchildren” of Mrs. Mason. Reeling from these losses, Hughes would flee in 1931 to the Caribbean to brood about them and about his prospects without her.
TO ALAIN LOCKE [ALS]
January 3, 1928
Dear Alain,
It was great to see you in New York and I was sorry you had to leave so soon.… I came back to school yesterday but I am still sleepy. I’m writing you this note, though, as Godmother1 wishes you to have a memorandum of facts about Gwyn.2
Here goes:
13 years old
Sixth grade
Tendency to colds
Needs good food
Family where there are other children desirable
Also New England preferred because of schools
Change him if possible around end of Jan. when his school term ends.
In no case mention her or myself.
Write Godmother as soon as you have a place.
She is also trying thru a Negro doctor.
I know you must be very busy and I am sorry to put this extra task on you. Don’t bother writing me until you have news.
Hope you’re liking Fisk and are not too tired after the rush of getting moved.
I’ve started the New Year off gloriously by getting up in time for breakfast this morning.
Sincerely,
Langston
Lincoln University, Pa.,
February 27, 1928.
Dear Alain,
Thanks for your card from my home state. I hope you enjoyed it out there. I had a delightful time at Lynchburg with Anne Spencer,3—and the best food,—waffles with honey, baked Virginia ham, and various other Southern delicacies. Then I went to New York for the rest of the week-end with Godmother. She has her victrola now and a great collection of records,—all of Robeson,4 I believe, and almost all the best Blues. She loves the “Soft Pedal” and even the “Yellow Dog.” And they sound marvelous on her machine.… The party for Madariaga was quite a success, I think.5 Just about everybody was there, even Eugene Gordon6 down from Boston and Georgia Douglas7 up from your home town. He’s a witty and amiable gentleman and kept the evening alive and humorous. But it was the most polite and bored gathering you ever saw before he came in. He had been with Johnson8 to Porgy and after Jessie |Fauset|’s we went to Small’s,— but it was no good.
Countée’s wedding is going to be very grand.9 He wants me to be an usher,— so I’ll be in it, too,—with a swallow-tail coat on! Do be there to see it.…. He and Yolande are both getting fat.…. Claude |McKay|’s book is out in a few days as I guess you know. Also Nella Imes’ soon.10 Carl |Van Vechten| has finished a new one for next fall about Hollywood.… Bledsoe11 has had appendicitis, too, but didn’t die.… I’m going to read a few Blues at Princeton next month with our Glee Club.… Some Dr. Anna Nussbaum of Vienna sends me a review from “Tageblatt” with two of my poems done in German.12 She wants the exclusive right to translations in that language. Wonder if you know who she is? I don’t.
I’ve just read Congaree Sketches and find it tremendously amusing and Negroish13.… Your African books were fascinating, too. Thanks so much for lending them to me. I discover therein that one had almost as well be civilized,—since primitiveness is nearly as complex. Godmother gave me Sandburg’s Lincoln for my birthday.… I’m afraid it will take me years to read all the books I’ve been given in the last three months.… Yesterday I went to Philly with the boy from Haines.14 He says your prodigy is about 16 or 17, raised cane in Augusta, stayed out all night any time, and was smarter than any body else, right on.… Met my mother in Philly and saw the new Miller & Lyles show which is terrible. All the old stuff done over again, even the blue overalls for the chorus, the cotton fields scenery, and the comedy of stealing from one another.… Little brother seems to be doing fine in Springfield,—likes the people and the schools. I’m very glad about it and deeply appreciative for what you’ve done. I’d rather have the kid happy than to be happy myself. I think he’s going to be very smart,—anyhow, let’s hope he’s a “credit to the race”.… I’ve written The Crisis about my poems but they haven’t answered.… The Tattler, under Lewis, is becoming a kind of Harlem New Yorker,—quite smart and sophisticated, I think15.… Guess you know Club Ebony closed.… |Carter G.| Woodson spoke out here at Lincoln and made a big hit.… Do you know any body who might be inclined to give a scholarship to a very splendid fellow out here who suddenly finds himself broke? He is one of the few real people on the campus and it would be a shame if he has to leave while the 90 and 9 less worthy ones remain.… You ought to hear “Trouble in Mind” on the O.K. and Gene Austin’s “Lonesome Road” on the Victor. And when you come to New York see “Simba,” a marvelous picture of the African bush.… When are you coming back anyway? And when do you sail?… I’ve decided now I’d rather stay over here and get some work done. So far, I’m rather behind,—but I got a in math last semestre,—which is an achievement of great worth in my life. You see, I’m getting smart!
Remember me to the Jones’, the Gordons’, Miss Watts, and Johnnie. And come on home before you get the Northern Blues.… Yee-hoo!
Langston
TO ALAIN LOCKE [ALS]
March 1. | 1928|
Dear Alain,
Thanks immensely for The African Saga.16 It’s one of the new books I’ve wanted. It’s a grand birthday gift.…. Just finished Claude |McKay|’s Home to Harlem and am wild about.17 It ought to be named Nigger Hell, but I guess the colored papers will have even greater spasms than before anyhow.18 It’s the best low-life novel I’ve ever read. Puts Francis Carco and Pio Baroja,—and even Gorky, in the shade,—for that kind of thing.19 Up till now, it strikes me, that Home to Harlem must be the flower of the Negro Renaissance,—even if it is no lovely lily.… Can’t ask my mother for $40. She hasn’t got it.
Su seguro servidor,
Langston
Lincoln University, Pa.,
March 5, 1928.
Dear Claude,
I was mighty pleased to have your letter and right on the heels of it came your book,—which is the most exciting thing in years. Undoubtedly, it is the finest thing “we’ve” done yet. And I don’t mean limited by the “we”. It’s a very fine novel,—as fine as Baroja writing about Madrid, or Ibañez in his early stories of the poor of Valencia,20 or Carco in Paris.… Lord, I love the whole thing. It’s so damned real!.… Has there ever been another party anywhere in literature like Gin-Head Susy’s? I thought that was marvelously well-done.… Jake and Ray and Rose and the landladies, and the dining car folks are all too alive to be in a book.… … I’m enclosing what I wrote to Ruth Raphael about it as publicity comment. I hope it will be a great sales success, too.… It’s going to be amusing reading what the colored papers will say about it. They will want to tear you to pieces, I’m sure, but since they used up all their bad words on Nigger Heaven, and the rest on me,—I don’t know what vocabulary they have left for you.… Didn’t Keats say “Beauty is Truth”?.… But I don’t suppose a one of the Negro editors will see that Home to Harlem is beauty.… But maybe you’ve done it so well that they can’t help themselves. I hope so.
I suppose you’ll have a deluge of letters for the next few months, but if you can write me before summer, let me know where you are. I may be over when school closes. Not certain yet, though.… I guess you know most of the literary news over this way: A |René| Maran novel due; Bud Fisher novel, comedy vein, for fall;21 Nella Imes novel, slight and delicate, this spring; a play and novel by Wallace Thurman next season,22 I think.… And God knows how many books by white people about Negroes due soon, and due to be due.…. Your novel ought to give a second youth to the Negro vogue. Some said it would die this season.…. Have you seen Walter White around your way? What you doing from now on,—still remaining an expatriot?23 … Couldn’t you do a play, maybe? Our theatre’s way behind the rest of our world. Are you all healthy again and happy? You deserve to be.… Wish I were in town so I could send you papers and magazines once in a while. We’re two hours and more from Philly so I only see them in the library … The Colored press is always amusing. But the best thing lately has been an interview which Ethel Waters24 gave to a white paper in Cleveland in which she said (quite truthfully) that the most successful Negroes on the American stage got to be that way by playing just what they are,—darkies.… Of course, the best people are about to expire over that. They are so delicate! |Alain| Locke is at Fisk for a term.… Artist from Chicago, Motley, is holding the first Negro one-man show in a down town gallery.25 His pictures are selling.… Countée |Cullen| in this month’s Opportunity says it isn’t always good to tell the truth.… He’s to be married at Easter. I’m going to be an usher with a swallow-tail coat on. It’ll be grand.…. Enjoy yo’ damn self!
Sincerely,
Langston
Lincoln University, Pa.,
September 13, 1928.
Dear Claude,
I am always sorry I answer letters so badly. I think of you so often and write you so seldom,—which seems to be my way with all the people I care anything about! Letters from people I never heard of always get answered regularly and promptly,—but I take all that as a part of helping my publishers sell my books,—which I have discovered is much more work than writing them.…. I no longer read my poetry to ladies clubs, Y. W. C. A., and the leading literary societies in places like Columbus,—as I did for two winters. I began to hate my own stuff as much as I do Browning or Longfellow. And being “an example” to little kids in schools and listening to teachers telling what a model to pattern after I am rather shamed me,—because I have never felt like a good example,—and am worse at making inspirational speeches than I am at answering letters. I like to read to kids, though. They always strike me as having much more sense than grown-ups, but I don’t like being exhibited before them like a prize dog. Did you ever have to go through anything like that when you were first published? I don’t suppose you’d have stood it, would you? I don’t see how I did it either, but sometimes I wanted the fifty dollars and sometimes I thought I was helping charity or race relations or some other dull cause, or again I didn’t like to say “No” to a friend or old schoolmate. And last summer it was the only way I could discover to get my fare paid into the South,—but once there I threw my books away and lived in New Orleans almost a month before anybody who wore a necktie discovered I was there,—and when they did I got a job to Cuba on a tramp and failed to appear at the club meeting called in my honor.…. Did you ever visit the Chinatown in Havana where thousands of them sleep on shelfs in warehouse-like boarding places waiting for a chance to come to the States? Or visit the whore-houses like kids visit the zoo, standing for hours in groups gazing at one woman and them moving on to the next doorway to gaze for a while at another?….. You’ve been at Tuskegee, haven’t you? Do you remember the power house dynamo that can be heard at night beating and pulsing like a hidden tom-tom at the heart of the place? And the nice Negroes living like parasites on the body of a dead dream that <was alive> once for Booker Washington? I want to do an article, or even a novel, about that place. I suppose it will be a great university sometime with the Veterans Hospital for a med school.…. This summer I went North for awhile,—Provincetown and Boston. I liked the beaches at Cape Cod and the clams,—but the artists are awful!.…. In Boston I didn’t go anear Harvard,— although I went there largely to see what the old place looked like,—but I met a colored lady who looked like she possessed six degrees, wore nose glasses and all,—and had been in jail eighteen times and in the pen once for robbing her clients,—Chinese laundrymen and white clerks,—but she was still operating undaunted. I never saw so dignified a daughter of joy before, but she said she had always worn pince-nez, and Boston has a cultural atmosphere,—even if the cops don’t want colored ladies to associate with white gentlemen!
I’ve just come from New York, so I’ll give you the news. I may hit something that |Wallace| Thurman or some of the other guys haven’t told you yet.…. Anyway, the white woman who took Josephine Baker to Europe is now after Paul Robeson with the law because he refuses to come back from London to be in a revue which I once wrote for her years ago and which I can’t much blame him for not wanting to perform in.26 However, she has him under contract,—but their social success in London, according to Mrs. Robeson has been amazing,—teas with duchesses and cocktails with Lords,—so they don’t want to come back. The show is all being done over a la Broadway, anyhow, and I can’t stay in town to work on it now that college is open so I suppose I’ll have little left in it when it is produced, if ever it is produced, so I don’t particularly care whether Paul comes back or not.…. Porgy opens in London Easter Monday after a winter tour here. Almost every production on Broadway has a Negro or two in it these days and almost anybody who looks niggerish can get a job.…. But leading men must still be white blacked up, if the play calls for their speaking to white ladies on the stage. Such is the case in “Goin’ Home,” laid in France after the war when the colored troops were on their way back leaving the little Francaises behind. The play is pure hokum done in chocolate, but rather amusing and simple minded.…. The New York theatre, the part that isn’t gone black, has gone in for gangwar and underworld stuff, and is producing some amazingly life-like and tremendously entertaining pictures of modern Chicago and Tenth Avenue scarcely less melodramatic than the reality.…. The papers are full of real gangwar stuff this week. And THE GRAPHIC seems to be always on the spot with its cameras whenever a victim is popped off.27 Yesterday the whole front page was devoted to a picture of a falled crook dying in a saloon door.…. A troupe of colored actors have gone to the coast, too, and the rumor is that all the big companies are planning a colored production or so soon.…. Grant Still has set a song of mine called THE BREATH OF A ROSE that is so modern that nobody can sing it28.…. VOODOO, a Negro opera by Freeman,29 opened Monday. Everybody in Harlem expected it to be punk like most of Freeman’s former things, but the SUN gave it an amazing review, so maybe it’s good. Anyway I hope so. This Johnny Spielt Auff or whatever it is that the Met is putting on this winter sounds awful,—but it’s supposed to be a jazz opera.30 I can’t imagine those fat singers at the Met waddling around in a jazz opera made in Berlin. But if it isn’t good, I guess it will at least be funny.…. Did you like Bud Fisher’s book |Walls of Jericho|? Too much surface,—is the verdict of the niggerati. They expected better things of Bud, they say, and the colored papers don’t seem to have gotten insulted over it yet. Or maybe you killed all the critics with your brick. Nella Larsen is said to have finished another novel;31 Walter White a book on lynching;32 Eric his Panama Canal volume;33 and Wallie his “The <Blacker> the Berry” which is due out in January34.…. Harlem cabarets are disgracefully white. The only way Negroes get in nowadays is to come with white folks, whereas it used to be the other way around.…. Too bad you missed Countee |Cullen| and Harold |Jackman|. |Alain| Locke was in Spain but I guess you didn’t see him.…. The phonographs are turning out some marvelous Negro records this year. Have you got a vic over there? I hope you aren’t bothered with radios very much. All the lunch rooms and restaurants in Harlem have them now so one no longer eats in peace. They let them run wide open, picking up anything from the Buffalo Jazzers to the lectures on the correct way to write a social letter.…. The prohibition war over here is too funny for words,—and the licker is too bad to drink! I don’t think it’s worth the raids,—but the cops seem to like it. They take all they can get for themselves.…. Niggers and machines,—what’s going to happen when they really get acquainted? Have you read Paul Morand’s MAGIE NOIRE?35 I just got it.…. Did you ever discover if Carco was really rotten or not as a writer?
Do you like bull fights? I loved them.…. Do you want to come back to New York? I imagine it would bore you sick now.…. I don’t quite know why I’m so tired of it.…. This is my last year at Lincoln. You see, I didn’t go to Howard while I was in Washington, so with only a year at Columbia, I had to do three more here. I don’t mind it so much, since I have nothing more amusing to do anyway. There’s no self-discipline to it,—no more than it takes for me to remain anywhere six months straight.…. I don’t suppose you mind what Du Bois says? Who does? Some of the things the CRISIS does are too stupid to repeat,—so I’m not amazed at your poem story. After I had asked for the return of all my kid poetry they kept right on printing it. And after a second request for its return they even printed one poem with —’s in place of my name!36 It amused me so much that I didn’t get angry. They must have needed it badly or something. But it was so awful.… I suppose you saw Allison Davis’s article last month. I had to send a letter about that,—not that I cared what he said about me or my work,—but I didn’t think he ought to blame Mr. Van Vechten for my defects because if I’m ruined, I ruined myself, and nobody else had a hand in it, and certainly not Mr. Van Vechten whom I hadn’t met when many of the poems were already old37.…. But otherwise who cares what people say about your work? When I’m done with a poem or a book I can’t be bothered arguing over it forever. I imagine if I ever wrote a play I would be bored sick if I ever had to look at it more than once.…. I don’t see how artists stand their own pictures on their own walls. I like to create things but I don’t like them around afterwards.…. Writing is like traveling,—it’s wonderful to go somewhere but you get tired of staying, and I’ve never stayed six months in any one place I’ve ever wanted to go back to,—except New York and if there were any other place at all like it, I wouldn’t want to go there again.…. Did HOME TO HARLEM come out in England, too? I was awfully glad about its success. It’s so alive! I love it as much as any book I know.…. I imagine your second one will be great. When does it come out? Do you know yet? And where are you going from Barcelona? And why?
I’m doing a dozen or so short stories and some articles which I may sell later on. I wrote a few poems this summer, too, but I seem to enjoy prose more now.
|Wallace| Thurman is married, too,—a very nice girl who was teaching at Hampton,—and a very efficient typist,38 which isn’t a bad combine for a literary man who doesn’t like to copy his own manuscripts.…. There seems to have been some hold up on Wallie’s play39 but I’m hoping it will be put on soon because it sounds like a good one. And he has two others on the road to completion to bring forward if the first one is a hit.
Best of luck to you. I’m anxiously awaiting the new novel.
Sincerely,
Langston
[Surviving draft of a letter]40
Lincoln University,
February 23, 1929.
Dearest Godmother,
All the week I have been thinking intensely of you and of what you have done for me.41 And I have written you several letters but I have not sent them because none of them were true enough. There were too many words in them, I guess. But all of them contained in some form or other these simple statements:
I love you.
I need you very much.
I cannot bear to hurt you.
Those are the only meanings in all that I say here. You have been kinder to me than any other person in the world. I could not help but love you. You have made me dream greater dreams than I have ever dreamed before. And without you it will not be possible to carry out those dreams. But I cannot stand to disappoint you either. The memory of your face when I went away on Monday is more than I am able to bear. I must have been terribly stupid to have hurt you so, terribly lacking in understanding, terribly blind to what you have wanted me to see. You must not let me hurt you again. I know well that I am dull and slow, but I do not want to remain that way. I don’t know what to say except that I am sorry that I have not changed rapidly enough into what you would have me be. The other unsent letters contained more words than this one. They were much longer. They were more emotionally revealing, perhaps, and there were explanations and promises. But I do not know how to write what I want to say any simpler than it is said here. Words only confuse, and I must not offer excuses for the things in which I have failed. Your face was so puzzled and so weary that day. I shall never forget it. You have been my friend, dear Godmother, and I did not want to disappoint you. If I can do no better than I have done, then for your own sake, you must let me go. You must be free, too, Godmother. At first we had wings. If there are no wings now for me, you must be free! You can still fly ahead always like the bright dream that is truth, and goodness. Free!
Always my love to you, and my truth
Langston
You have been so good to me.
TO CHARLOTTE MASON [ALS]
[Surviving draft of a letter]
Lincoln University,
February 23, 1929.
Dear Godmother,
This is another letter in which there are some little, less important things that I want to tell you.…. About Monday. When I left you, I took the Third Avenue “L” and rode in a sort of daze until, when I looked out the window for my station, I found that I had gone way past it, and was then in some strange section of the Bronx where I had never been before.…. It was after eight o’clock when I got to my mother’s. She was in bed, but insisted that she was only slightly bruised and very nervous from the accident, but she refused to have a doctor because she said we could not afford it.42 However, I told the lady where she was stopping to get one for her if she did not feel well the next day.…. It was too late then to get to Lincoln so we stayed in New York until an early morning train. I had a very good time in Harlem over the week-end,—or rather a very interesting time. I met so many new people.…. It seems that a new life-period is centering about me. You know I told you about the period of books,—how all my childhood, lonely, I spent reading up until the time I went to sea. Then I told you how, suddenly, the very sight of books made me ill, and I threw the ones I possessed into the sea. After that came what I guess one could call a period of solitary wandering, looking out of myself at the rest of the world, but touching no one, nothing. “The Weary Blues” belongs to that period. But I think my second book marks an unconscious turning toward this third state, for there many of the poems are outward, rather than inward, trying to catch the moods of individuals other than myself. In Washington I realized fully how terrible it was to live alone, unlike the folks about. And I came to Lincoln. For the first time in my life I found myself in some way belonging to a group. But it took me a very long time (and my work interfered often) to learn to live with them. Only now am I beginning to be at all at ease and without self-consciousness in meeting my own people. Lincoln has done that for me, and I value it immensely. The football trips this fall, I guess, were what one might call the beginning of a “social state,” in contrast to the state of books, and that of observation. I wonder if I am analyzing my inner moods toward life correctly as they seem to have changed! I’m trying to do so. But I am not, at the moment, so interested in watching myself as I used to be. Maybe that is why I enjoyed Harlem so much this time. Things seemed so fresh, alive, and new.
|Miguel| Covarrubias has an amusing caricature on African Art in the current “Vanity Fair.” And I know you must have seen the love letters of |Abraham| Lincoln that have been running in the “Atlantic Monthly.” These are the third installment, but I have only just now seen them.…. I noticed yesterday a good review of “Harlem” in the Times. It seems to have made a hit.
I meant to tell you in New York what a very beautiful, dark, rich brown my Christmas bag has become by the use of the saddle soap. It is a splendid thing to look at now.…. Luncheon with you was very nice last Monday. I haven’t been hungry since I came back to college, but I have been thinking I might like to eat if there were some of your mushroom soup here.
You have been so awfully good to me, dear Godmother. If there is anything in my other letter to hurt you, it is not because I want it to be there. It is only that I want to say what is best for you. If I make you unhappy, then I cannot come to see you anymore. If I am too heavy, too slow, then you must not give me your strength. There are too many beautiful things in the world for you to do, too many others who need you. You must be strong and well for them. That is what I mean. Because I love you, I must try to tell the truth. We agreed upon that, didn’t we? Do not misunderstand me, dear Godmother. Of course I need you terribly,—but you must be free to live for all the others who love you, too. If I am too much for you, you must not have me.
Langston
Dear Carlo,
It was very good of you to write me before you sailed away again. Of course, I’m sorry you’re leaving New York, if it’s going to be for a long time, but I’m hoping, and I’m sure, you’ll have a delightful sojourn abroad, and that you’ll find little Harlems now almost everywhere you go. (I’m enclosing what the Literary Digest copies from a Berlin paper this week)….. And you were a mighty big part in starting it all …… Lately, now that another period in my life is about to come to an end, I’ve been thinking about the people who’ve been so very good to me the last four years, and who helped me when I came back from the continent with neither sous nor lire nor pesos, and certainly no dollars.…. Well, you’re person No. 1,—the first human being to whom I received a formal introduction after my hard return to native shores,—the night I landed,—in Happy Rhone’s cabaret, the very middle of the dance floor. Don’t you remember? The first person, too, to see my poems in any sort of collected form, to send them to a publishers, and to be happy with me (by wire) over their appearance. But you know all that, and the rest, too. And I don’t want to bore you with thanks. You’ve been a mighty good friend, Carl, so I want you to have a great time in Europe.
I’ve been awfully busy the last two months or so making a survey of Lincoln as a sociology class assignment (but mainly for myself). It’s finished now, was read here, and has produced some sensational but unintended results,—as we who made it didn’t mean for it to get to the papers. I’m enclosing one clipping, but there were several more, besides editorials, etc. Its effect here at Lincoln was upsetting enough to the staid contented Presbyterians who have been easing along in delightful mediocrity for the last 40 years, not caring much if the students improved or not, with the result that Lincoln became a charming winter resort and country club, but not much of a college. (Lovely for me,—but not so good for the serious-minded boys who want and need something else.) The survey covered everything,—faculty, curriculum, buildings and grounds, student thought and activities, etc. (2 upper classes) and various complicated looking charts and tabulations were made. (The Afro succeeded in getting only a small part of the material that had been posted in the sociology room.)43 But it would take a whole paper to tell you all about it. Anyway, it was interesting work, and I feel that we’ve got down some important figures and data concerning some of the grave problems facing Negro education today in schools dominated by white philanthropy, well-meaning but dumb.
This summer I’m going to stay here again and finish up my book. (Wish you could read it before I send it in.) Six weeks or so more I think will do it. Then I’m free again. Had some offers to teach, Tuskegee among others, but haven’t taken them so far,—so I’m liable to meet you in Hong Kong if you keep on round the world.
Tell Fania44 Hello for me and both you all enjoy yo’ selves to de utt’most! Remember me to Paul and Essie,45 too,—and the kid.
Saluti e bacci,
Langston
Lincoln University,
May eighth,
1929.
Another envelope for enclosures.
TO CLAUDE MCKAY46 [ALS]
Lincoln University,
June 27, 1929
Dear Claude,
This time there is no bell to ring calling me to class, no lessons to get, no students to knock, no hundred and one little, pressing, unimportant things to be done: I’m quite graduated, have the “A. B.” in my trunk, and am now, as the boys say, “out in the world.” All I’ve got to do is—do something. Classes and all are over, but I’m staying here for the summer to do a little writing,—at least until August. I’ve just been in New York for 2 weeks and came back, so maybe you’d like to hear the news—(friends and enemies, those you know and those you don’t): |Wallace| Thurman and Louise |Thompson Patterson| are being divorced and he’s using up all his “Harlem” money paying alimony,—so he writes me. He’s in Santa Monica, California. In fact, gangs of N.Y. whites and colored are out there now getting in on the talkies which have recently become the big racket. Wallie’s play “Harlem” was good atmosphere made exciting in the Broadway manner by his Jewish collaborator. Murders, and so on, that belong to melodrama, but not necessarily to Negroes. But it made a good stage show. It has closed now in both N.Y. and Chicago. In Chi, I guess you read, the leading Negroes razzed it and begged the police to close it because it was “low down,”—anything that’s not about high-yellow angels is, you know!.… Well, anyhow,—went to see Kid Chocolate box [(also Al Brown)47 but the kid is most marvelous] with Aaron Douglas, Alta, his wife, and Arna Bontemps, the poet.48 They’re all going West for the summer, Alta and Aaron to Kansas. Arna (a man, if you don’t know) to California. Aaron did the drawings for the American edition of Paul Morand’s “Magie Noire,” and is booked to illustrate a de luxe edition of “Nigger Heaven” next spring.…. All the world is writing novels. Taylor Gordon, singing partner of Rosamond Johnson, has written a 1st person narrative of himself in humorous vein.49 Miguel Covarrubias is doing pictures for it. (I guess you know his drawings of Negroes. Miguel is a very nice Mexican boy whom you would like a lot. Maybe you’ve met him in Paris.)…… Awfully bad colored shows are being put on Broadway every week or so now. They fail,—as they deserve to. Some of the colored victrola records are unbearably vulgar, too. Not even funny or half-sad anymore. Very bad, moronish, and, I’m afraid, largely Jewish business men are exploiting Negro things for all they’re worth. You can’t blame the “nice” Negroes much for yelling, in a way, even when some of us are sincere! We do get a lots of racial dirt shoved on the market.
Ethel Barrymore is to play in black face next season—Scarlet Sister Mary!.… The Hall Johnson Negro Choir sings in the Stadium with the Symphony Orchestra in July.…. The “Porgy” people are back from London.
Colored New Yorkers are not liking “Banjo” so much as your first novel. They didn’t like my second book so much either. Maybe second books are due to be—second books—when the first makes too much noise. And “Home to Harlem” was the grandest thing in years. Dancing and swift and alive. I guess every one expected another book on the same order. “Banjo” is, seemingly, a lot more thoughtful and, I think, very good in its way, but not at all the same thing. Certainly, I feel it important for the white world to know a lot of the “colored” thoughts that are in “Banjo.” And the picture of Marseilles is superb. Good God! I can feel the very air of it. Liked your beach scenes, too,—but lemme ask you—was there ever a ship that gave away lettuce? Real good, fresh lettuce to beachcombers? That struck me like the two West Indian girls fighting naked in Harlem, did some of your former critics. But maybe it did or could happen!
Are you still in Paris? Do you know Nora Holt?50 She’s rather a nice person I think, especially when she’s playing and singing. She was due for our revue, too.…. You got Anita right.51 Droves of society ladies will be in Paris this summer. Half the colored folks I know are going over.…. Harold |Jackman| sails again. Countée |Cullen|, he says, is to remain another year ……Carl Van Vechten is there now, I think.…. Alain Locke sails next week. He was to have gone the 11th but missed his sailing due to a bad tooth.…. I’m the least fashionable of all the literary crew—but I haven’t got any money, and I’ve sailed enough on as—“moon”, at least, in that direction. Next time I want to go to Asia.
Dudley Murphy, young modernist director, is to make a talkie of “The St. Louis Blues” with Bessie Smith doing the woman.52 It ought to be great.
I’ve never felt so unpoetic in my life. I think I shall write no more poems. I suppose I’m not quite miserable enough. I usually have to feel very bad in order to put anything down,—and terrible to make up poems. How did you have to feel?
Aren’t you going to publish another volume of poetry? I thought those unpublished things I once saw were awfully good. Please think about bringing them out, if you can.
Tell me the Paris news when you write.…. Are your North African sketches to appear in Harper’s? I’m anxious for them to come out. They ought to be great.
You know, I was very happy to get your fine letters last winter and ashamed for not writing. But I’m really very bad at that.…. I hope you’re far enough away not to be flooded with mail from unknowns who want everything from an autograph, a picture, to your life’s history, and your personal affection. Ladies, even by mail, can be very persistent.
Bien à toi, old man. Hope you’re happy and that the wine still tastes good. Write soon.
Sincerely,
Langston
Monday July 29, 1929 (full date for benefit of literary historian)
Lincoln University, Pa., Box 36, (full place, ditto)
<Signed by my own hand. L.H.>
Dear Wallie,
I am sorry to hear about your being ill—but anyway I see you’re still able to use the typewriter so that’s something. Zora |Neale Hurston| has been sick in a Florida hospital, too. Thought it was her stomach but discovered it was her liver, at the last moment, so she’s on the road to recovery now. Two of my friends and classmates who graduated with me, immediately had a nervous breakdown the week following and are still suffering. I have tried in vain for two years to have one and can’t—so that I could rest. I recall with ever recurring pleasure my three weeks in the hospital that time I got mad at my father in Mexico and all my red corpuscles turned white. I never enjoyed myself so much before nor since, being waited on and wheeled about by lovely nurses, and having nothing, absolutely nothing, to do. Not even the necessity of being bored. I don’t suppose I shall ever be in a hospital again for so trivial a cause. It seems I can’t get anything wrong with my heart either. Nothing will fail me. I’m trying now to cough every morning, but without much success. I think a nice long hospital would do me so much good. There being no more nice, long colleges to do nothing in …… Poor |Alain| Locke had a heart attack, lay on the floor all night, and missed his sailing. I think I told you. It seems that all the niggerati’s going under—then going off and resting. He’s on his way to Mannheim now to take the cure (plus baths), you’re in Salt Lake being cared for, hand and foot, no doubt by a darling grandmother.… And here am I broken hearted—not even in love anymore. She’s gone home to her people taking several of my books and one ring (that someone else had given me.)53.…. Even my kid brother refused to go |to| summer school, as dumb as he is, because he felt that he need<ed> the outdoor air of a Massachusetts summer camp. And my mother has wearied her ankles working, so she is going home to Kansas day after tomorrow!.…. I think I shall sit out in the sun for the next week and get a sun-stroke, then see if the black intelligentsia will rally to the aid of a poor New Negro (still quite young). I’m doing my best to keep literary.…. Did I tell you that someone tried to rob, assault, or otherwise molest me when I first returned from N. Y.? I live in the oldest, largest, darkest, and most remote dormitory on the campus, third floor north-east corner, by myself. (Said residence donated to me by the University for literary purposes.) Well, I hadn’t been here any time before, about midnight one evening while I was still up, some prowler or other by unlocking the door tried to get into my room, but in reality the door was already unlocked so what they did in turning the key was really to lock it, and when I got up and yelled hearing the key turn, they fled leaving the key in the lock and I was locked in all night, until <next> morning I called the campus janitor to let me out. (Wasn’t anxious to get out beforehand, anyway.) You see, the villagers think I’m rich because I spend the summer here and do nothing, so maybe they planned, whoever it was, to take my cash, my typewriter, or my I know not what. But anyway I now lock up securely every night and play Bessie Smith on the victrola so I wouldn’t hear them if they came.…. In the day time I occasionally practice on prose technique while waiting for information, <(I mean inspiration)> to descend upon me like a dove and lift me above mere writing. But the appearance of two or three nice checks recently from book reviews and German translations of Blues (God knows how they did it—perhaps if I could read them, I would get sick) lead me to think of seeking the sea shore or the mountain heights for the rest of the season. Or the eastern shore of Maryland across the Chesapeake Bay, which they tell me is like Georgia, it’s so remote, and its Negroes are so nappy-headed. And they eat oysters all the year around. It’s not far away. All one does is go to Baltimore and take a Jim Crow boat to the land of miscegenation where every colored lady has at least six little half-breeds for practice before she gets married to a Negro. And where the word Mammy is still taken seriously, and the race is so far back that it has illimitable potential—like me!.…. Yes, I do intend to teach in the remote future when hunger and old age and dire necessity come upon me. (The fall is quite remote!) And as for Harlem, alas, all the cabarets have gone white and the Sugar Cane is closed and everybody I know is either in Paris or Hollywood or sick. And Bruce54 wears English suits!.…. Finish your talkie, if need be, but for crying out loud, don’t die if cod liver oil can save you. I detest talkies, but funerals are even worse. I think I shall be cremated and put in a jar, then sent on a trans-Atlantic flight …… Will you kindly write more about the renaissance of the race in the West, and who’s connected with which in the Hollywood scramble.… Or will I have to come out there to see for myself?….. God what a child I have been.…. (When?)….. The German papers say I’m still quite young.…. But I’m in no mood to wax eloquent over trifles and I can only think about what I wouldn’t write if the doctor would let me.…. Who is a nice family doctor in New York? I may need one.…. How much do divorces cost and what are the grounds? (Why must it be grounds—Oh, Lord, the bitter dregs!—says he who drains the cup.).… I believe I’ll go to Canada instead of Maryland where licker’s still what it used to be.55 Even the owner of Small’s Paradise summers in Quebec.…. I think my nerves need wine.…. Are you taking the waters at the Salt Lake …… Don’t be like that! <If you need anything I can send you, let me know. (This last is real!)>
<Sincerely, your friend,
Langston
(Hughes—for the sake of literary history. This letter guaranteed authentic—price to museums, $15,000 cash.!>
TO CHARLOTTE MASON [ALS]
[Surviving draft of a letter]
May 28, 1930
I am deeply sorry—but I feel that I must keep my promise about Washington.56 I am terribly sorry about everything. You have been more beautiful to me than anybody in the world, and my own failure is miserable beyond speech, so I will say no more about it. If I mistakenly have said the wrong things, already I am humbly deeply sorry. I offer you the most sincere apologies. I did not want to hurt you. I wanted only to be true to your love for me, but human words even when most carefully selected, have too many meanings other than the single meaning of the heart.
Here is my love and faith and devotion to all that you have taught me. If ever I can serve you in any way, I shall be only too happy. The truths of your spirit live with me always in light and beauty, that is why I cannot bear for anything else to xxxxx to come between us.
I want to be your spirit-child forever,
L.
TO CHARLOTTE MASON [AL]
[Surviving draft of a letter]
June 6 |1930|
In all my life I have never been free. I have never been able to do anything with freedom, except in the field of my writing. With my parents, with my employers in my struggle for food, in all the material circumstances of life, I have been forced to move this way and that—only when I sat down for a moment to write have I been able to put down what I wanted to put down, to say what I’ve wanted to say, when and where I choose …… As long as I worked on my novel, dear Godmother, I think we were One—we both wanted it finished soon, we both agreed about what was being done.57 But when you told me that I should have begun my writing again the week after I returned from Cuba58—I must disagree with you. I must never write when I do not want to write. That is my last freedom and I must keep it for myself.… Then when you tell me that you give me more than anybody ever gave me before—($22500 a month—my allowance and half of Louise)59—and that I have been living in idleness since the first of March—I must feel miserably ashamed. I must feel that I have been misusing your kindness and that it would be wrong to you for me to take your help any more when I cannot write—when I cannot do what you believe I should be doing—when I am afraid of making you unhappy because you have been kind good to me—and when I know that I cannot write at all on any sort of pre-arranged schedule. The nervous strain of finishing the novel by a certain time has shown me that. Almost all of one’s life must be measured and timed as it is—meals every day at a certain hour; if I am working for a salary—to work at a certain time; to bed at a certain time in order to get enough sleep; letters to be answered by a certain time in order to avoid discourtesy or loss of business. So far in this world, only my writing has been my own, to do when I wanted to do it, to finish only when I felt that it was finished, to put it aside or discard it completely if I chose. For the sake of my physical body I have washed restaurant thousands of hotel dishes, cooked, scrubbed decks, worked 12 to 15 hours a day on a farm, swallowed my pride for the sake help of philanthropy and charity—but nobody ever said to me “You must write now, you must finish that poem tomorrow. You must begin to create on the first of the month.” Because then I could not have have written, I could not have created anything. I could only have put down empty words at best …… The creative urge must come from within, always as you know dear G.,—or it is less than true.…. So I am sorry if you feel that I have been unnecessarily idle. And, I am ashamed beyond words, if I have misused your generousity. I did not want ever to do that. And if I have misunderstood your words advice, your kind and sincere talks with me the last few weeks, blame only my stupidity, Godmother, not my heart. My love and devotion are yours always, and my deepest respect and gratitude, and my willingness always to listen to you in the future as in the past and to be guided by you as nearly as I can. But I must tell you the truth so that there will be no wall between us.
[Surviving draft of a letter]
<Sent to G.—Aug. 15, 1930 from Rockaway.>60
I ask you to help the gods to make me good, and to make me to make me clean, and to make me strong and to make me fine that I might stand aflame before my people, powerful and wise, with eyes that can discern the ways of truth. I am nothing now—no more than a body of dust possessing no without wisdom, having no right to see. Physically and spiritually I pass through the dark valley, a dryness in my throat, a weariness in my eyes, fingers twisted into strange numb shapes when I wake up at night, the mind troubled and confused in the face of things it does not understand, the mouth silent because there is no one to talk to, the cool sweet air burning the lungs, the hot sun cold to the body. Too far away the spear of Alamari.61 Too far away the young and gentle hands of Sandy’s faith.62 If you will understand, perhaps it will not be so hard to climb toward the hills again. Your letter has been a great help to me, sending with it the rays of the morning sun, that touch the hill tops summits always before they reach the valley. Godmother, for your sake I am sorry. For myself—so many life-destroying things have happened to me before—to seek relief in self pity is stupid and futile I can only lie still and wait. till strength comes to move again. I could not go to sea because I couldn’t have passed the physical exams, or eaten the galley-food, or done the work. I had hoped to be better by now, but two enervation heavy severe summer colds have kept me doped with enervating medicines. It’s been a crazy season for me, with the stomach turning over and over like a churn machine whenever the mind displeased it by attempting to think seriously.63 You can understand why I have not written you. It would have been wrong to add my self to the burdens of your morning mail. It isn’t that I don’t love you, Godmother. The thousands of beautiful good and generous things you have done for me come back to me always in loveliness and beauty: the time you bought the saddle-soap for my bag; the times you came to Lincoln to see me; the time you said we would write the play together. And I never read a letter in praise of the novel—what they call its simplicity and lack of propaganda—but that I think “they do not know who helped me write it—Godmother.” And every criticism in the papers must inevitably bear comparison with the superior and flaming criticism which that you wrote long ago when the book was only half finished.… You have been continually in my thoughts this summer, and continually I’ve been trying to puzzle out what happened between us, and what I can must do to keep it from ever happening again. We could not bear it. Love has no armor against itself. If only I could understand.
I am not wise, Godmother. in myself. The mind speaks truth. In myself I am not wise. I am not wise. The inner soul is simple as a fool, sensitive as a sheltered child, at odds too often with the reasons of the mind, The soul’s a coward hiding in the dark, putting wrapping itself in the cloak of art about itself when, too much alone sick with loneliness, it must walk go out for breath of air or die. The soul is xxxxxx deaf, and dumb, and the body cannot speak for it. afraid of its own body and the body thinks its xxxxxx afraid of all the other bodies the soul but it is not so In the world The mind knows all these things about the soul. The soul knows nothing about itself—and yet the soul can kick the mind about, and armour armour make of reason a lackey in the house, and cry for love, and when love is not found, refuse to listen to the mind that “again again. It’s yet again and maybe you will find The body lies too often to itself. The soul looks on in silence—and moves away. There are too many things it does not understand.
The Last week my kid brother |Gwyn Clark| was with me here at the beach for a week on his way home to Cleveland. One day he rescued a girl from drowning. She had been caught in the undertow at the end of the jetty.… I’m enclosing a letter to show you something of his record at camp. He’s a good little chap and I want to help him all I can. Mother is planning to keep house in Cleveland so he will go to school there next year. He wants to take a course in electricity at the Technical High School and, at the same time, study for entrance to the college in Springfield where he can study prepare for xxxxxx athletic and recreational work. He hated to leave there |the camp| and the people there were loath to give him up. They seemingly had a very tearful time about it. Mother and I are deeply grateful to you for the helpful years which you gave him64 there in an environment that has surely been of great benefit to him, in health and character, and that has given him a fine foundation for his adolescent years.
Charlotte Mason, “Godmother,” c. 1925 (illustration credit 12)
novel.*65
house—at 3 least, is seems so now……I have not dared to think of the play
*I’ve had a friendly note from Mr. Paul Chapin. Mrs. Biddle66 has written me a lovely letter about the novel, saying that you have read it all aloud. I am glad that grateful that my poor people have known the blessings of your voice even as they knew the strength of your love devotion when they were coming into being. The book is yours as well as mine. Whatever beauty and truth it may have travels on the wings of your love as long as its remains in print pages hold together.
May the Gods be kind to you. May the summer bring you strength and life. May the tall pines protect you in beauty.
With my love,67
[On Hedgerow Theatre Moylan-Rose Valley, PA. stationery]68
Home address:
P.O. Box No. 94,
Westfield, N.J.,
September 30, 1930.
Dear Claude,
I’ve been owing you a letter for months. How time can pass! I hope this one finds you. Wonder if you’re still in Spain? Anyway, I asked my publishers to send you a copy of my novel there. I hope it reached you somewhere, and that it won’t bore you. I haven’t read it for months to see what it’s like. I got rather fed up with it in the re-writing stage and couldn’t bear the sight of it for a while. It’s had good reviews, though—only a couple of slams so far—and the sale isn’t bad considering the book slump and summer and a market flooded with “Negro” stuff mostly by white people. I want to do another novel. This time with a city back-ground. Maybe I’ll start on it soon.…. This summer I didn’t do anything. Had gotten awfully bored with LITERATURE and WHITE FOLKS and NIGGERS and almost everything else. Borrowed money, and spent it all lying on the beach at Rockaway and sleeping in the sunshine.…. Now I’m sort of visiting out here at Jasper Deeter’s theatre near Philadelphia. Rose McClendon,69 the colored actress, is here, and three colored fellows who are resident members of the company. (They keep Othello and The Emperor Jones70 in the repertory, and had planned a series of Negro plays for the fall, but it seems that the money didn’t come through or something, so they probably won’t come off.) Anyway, it’s a pretty spot down in a lovely little valley, and I’m getting a sort of inside slant on the theatre, watching the rehearsals and the plays every night.…. What’s the news with you? I haven’t seen any of the returned natives this fall, so I haven’t heard whether any one ran into you over there or not. |Countee| Cullen’s back, I hear, and |Alain| Locke is due back soon, and at least ten million colored school teachers have been, seen Paris, and returned.…. You’re more or less right about the Negro intellectuals. (After all these months, I could hardly expect you to remember just what you said in that last letter, but anyhow much of it concerned your reputation after it had gone through the mouths of the niggerati and back to earth again.) Sure, they say bad things about you. They say bad things about anybody unless you’re right there when they’re talking. But who cares? Certainly there are a lot of half-baked beans in the intellectual pot, but they don’t make me sick any more like they used to. Maybe it’s because I see so little of them—and am not concerned about whether I have a reputation or not.
I’ve been translating some lovely Cuban poetry lately. There’s a Chinese-Negro poet in Havana named Regino Pedroso71 who works in an iron foundry and writes grand radical poems and Chinese revolutionary stuff and mystical sonnets, and there’s another boy named Nicolas Guillen who has recently created a small sensation down there with his poems in Cuban Negro dialect with the rhythms of the native music,72 sort of like my blues here,—the first time that has been done in Latin-America. I’ve translated some of the revolutionary poems, and some of Guillen’s straight Spanish, because neither the sonnets nor the dialect could I do over very well into English. There’s a charming little Mexican poetess, too, whose things I want to try to put into English.73 She was dancing in Havana last winter when I was there …… I had a swell time down there. Don’t believe I ever wrote and told you, did I? Met all the literary people in the capital, and lots of grand Negroes, and lots of players in the native orchestras. Brought back a bongó and maracas, and all sorts of things to play on—and can’t play any of them! I’d love to go back to Cuba again this winter, or somewhere South. I hate cold weather.…. Are you coming this way ever, Claude? You said something about being in New York when you finished your next book. I hope it’s coming along well. Wish you could sell something to the movies and make lots of money. That’s what all the white writers are doing. Selling their books months before they come out even.… … Well, there isn’t any news to speak of that I could tell you. The annual hundred colored shows have started rehearsing for Broadway. Maybe three or four will get there. Ethel Barrymore is reported a black-face flop in her opening in Scarlet Sister Mary74 out in Columbus, an all white company in all Negro parts, bound for New York. The new Paul Green Negro play, The Potter’s Field75 may be one of the first Meyerhold76 productions when he arrives in New York. It seems that it is a semi-impressionistic play or something that would suit his manner of doing things—or so they think. Countee |Cullen|’s going to write a novel, so says rumor. Clarence Cameron White is writing an opera.77 Fisk University has a new library. At least a nigger a week is being lynched in the South this season, the color line is getting tighter and tighter, even in New York, but in books and the theatre the Negro is still muy simpatico. Dance, damn you, dance! You’re awfully strange and amusing!
Un abrazo, compadre,
Langston
Box No. 94,
Westfield, N.J.78
December 6, 1930.
Dear Arthur Spingarn,79
I didn’t know any of the things you told me about Sheridan Leary80 in your letter. I am mighty glad to have those facts, and it was surely good of you to look them up for me. I wish I had been old enough to learn more from my grandmother before she died.
You remember, I was ill when I last saw you? Well, the doctor has just found out the cause: it is, of all things, a tapeworm!81 The kind you get from eating infected beef. So now I am going in the Sanitarium on Tuesday for a few days to have him killed off.…. Will see you when I come out, I hope.
Amy Spingarn’s sketch of Hughes (illustration credit ill13)
The name of that bibliography is: The Black Man’s Point of View (It lists magazines articles, too) and was compiled by Miss Josephine De Witt, and financed by the Acorn Club for the library. It may be gotten from the Oakland Free Library, Oakland, Cal.82
I’m glad you like Mrs. Amy’s drawing of me.83 I do, too—quite as well as any of the drawings I’ve had of myself.
I had a nice time at your house that night in spite of the tapeworm.
With best regards to Mrs. Spingarn, as ever,
Sincerely,
Langston
P.S. Do you know an old Negro novel Unfettered (Orion Pub. Co., Nashville, 1902) by Sutton E. Griggs?84 I’ve borrowed it to read lately—but haven’t yet.
<Third letter from me to Miss Hurston>
4800 Carnegie Ave.,
Cleveland, Ohio.
January 19, 1931.
Dear Zora,
I’m sorry the Guild turned down MULE BONE85—but I’m also sorry it went to them in such a shape, and in such a way86.…. This is the Cleveland situation: The Gilpin Players here are probably the best Little Theatre Negro group in the country, and for ten years have been producing plays successfully.87 Each year they do a downtown season. In the past they have used such plays as Roseanne,88 In Abraham’s Bosom, etc. They do try-out plays for New York producers also, and have been offered try-outs of plays the Guild was considering. New York scouts and agents attend their openings. This year they are to open downtown at the Theatre of Nations under the auspices of The CLEVELAND PLAINDEALER, leading white paper out here, which would mean a great deal of assured publicity right there. Then later they will move to the OHIO, one of the leading legitimate downtown theatres here. All of which means an assured two-weeks run. This would in no way hurt a New York production. In fact, it would help it, because if the play is well-received out here, New York managers will be sure to bid for it—and I think that is our best bet, now that the Guild is out of the running. I hope you will agree for it to be done here, as I think it will mean much to us both.…. I was in touch by phone today, through Mrs. Jelliffe, manager of the Gilpin Players, with Barrett Clark, the reader who handled your play. He thinks it will be swell when whipped into shape. Mrs. Jelliffe explained the entire situation to him, and he also promised to get in direct touch with you about it. I have also written two letters to Carl |Van Vechten|, since the play seems to have reached the agent and eventually Cleveland through him89 …… Since the Gilpin Players must open on the 15th of February, some word from you by wire at once would be appreciated. I haven’t your letter yet.…. As you know, the comedy reached here entirely without my knowledge, but since it did get here, and since the Players are anxious to do it, I would be interested in seeing it go through. They would be glad to have you come out for rehearsals and the opening if you cared to do so.…. In any case, I do not think it would be a bad beginning for our first play, and for the first Negro folk-comedy ever written.…. Let’s not be niggers about the thing, and fall out before we’ve even gotten started. Please wire me.
Sincerely,
L. Hughes
TO ARTHUR SPINGARN [ALS]
4800 Carnegie Ave.,
Cleveland Ohio,
January 30, 1931.
Dear Arthur Spingarn,
Thanks for your letters. Am in bed with the grippe, so I haven’t been so quick with an answer. I do not understand Dr. |Alain| Locke’s zeal in upholding Miss Hurston’s position—except that they are both employed by the same patron. Miss Hurston has probably claimed Mule-Bone as entirely her own before Dr. Locke and their patron; and Dr. Locke, knowing only one side of the story, chooses to back Miss Hurston.90 So far as I can recall, I have never spoken to Dr. Locke about our comedy, nor was I aware, until I heard from you, that he even knew Miss Hurston and I had worked on a play together. I wired him asking for an explanation of his statement to you. His answer was: “Congratulations on the Harmon Award91 but what more do you want.”….. Isn’t that annoying?….. Yesterday Mrs. Jelliffe received a letter from Mr. Paul Banks, one of the Gilpin Players at present visiting in New York for some few weeks or so. Mr. Banks had just called on Miss Hurston. He quotes her as saying that I have been stupidly untruthful about the play; that she has convinced you that I am wrong; that you are very much disillusioned about me; and that you will no longer represent me in New York; and that she has Dr. Locke on her side. Further, that she will shortly leave for Cleveland, but that she absolutely refuses to associate my name with the production.
Of course, all this excited Mrs. Jelliffe anew. She tried to reach both you and Miss Hurston yesterday by phone but failed—so she tells me today that she has written you. The play is in rehearsal here and has been announced by The Plaindealer as a Negro comedy by myself and Miss Hurston. Miss Hurston, as I told you, authorized the production by her two wires Okay and Proceed Good Luck. Now Mrs. Jelliffe does not know what might happen from her present attitude as expressed to Mr. Banks. Miss Hurston has never ordered the production stopped here—but seemingly after I told her I had put the matter in your hands she became angry and decided to go back to her strange and stubborn policy of not admitting our collaboration. Mrs. Jelliffe feels that she had better get expert legal advice here to prevent any thing happening at this late date which would disrupt and spoil their downtown season, for that reason she asks me to get from you all correspondence of which I kept no copies: i.e. Miss Hurston’s two letters to me, and anything else you may have, marked in red “Please return.” So would you kindly send letters so marked back to me.…. Also if you can aid me by giving Mrs. Jelliffe some expert advice about her tangle here when you answer her letter, I would appreciate it immensely, since I know nothing more to do or say about it myself. The check for Miss Hurston’s fare to Cleveland has been sent her—so maybe the face to face conference can be held soon. I hope so—as this strange and unpleasant business is beginning to get on my nerves. Judging from Mr. Banks’ letter, New Yorkers are beginning to think that I am the robber, instead of the robbed! Well, sir!! What next?
Sincerely,
Langston
(over)
P.S. Would the copyright office be likely to copyright the same play twice thru mistake? Is it possible to discover whether or not Miss Hurston did copyright Mule-Bone last October by asking the question of the Register of Copyrights? If the play has been copyrighted twice, once by Miss Hurston with herself as sole author, again by myself this month with both of us as authors, what bearing would that have on the situation here regarding the impending Gilpin production—should it come to a matter of injunctions, etc. from Miss Hurston or her agents? The play was once tentatively called “The Bone of Contention”—and that’s what it really has become. Miss Hurston has evidently decided to bluff her way through on the false stand that she has taken. Or else she is ashamed to back down before her New York friends. I’m sorry about the whole matter.
<P.S. Am sending the II & III acts of the comedy as prepared for the Gilpins’ production using the I and III acts done in collaboration last spring, and the II as revised from the version Miss Hurston did last summer in the South with the use of my spring notes for its construction, and following my outline as to scenes and action, except that in her version the turkey incident was used instead of the girl. This had to be removed to conform with our original two acts. This is really a 2nd draft version of our collaborated play. I had wanted to work it over once more with Miss Hurston before we tried to sell it, or even tried it out here.>
TO LOUISE THOMPSON (PATTERSON) [TL]
4800 Carnegie Avenue,
Cleveland, Ohio,
February 7, 1931.
Dear Lou,
As you probably know by now, Zora |Neale Hurston| has been here. And how! There were two conferences, both with the Jelliffes, one on Monday, another on Tuesday. The Monday one was fairly agreeable. Zora and I went off alone in the front office, settled our private affairs (or so I thought) came out, and she admitted I had had a part in the play, that she would collaborate, and that she and I would both sign the contract for the production here (if the Gilpins were going to do the comedy, as they had voted the night before Zora’s arrival to drop it as no one could get a sensible answer from her, or her new agent Elizabeth Marbury.) However—overnight the change took place. In the early dawning Zora called up Mrs. Jelliffe and proceeded to attempt to bawl her out by phone for daring to put my name beside hers on the play, for taking your word for anything as you were this-that-and-the-other, etc. Mrs. Jelliffe said you were a friend of theirs, that she wouldn’t listen to any more over the phone, and that we could all meet again at five. I was in bed with tonsillitis, so everyone came to my house. Zora brought a young man, Paul Banks, with her, one of the Gilpin Players who had been in New York and had made the trip back with her in her car. He, of course, was strongly on her side, and had previously written here that I had been stupidly untruthful since he knew I had had nothing to do with the play, and furthermore Zora said that my lawyer92 was so disillusioned with me that he wouldn’t even represent me!… … Well, anyhow, this young man was with her, the Jelliffes, my mother, and me. And such a scene you cannot imagine. The young man, of course, said nothing. But Zora pushed her hat on the back of her head, bucked her eyes, ground her teeth, and proceeded to rave. She called Mrs. Jelliffe a dishonorable person, said she, Zora, had not come all the way to Cleveland to be made a fool of, implied that everybody was trying to pull sly tricks on her and she knew it, said who was you that anybody should take your word, (here again Mrs. Jelliffe said you were her friend). I said that you had nothing to do with the point under discussion anyway. Zora then shook manuscript in my face and dared and defied me to put my finger on a line that was mine, and that what had been mine in there, she had changed in her “new” version, and furthermore, the whole third act had been written by herself alone while you and I were “off doing Spanish.” Yes, I had helped some with the characterization—but what construction was there to it? And the story was hers, every line of dialog was hers except one line at the end of the first act, and she took that out. I was just trying to steal her work from her!!! And so on and on until Mr. Jelliffe asked his wife to no longer remain to be further insulted, whereupon they all left, Zora without even saying Goodbye to Mother or I. The whole scene on her part was most undignified and niggerish. Nobody else quarreled. And whenever she was asked to explain her wild statements she would say she hadn’t come to be questioned or made a goat of …… That was Tuesday.…. I have not seen her since, but on Thursday who had the astounding nerve to attend a party given by the Omegas for me, but to which I could not go on account of my throat.93 There Zora, I understand, told everyone that I was stealing her work, as well as saying some very unpleasant things about you. She has started a great swirl of malicious gossip here about all of us, the Jelliffes as well. The Gilpins have split up into groups some for the Jelliffes, some against, and the whole thing has developed into the most amazing mess I ever heard of. The Gilpins, of course, had to cancel their downtown date. Mrs. Jelliffe has been terribly upset about the matter, as she and I both had been as nice and as tactful as possible with both Zora and her agents, and with Zora herself when she arrived. Certainly none of us expected such a performance from the lady! It seems that now Zora chooses to be not only contrary and untruthful, but malicious and hurtful as well. (I have received the most insulting note I have ever heard tell of from 399.94 How she thinks of such ungodly things to say, I don’t know.)….. Anyway, the Jelliffes feel that something should be done to stop Zora’s irresponsible and malicious statements, even to the point of asking my lawyer to threaten a libel suit if she insists further on saying publicly that I have tried to steal her play.
Personally, I think Zora must be a little off, as in all my letters to her, or talks here with her, I have been agreeable to further collaboration, and I have made no attempt, nor threatened to make one, to dispose of any part or parts of the play without her knowledge or consent. (She’s the one. I kept quiet about it, now she’s spreading the opposite tale.) So all that she is saying is crazy and without foundation in fact. She could not prove any of it—but how can people know that? So we all feel that you must be warned against her in New York.…. She contends that I wanted you to have a large interest in the profits of the play, therefore she withdrew.…. Can you imagine it?….. I think I had better tell everyone of my friends in New York the story of the play now, because with both |Alain| Locke and Zora on the lying line, God knows what will get about. (I think I wrote you of Locke calling on |Arthur| Spingarn to back Zora up.) I wired him for an explanation and his answer was CONGRATULATIONS ON THE HARMON AWARD BUT WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?… … I think they all must be quite mad!
Anyhow, Louise, why Zora should be so ungodly sore at you for, is something I don’t know. But you certainly have to know all this, at least in self defense.…. Have you ever seen such amazing niggers or white folks either. I’m glad you have another job and that I have my new book well in mind. They can all go to the nether regions as far as I am concerned.…. Best of luck to you, and love to Mother. I am going to write her.…. Take care of that cold you said you had, and find yourself a mule-bone because the free-for-all is on.
Sincerely,
[On L.H. monogrammed stationery]
(Air Mail)
Poste Restante,
Cap-Haïtien, Haiti,95
May 27, 1931.
Dear Carlo,
Have been laying off to write you for weeks, but we’ve been moving so fast and rough that I haven’t had a chance, but at last we come to a stopping place—with the sight of the Citadel96 20 miles away on a mountain top. We came across Cuba in old cars that continually broke down, and camions full of peasants and chickens; took deck passage on a French ship at Santiago for Port au Prince and rode in the open for three days with the sugar-cane workers coming home, while the boat went all around southern Haiti picking up cargo. The last night a storm came up and we slept in the hole with the Haitian crew. Port au Prince struck us as being little more than a collection of wooden huts with tin roofs, gangs of Marines, badly lighted streets, and everything at American prices or higher, so we left for the North. Half way to the Cape the spring floods held us up for nearly two weeks, but we had a swell time. Stayed at St. Marc where there is a splendid beach, mountains all around, and lots of Congoes on week-ends, drums sounding everywhere. (The Congo is a simplified Cuban rumba with a more monotonous rhythm, a more primitive pattern—men and women dancing alone or together as they choose, all circling round and round a sort of Maypole in the middle of a thatched roof, singing and throwing hips.)
We reached the Cape last week, found a grand hotel on the water-front, for seamen and Santo Domingan revolutionaries—a place where they play bisique97 and dominoes all day, and dance to Cuban records, talk revolutions, and drink copoise half the night. The Cape is charming, full of old ruins from the days of the French. Pushed into the sea by the hills, it’s much cooler, less full of mosquitoes, and not nearly so ugly as Port au Prince. Our windows and balconies look out on the ancient embankments, the bay and the mountains beyond. Room and meals for only $25 each a month! All the native crew from the ship we took at Santiago live here at the Cape, so we have plenty of friends (in fact, they told us of this hotel). They take us to Congoes, cockfights, dances, and bars; also out on the bay in their fishing boats. (We’re hoping for a Voodoo dance this Saturday of which they have told us.) Last week we went to a grand Congo at the foot of the mountains, got tight on sugar-cane rum, and Zell98 outdanced the natives. (The snakehips99 was a new one to them.) The next morning the musicians came to our hotel and we bought both their drums, the “Mama” and the “Baby.” Need only a “Papa” drum now to have a full set, but it seems that between the priests and the Marines (both of whom try to stop the dances and confiscate the drums), “Papa” drums are pretty scarce, and probably can only be found way back in the hills.…. Zell had made some nice heads in Cuban and Haitian woods, and a few watercolors. Every body down here takes him for a boxer, and the prettiest woman I’ve seen in town, so far, has taken him for her own personal property.…. We had a swift and glorious time in Havana. I was surprised at the amount of publicity our visit got—reporters and flashlights at the pier, with pictures and a front page story next morning; later a full account of my reading at the Cercle Francais; and the front page again when we were arrested at the beach where we went to meet a professor at the University and Addison Durland, a most amusing Cuban-American rich boy who makes swell pictures.100 (You must meet him when he comes to New York again).
They wanted to charge us $10.00 each to come in the beach, refused to let us wait for our friends at the entrance, and when we stopped outside, had us arrested and charged with “escandolo”—disturbing the peace. They testified next day that we had bathed inside, put our feet on the beach chairs and refused to take them down, and generally misbehaved. Of course, this was absurd as they didn’t let us in. The judge, who knew of the frequent attempts at discrimination there against Cubans of color, rebuked the beach authorities, cleared us, and made a long oration on the rights of all people of whatever color under Cuban law to go freely to all public places …… With the rainy season coming on, and boats from Haiti to the outward islands very difficult to get, we’ve decided to go no further South this trip, but to take a sailing vessel from here thru the Bahamas, thence Miami, and home. Zell has a summer job in sight; and I want to do my novel. The next island of distinctive interest would be Martinique—and it’s a long ways ……… I haven’t had any mail from the states for about six weeks, (nor have I seen an American paper in Haiti) so I don’t know what’s happening. However, I trust Harlem is still there; and that you’re O.K. I hope you got over the trouble with your leg all right.…. I haven’t done any work. Been trying to wear my troubles off my mind …… Saw Nigger Heaven & Magic Island101 (French editions) in the only bookshop at Port au Prince where I bought my Anthologie de Poesie Haitienne. Creole patois is marvelous—like Chinese—full of little tunes and half notes …… Stars over the black mountains to you,
Langston
TO JAMES NATHANIEL HUGHES [TLS]
Cap-Haïtien, Haiti,
June 30, 1931.
Dear Father,
I was most happy to have your letter, as well as the book which you sent me. It was good to have direct news of you. Some years ago I wrote you, c/o of the American Consulate in Mexico City, but the letter finally came back. I saw Aunt Sallie in Indianapolis (1716 Blvd. Place) a few years back, and I hear from her occasionally.102 She always asks about you, and I know she would be glad to hear from you, if you wanted to write her.…. I was interested in what you had to say about my novel. It had a great critical success, the reviews in both the English and American press being almost uniformly good. The sales exceeded those of the average first novel, my January first statement showing a sale of some five thousand copies for the first five months of publication. It was published in Moscow this spring, and will probably appear in Paris in the fall as the French translation rights have been sold …… In one way or another, directly or indirectly, enough money has come to me from my books to live, but to make a good steady income from literature takes a long time, as one must slowly build up a buying public, or else sell a great deal to the magazines, or the movies.…. I am certainly sorry to hear that you have had such a difficult time with your health, and I wish that something could be done about it. I was sorry I couldn’t come to you that time when you first became ill, but I wanted to make my own way in the world—which has proven quite exciting, although I have nothing to show for it except three books and practically no money. I have traveled quite a lot, however—as you advised me. Last March I started on a trip through the West Indies with another fellow, but so far, we have gotten no farther than Haiti, where we have been for two months here in the shadow of the Citadel built by the black king Christophe.103 Twenty miles away on a mountain top, it stands a magnificent ruin, the grandest thing in Haiti—for the people today are asleep in the sun. The Marines are here, and all the money goes into white pockets.…. The news which you give me of Mexico is very interesting. Miguel Covarrubias, the Mexican artist, is a good friend of mine in New York, and he tells me, too, of the progress which the country is making … I would like very much to read that book on the American Negro.104 You must send it to me when I get back to the States in August. Please do not destroy the books you say you do not want, as I would like to have them.…. Have you seen the magazine OPPORTUNITY, and a new one called ABBOTT’S MONTHLY, published by the man who owns the Chicago Defender?105 They are both interesting, and I will send you copies when I get back, also any other books or papers which you feel you would like to have. You must have a great deal of time on your hands now to read, so if there is anything from the States you want, let me know.…. You ask me several questions I can’t answer. I don’t know about Dr. Sweet.106 The Binga Bank, it seems, went down in the general crash with hundreds of other small banks in the country caught in the Depression—frozen assets, etc.107 When I left the States the papers said a reorganization was on foot. The DuBois-Cullen match seemed to have been a marriage without love, the two concerned not being very friendly on the day of the wedding, so they probably had little intention of living together long. No one in New York knows why they married, unless pressure had been brought to bear on the part of one or the other of the parents as the engagement had been so long announced …… Rhinelander married Alice, knowing her to be the daughter of a colored coachman. His parents forced a separation. There were counter-divorce suits. She came out best, receiving a large settlement of money108.…. Do you know the Murray’s in Mexico City, a colored family from New York? Mrs. Murray is the sister-in-law of Walter White, head of the N. A. A. C. P. She was in New York on a visit just before I left.…. I have been in Havana twice in the last two years. My poems are known there, many of them having been translated in their magazines and papers. Am enclosing a clipping.…. <Will send later. Left in Port au Prince.> Give my love to the Patiños,109 and write to me whenever you have the time. You can always reach me c/o of my publishers, Alfred A. Knopf, Inc, 730 Fifth Avenue, New York. That is the best address. If I make a lot of money from my next book, I will come down and see you.…. Thanks for all the good advice. I’m sure you’re right.
Affectionately,
Langston
1 In The Big Sea, Hughes describes Mrs. Mason: “My patron (a word neither of us liked) was a beautiful woman, with snow-white hair and a face that was wise and very kind. She had been a power in her day in many movements adding freedom and splendor to life in America.… Now she was very old and not well and able to do little outside her own home. But there she was like a queen. Her power filled the rooms.”
2 When Godmother asked Locke to find Hughes’s stepbrother, Gwyn “Kit” Clark, a home and a school, Locke secured Gwyn a home in Springfield, Massachusetts, under the roof and care of a woman named Eva Stokein, as well as enrollment in a nearby school. Godmother paid the bills.
3 Anne Spencer (1882–1975) was an African American modernist poet whose work appeared in various journals and in Locke’s The New Negro (1925). While in Lynchburg, Virginia, Hughes stayed at the home Spencer shared with her husband.
4 A graduate of Rutgers University and Columbia Law School, Paul Robeson (1898–1976) was an athlete, singer, actor of stage and screen, and civil rights activist.
5 Jessie Fauset threw a party on February 8 for Salvador de Madariaga (1886–1978), a prominent Spanish diplomat who was then professor-elect of Spanish at Oxford University.
6 Eugene Gordon (1891–1974), an African American journalist, was an editor and a feature writer for The Boston Post from 1919 until 1940.
7 A published poet, Georgia Douglas Johnson (1877?–1966) opened her home in Washington, D.C., mainly to other African American writers and their friends on Saturday evenings. Among the regulars at various times were Rudolph “Bud” Fisher, Richard Bruce Nugent, and Alain Locke. Her books of verse include The Heart of a Woman (1918), Bronze (1922), and An Autumn Love Cycle (1928).
8 Charles S. Johnson (1893–1956) was a University of Chicago–trained sociologist. As director of research for the National Urban League, he edited its monthly magazine Opportunity, which also encouraged black writers. In 1927, Johnson became the chair of the Department of Social Research at Fisk University. In 1946, he became its first black president.
9 On April 9, Countee Cullen married Yolande Du Bois, daughter and only surviving child of W. E. B. Du Bois, in one of the most extravagant events (stage-managed by the bride’s father) seen that year in Harlem. The marriage was short-lived.
10 Nella Larsen (1891–1964) was the child of a black father from the Caribbean and a white mother from Denmark. From 1919 to 1933, she was married to Elmer Imes, an African American physicist. Knopf published her first novel, Quicksand, in 1928.
11 The African American actor and baritone Jules Bledsoe (1897?–1943) originated the role of Joe (who sings the show-stopping lament “Ol’ Man River”) in Show Boat, the Broadway musical by Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein II based on Edna Ferber’s novel of the same name.
12 Anna Nussbaum, a socialist scholar, translated thirty-seven of Hughes’s poems into German for publication in her anthology Afrika Singt: Eine Auslese Neuer Afro-Amerikanischer Lyrik (“Africa Sings: A New Selection of Afro-American Poetry”) (1929).
13 Congaree Sketches (1927) by Edward C. L. Adams, a white physician, is a collection of black folklore gathered from people living in the region around his home near the Congaree River in central South Carolina.
14 Haines Normal and Industrial Institute was located in Augusta, Georgia.
15 The Inter-State Tattler, a weekly black gossip sheet, was first published in 1925.
16 The African Saga (1927) is an American translation of Anthologie Nègre (1921), a collection of African folktales and stories compiled by Blaise Cendrars (1887–1961), a Swiss-French poet, novelist, and soldier. Cendrars’s main sources were accounts by European travelers, especially missionaries.
17 Although publicly condemned by W. E. B. Du Bois for its celebration of lower-class habits and values, Claude McKay’s Home to Harlem (1928) remains one of the defining novels of the Harlem Renaissance.
18 Hughes is referring to the uproar among many blacks caused by the title of Carl Van Vechten’s novel Nigger Heaven (1926).
19 Francis Carco (1886–1958) was a French writer whose works describe the street life of Montmartre in Paris. Pio Baroja depicted the slums of Madrid (see also Hughes’s letter to Locke of April 6, 1923). Maxim Gorky (1868–1936) wrote about the lives of the lower classes in Russia.
20 Vicente Blasco Ibáñez (1867–1928) was a Spanish activist and novelist. In his early novels, such as Flor de Mayo (1895) and La Barraca (1898), he wrote graphically about farm life in Valencia.
21 Rudolph “Bud” Fisher (1897–1934), a physician with a special interest in radiology, was also a noted writer of the Harlem Renaissance. Knopf published his first novel, The Walls of Jericho, in 1928.
22 Hughes described Wallace Thurman (1902–1934) as “a strangely brilliant boy, who had read everything, and whose critical mind could find something wrong with everything he read.” His books include the novels The Blacker the Berry: A Novel of Negro Life (1929) and Infants of the Spring (1932).
23 The Jamaican-born Claude McKay was then living in France.
24 Ethel Waters (1896–1977) was an Academy Award–nominated actress and an acclaimed jazz singer also known for her popular rendition of the religious song “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” In 1951, Waters published an autobiography of the same name.
25 Archibald J. Motley, Jr. (1891–1981), was praised for his paintings of black life in Chicago. Although he never lived in New York, his work became associated with the art of the Harlem Renaissance.
26 Hughes had worked with Caroline Dudley Reagan (see also letter of October 9, 1925) on the review O Blues!, which Reagan hoped to stage with Paul Robeson as its star. However, following the success in London of Show Boat, in which Robeson created a sensation with his rendition of “Ol’ Man River,” he backed out of his agreement with Reagan.
27 The New York Evening Graphic (1924–1932) was a periodical known for its confessional and true detective stories and also its “cosmographs,” sketches of court scenes with photographs of the heads of the participants pasted in.
28 William Grant Still (1895–1978) was an acclaimed African American composer who set Hughes’s poem “Breath of the Rose” to music in 1928. In 1935, Still began work with Hughes on Troubled Island, an opera about the Haitian revolution. It was finally performed in 1949 in New York City.
29 The composer H. Lawrence Freeman (1869–1954) received the 1929 Harmon Award for musical achievement. His opera Voodoo was produced in New York in September 1928.
30 Austrian-American Ernst Krenek (1900–1991) composed the jazz opera Jonny Spielt Auf (“Johnny Strikes Up”), which failed on its Metropolitan debut in 1929.
31 Nella Larsen’s second novel, Passing, was published by Knopf in 1929.
32 Walter White’s Rope and Faggot: A Biography of Judge Lynch, a study of lynching in America, was published in 1929.
33 Supported by a Guggenheim Foundation fellowship, the British Guiana–born short story writer Eric Walrond (1898–1966) left the United States in 1928 to work on a novel about the Panama Canal. Although he never finished the novel, his 1926 collection of stories, Tropic Death (which includes stories about the canal), was admired by other writers.
34 Wallace Thurman’s novel The Blacker the Berry: A Novel of Negro Life, mainly about color consciousness among black Americans (Macaulay, 1929).
35 Magie Noire (1928), a collection of stories by French diplomat and writer Paul Morand (1888–1976), appeared in English as Black Magic in 1929 and includes illustrations by Aaron Douglas.
36 The poem, “Nonette,” appeared in The Crisis of June 1928.
37 In the July Crisis, the black academic William Allison Davis (1902–1983) charged that Van Vechten had subverted Hughes’s talent. Hughes then pointed out that he had written the poems in The Weary Blues before he met Van Vechten. An anthropologist, Davis would become the first African American to hold a full faculty position at a major white institution when the University of Chicago appointed him in 1942.
38 Louise Alone Thompson (Patterson) (1901–1999), later one of Hughes’s closest friends, graduated with a degree in economics from the University of California in Berkeley in 1923. Later she studied at the New York School of Social Work before joining the faculty at Hampton Institute. Forced out of Hampton for opposing its conservative leadership, she worked at first as a typist for various Harlem writers, including Wallace Thurman, to whom she was briefly married. In 1940, Thompson married William L. Patterson, a lawyer and prominent communist.
39 Wallace Thurman wrote his first play, Harlem: A Melodrama of Negro Life in Harlem, with a white collaborator, William Jourdan Rapp. Their play opened on February 20, 1929, at the Apollo Theater in Harlem.
40 All of Hughes’s letters to Charlotte Mason have been lost, apparently. In their absence, we include here several surviving drafts of letters from him to Mason.
41 On Monday, February 18, after what seemed to him a pleasant lunch, Mrs. Mason exploded at Hughes. She accused him of ingratitude and insincerity, of taking money and doing virtually nothing in return. Her fury, and her visible weariness once it was spent, deeply upset him.
42 The nature of the accident or injury to Hughes’s mother is not known. Carrie Clark was then living in Atlantic City, New Jersey, with her stepson, Gwyn.
43 Since 1892, the weekly newspaper Baltimore Afro-American, commonly called The Afro, has served the black communities especially in the Baltimore and Washington, D.C., metropolitan areas.
44 Fania Marinoff (1890–1971), Van Vechten’s wife, was a Russian-born actress with a successful career on Broadway and in silent films.
45 Eslanda “Essie” Cardozo Goode Robeson (1895–1965) was a trained chemist, writer, and civil rights activist. She published Paul Robeson, Negro, the first biography of her husband, in 1930.
46 Written on the back of the envelope of the June 27, 1929, letter:
Cats in the alley fighting over guts
Women in whorehouses ″ ″ nuts
47 The boxers Kid Chocolate (1910–1988), born Eligio Sardiñas Montalvo in Cuba, and Panama Al Brown (1902–1951), born Alfonso Teofilo Brown, became world champions in their respective weight classes in 1931.
48 Arna Bontemps (1902–1973), a novelist and poet, served as head librarian at Fisk University from 1943 to 1966. After Hughes met Bontemps in 1924, the two men developed a lifelong friendship and exchanged thousands of letters. They also collaborated on several anthologies and children’s books, published and unpublished.
49 Taylor Gordon (1893–1971), a specialist in spirituals, joined the versatile musician J. Rosamond Johnson to form a singing duo in the mid-1920s that toured the United States, France, and England. In 1929, Gordon published an autobiography, Born to Be.
50 Nora Holt (1895?–1974) was a well-known African American singer who also served as a respected music critic for The Chicago Defender.
51 Probably Anita Thompson (1901–1980), a film actress and model who was involved with McKay in Paris at this time. She appears as “Carmina” in McKay’s autobiography, A Long Way from Home (1937). On May 14, 1929, McKay had written that Thompson “says she knows you and has often visited Lincoln,” adding that she was “the society type that takes up bohemianism because it is smart to do so!” Her memoir was edited and published posthumously by George Hutchison as American Cocktail: A “Colored Girl” in the World (Harvard University Press, 2014).
52 Dudley Murphy (1897–1968) cast Bessie Smith in the leading role of his short film St. Louis Blues (1929), which provides the only recorded footage of Smith performing.
53 “She” is Laudee Williams, a young woman with whom Hughes had apparently fallen in love the previous November.
54 Richard Bruce Nugent (1906–1987) was an illustrator, short story writer, poet, playwright, and bohemian personality. Born in Washington, D.C., where he met and became fast friends with Hughes in 1924 or 1925, Nugent moved to Manhattan to join the Harlem Renaissance. With Hughes’s help, he published poems in Countee Cullen’s anthology Caroling Dusk (1927), in Opportunity magazine, and in Fire!!
55 On August 15, Hughes went to the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay. Around September 1, he continued on to Canada.
56 Late May 1930 marks the beginning of the end of Hughes’s relationship with Mrs. Mason. He believed that their break resulted in part from Godmother’s dissatisfaction with the slowness of his writing and the fact that he was not “primitive” or “African” enough for her. As he puts it in The Big Sea, “I was only an American Negro—who loved the surface of Africa and the rhythms of Africa—but I was not Africa. I was Chicago and Kansas City and Broadway and Harlem. And I was not what she wanted me to be. So, in the end it all came back very near to the old impasse of white and Negro again, white and Negro—as do most relationships in America.” In this draft, Hughes alludes to their latest quarrel, which was precipitated by his decision to keep a commitment in Washington, D.C., rather than stay home and write. Seeing this decision as evidence of his disloyalty and ingratitude, she reminded Hughes how much she had spent to support his writing while he had given her almost nothing in return.
57 Hughes wrote Not Without Laughter (Knopf, 1930) with Mrs. Mason’s generous financial support and intense encouragement.
58 After submitting the manuscript of Not Without Laughter to Blanche Knopf on February 17, Hughes decided to seek a Cuban musician to collaborate with him on a new project, a “singing play.” Godmother liked this plan and gave him $500 to fund his trip. Hughes traveled to Cuba aboard the Cunard ship Caronia, which arrived there on February 25. He left Cuba on March 6, after making friends among the local literati but without finding a suitable composer. Returning to his residence in Westfield, New Jersey, he did not begin writing immediately. When news of his inactivity reached her (probably through Alain Locke, who had become her well-paid, principal advisor on black American culture), Godmother became angry.
59 Louise Thompson (Patterson) had been hired by Mrs. Mason in September 1929 to be Hughes’s typist. (For information on Thompson, see note for letter of September 13, 1928.)
60 Hughes spent the dog days of August on the beach in Far Rockaway, New York. His mother was working as a maid near this popular resort city.
61 Mrs. Mason sometimes poetically referred to Hughes as “Alamari.” The origin of the name is unclear, although it is perhaps linked to a reputed West African warrior dance of the same name.
62 Modeled in part on Hughes himself, Sandy is the main character of his novel Not Without Laughter.
63 In The Big Sea, Hughes recalls his final meeting with Godmother: “I cannot write here about that last half-hour in the big bright drawing-room high above Park Avenue one morning, because when I think about it, even now, something happens in the pit of my stomach that makes me ill.… Physically, my stomach began to turn over and over—and then over again. I fought against bewilderment and anger, fought hard, and didn’t say anything. I just sat there in the high Park Avenue drawing-room and didn’t say anything.”
64 Mrs. Mason’s financial support of his stepbrother, Gwyn Clark, is discussed in earlier letters to Alain Locke (see those of January 3, 1928, and February 27, 1928).
65 Hughes included this asterisk to indicate the insertion of text (also marked with an asterisk) that he had written on a separate sheet, with a different pen. The crossed-out line preceding the asterisk appears at the top of this separate sheet.
66 The poet Katherine Garrison Biddle (1890–1977) and her sister Cornelia Chapin (1893–1972), a sculptor, served as assistants to Mrs. Mason. L. H. Paul Chapin, a businessman (1888–1938), was their brother.
67 The following incomplete text appears on a page that Hughes crossed out with a large “X”:
“When I read the letters that come to me expressing surprise and admiration at its simplicity and lack of propaganda, I say “They do not know who helped me to write that book.” And I never read a review but that I Iv remember the flaming and superior finest criticism which you wrote for me when the book was only half finished.
I wish we could work on the play together, Dear Godmother.
Every day for hours here on the lying in the sun on the beach, I try to puzzle out what has happened to me recently that has”
68 In June, Hughes had been invited to the Hedgerow Theatre in Rose Valley, Pennsylvania, the first residential repertory theater in America. Its director, Jasper Deeter (1893–1972), a former member of the Provincetown Players, founded the Hedgerow Theatre in 1923 with a commitment to staging experimental and progressive plays. Deeter had planned a season of six plays with black or integrated casts and wanted a black playwright in residence. Hughes arrived in Moylan–Rose Valley, Pennsylvania, on September 15.
69 Rose McClendon (1884–1936) was one of the most accomplished black actresses of her time. While at the Hedgerow Theatre, Hughes showed McClendon an early draft of “Cross: A Play of the Deep South,” a drama about miscegenation that he later renamed Mulatto. When Mulatto was produced on Broadway in 1935, McClendon played the part of Cora Lewis, the black common-law wife of a Georgia plantation owner, Colonel Thomas Norwood, until her final illness forced her to leave the cast.
70 Eugene O’Neill’s The Emperor Jones (1920) tells the story of Brutus Jones, a black American porter who is jailed for fighting but escapes to an island in the West Indies, where he establishes himself as emperor. At the Provincetown Playhouse premiere on November 1, 1920, the African American actor Charles S. Gilpin (1878–1930) performed the title role while Jasper Deeter played Smithers, a white colonial opportunist.
71 Regino Pedroso (1896–1983) was a Cuban writer of African and Chinese descent whom Hughes met on his second trip to Cuba. Hughes helped Pedroso to place his poem “Alarm Clock” in the New York–based Poetry Quarterly.
72 Hughes encouraged the Afro-Cuban poet Nicolás Guillén (1902–1989) to employ black Cuban vernacular forms, including speech, songs, and dance rhythms, in the same way that Hughes had used blues and jazz in his own poetry. Shortly after Hughes left Cuba in March 1930, Guillén created a sensation in Havana with the publication of Motivos de Son, eight poems that used the popular son dance rhythm rooted in Cuba’s black culture.
73 Graziella Garbalosa (1896–1977) was a prolific Cuban poet and avant-garde writer. In 1920, she published a volume of poetry entitled La juguetería de amor (“The Toy of Love”).
74 Scarlet Sister Mary, Julia Peterkin’s play based on her Pulitzer Prize–winning novel of the same name, opened in Columbus, Ohio, on September 22, 1930, and in New York on Broadway on November 25, 1930. Peterkin (1890–1961) was a successful white writer known for her portrayals of black folk life in the South Carolina Low Country.
75 Potter’s Field: A Symphonic Play of the Negro People was the first musical drama written by the white North Carolina playwright Paul Green.
76 Vsevolod Emilevich Meyerhold (1874–1940) was an avant-garde Russian theatrical producer, director, and actor important in the Moscow Art Theatre until he left it in 1902. Although Paul Green had been told that Meyerhold would arrive in October 1930, Meyerhold did not come to the United States in 1930 or 1931, nor did he produce Potter’s Field in New York.
77 Clarence Cameron White (1880–1960) was an African American concert violinist who studied composition in Great Britain with the black musician Samuel Coleridge-Taylor. In 1932, White created the opera Ounga with John F. Matheus, his colleague at West Virginia State University. Ounga tells the story of Jean-Jacques Dessalines (1758–1806), the slave turned revolutionary who declared himself emperor of Haiti in 1804.
78 Hughes left the Hedgerow Theatre in late October to return to his home in Westfield, New Jersey.
79 Arthur B. Spingarn (1878–1971), the brother of Joel E. Spingarn, was Hughes’s lifelong attorney and friend. A tireless advocate for black rights, he served as president of the NAACP from 1940 until 1965.
80 Lewis Sheridan Leary (1835–1859) was the first husband of Hughes’s maternal grandmother, Mary Langston. A member of John Brown’s insurrectionist band, Leary was killed in the Harpers Ferry raid.
81 Soon after writing this letter, Hughes visited a Park Avenue specialist (recommended by Spingarn), who rudely dismissed the tapeworm diagnosis. In The Big Sea, Hughes acknowledges that anger had made him sick: “Violent anger makes me physically ill, I guess, although I’ve only been that angry twice in my life. All that day I had kept trying not to feel angry or hurt or amazed or bewildered over the morning on Park Avenue—and I didn’t feel any of those things consciously—for I had loved very much that gentle woman who had been my patron and I wanted to understand what had happened to us that she had sent me away as she did.”
82 This bibliography was published by the Oakland Public Library, following (according to the library) “a suggestion from Mrs. Delilah Beasley.” There are three copies at the Oakland Public Library.
83 Amy Spingarn sketched a portrait of Hughes, which was used as the frontispiece for their booklet Dear Lovely Death (1931).
84 Sutton E. Griggs (1872–1933), the son of a former slave, was a Baptist minister, orator, and writer. His five published novels, written between 1899 and 1908, are generally considered early works in the Black Nationalist literary tradition. The first and best known is Imperium in Imperio (1899).
85 In the spring of 1930, Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston began to collaborate on a folk comedy they called “Mule Bone.” The basic plot comes from a story collected by Hurston entitled “The Bone of Contention.” Once the best of friends, Hurston and Hughes quarreled over the authorship of the comedy (see also letters dated January 30, 1931, and February 7, 1931). Because they could not resolve their dispute, “Mule Bone” was not produced in their lifetimes. It was finally staged, with only limited success, at Lincoln Center in New York City on February 15, 1991.
86 Around May 1930, with “Mule Bone” almost finished, Hurston suddenly left Westfield and moved to Manhattan. Whenever Hughes tried to reach her to discuss the future of the play, she evaded him. The following February, while visiting his mother in Cleveland, Hughes was stunned to learn that the Gilpin Players, a local amateur theater group, had received a script of “Mule Bone” that credited Hurston as the sole author. In October 1930, with Hughes at the Hedgerow Theatre, Hurston had copyrighted the play in her name only.
87 The Gilpin Players (which would stage several plays by Hughes) were a mainly black amateur theater group founded and led in Cleveland by Rowena Woodham Jelliffe (1892–1992) and Russell Jelliffe (1891–1980). In 1915, the Jelliffes, a young white couple, established an interracial settlement house in Cleveland based on Jane Addams’s Hull House in Chicago. They also started the Dumas Drama Club, but renamed it in 1923 after a visit from the outstanding African American actor Charles S. Gilpin. In 1927, when the Gilpin Players acquired a theater adjacent to the settlement house, they called it Karamu House, karamu being Swahili for “a place of joyful meeting.”
88 Roseanne is a romantic three-act drama with Negro spirituals written by Nan Bagby Stephens, a white playwright. First produced in 1923 with an all-white cast made up in blackface, it was then revived with greater success in 1924 with a black cast. The revival attracted outstanding performers: Rose McClendon starred in the 1924 touring production opposite Charles S. Gilpin, who was later replaced by Paul Robeson.
89 In November 1930, Hurston (implicitly claiming sole authorship) had sent Carl Van Vechten a finished version of “Mule Bone.” Charmed by it, Van Vechten passed along the play to Barrett Clark of the Theatre Guild in New York. The Guild rejected it, but in his capacity as an associate of the prominent Samuel French Agency, Clark then recommended the comedy to the Gilpin Players.
90 Probably eager to maintain his own lucrative ties to Mrs. Mason, Locke had assured her that he would support Hurston’s claims against Hughes in the controversy.
91 The Harmon Foundation, established in 1922 by William E. Harmon (1862–1928), a white real estate developer and philanthropist, promoted black participation in the fine arts. The Harmon Gold Award (a gold medal and $400) honored distinguished achievement in seven areas, including literature. Nominated apparently by Alain Locke, Hughes received the award in 1930.
92 Arthur Spingarn represented Hughes’s legal interests in the “Mule Bone” controversy.
93 Hughes had joined the nationally prominent black Omega Psi Phi fraternity while attending Lincoln University.
94 Charlotte Mason’s address in Manhattan was 399 Park Avenue.
95 Remaining in Cleveland after Hurston left, Hughes finished the revision of his play “Cross” and renamed it Mulatto. Distraught after Godmother took Hurston’s side in the “Mule Bone” dispute, he decided to escape to the Caribbean. On April 1, he and his traveling companion and driver Zell Ingram left for Florida in a car owned by Ingram’s mother. From Miami, they took a train to Key West, where they went by boat to Havana. After about two weeks in Cuba, the men traveled by boat to Port-au-Prince, Haiti, and then via bus to Cap-Haïtien in the north.
96 La Citadelle Laferrière is a spectacular fortress (the largest in the Western Hemisphere) approximately seventeen miles south of Cap-Haïtien. Built between 1805 and 1820 from pieces of stone hauled up a three-thousand-foot mountain, it was designed to resist French attacks on the newly independent republic.
97 Bezique is a card game for two players.
98 Rozelle “Zell” Ingram (1910–1971) was a young African American artist at Karamu House who worked in prints, woodblocks, and theater scenery. In 1931, he and Hughes traveled together to Cuba and then to Haiti. In I Wonder as I Wander, Hughes describes Ingram as “a solid, amiable, easygoing fellow who had grown up, as I had, in the slums of Cleveland.”
99 The entertainer Earl Tucker (1905–1937), dubbed the “Human Boa Constrictor,” was also known by the name of the sinuous dance he invented, “Snakehips.”
100 Addison Durland was the child of a Cuban journalist and a New York banker. He became an NBC executive who later worked in Hollywood to improve the presentation of Latin Americans in the film industry.
101 The Magic Island (1929) is a study by Alexander King B. Seabrook of Haitian social and religious customs.
102 Mrs. Sarita “Sallie” J. Garvin (d. 1935) was the sister of Hughes’s father.
103 Henri Christophe (1767–1820), a former slave and revolutionary, was elected president of the Northern State of the republic of Haiti in February 1807. His election followed the 1806 assassination of Jean-Jacques Dessalines, who had crowned himself emperor of Haiti in 1804. On March 28, 1811, Christophe proclaimed the Northern State as the Kingdom of Haiti and himself as King Henri I.
104 In his letter of January 13, 1932, James Hughes offered to send Langston a copy of the rabidly anti-black The American Negro: What He Was, What He Is, and What He May Become (1901) by William Hannibal Thomas (1843–1935). Thomas was himself African American, born free in Ohio.
105 Robert Sengstacke Abbott (1870–1940) printed the first edition of his weekly newspaper The Chicago Defender, aimed mainly at an African American readership, on May 5, 1905. In October 1930, Abbott launched the short-lived magazine Abbott’s Monthly.
106 After Ossian H. Sweet, a black physician, moved his family into a previously all-white Detroit neighborhood in 1925, unruly whites targeted his house. Dr. Sweet, members of his family, and some visitors to the house were brought to trial after an incident in which gunfire from inside the house killed a demonstrator. With support from the NAACP, the famed lawyers Clarence Darrow and Arthur Garfield Hayes defended them. At the second trial (the first ended with a deadlocked jury), Henry Sweet, who had admitted to firing the fatal shot, was acquitted. The prosecution then dropped charges against the other defendants.
107 Jesse Binga (1865–1950) opened the Binga State Bank on January 3, 1921, to serve the black business community in Chicago. In July 1930, the bank closed as a result of the Depression as well as bad loans and investments.
108 In 1924, a wealthy New Yorker, Leonard “Kip” Rhinelander, sensationally sued for divorce Alice Jones Rhinelander, his wife of six weeks. He charged that she had fooled him into believing she was white. Her attorney had her disrobe behind closed doors for the white, all-male jury to see evidence of her “colored blood.” The jury ruled in favor of Alice Rhinelander.
109 The Patiños—Dolores, Refugio, and Rafaela—were old friends of Hughes’s father. In The Big Sea, Hughes describes them as “three charming Mexican ladies who were his friends—three unmarried sisters, one of whom took care of his rents in the city. They were very Latin and very Catholic, lived in a house with a charming courtyard, and served the most marvelous dishes at table.… These three aging ladies were, I think, the only people in the whole world who really ever liked my father.”