LANGSTON HUGHES‘ RESPONSE WITH HIS SIGNATURE OF 1964 LETTER - $25K APR APPRAISAL VALUE

ITEM DESCRIPTION:

    A very rare vintage letter, meticulously preserved in excellent condition. Handwritten signed by Langston Hughes, the letter exudes timeless charm and nostalgia. Free from any signs of tears, or discoloration, every word penned by the author remains legible and intact. This well-preserved artifact offers a glimpse into the past, capturing the sentiments and emotions of its time with remarkable clarity. An ideal addition to any collection or a thoughtful gift for those who appreciate the beauty of handwritten correspondence. The letter is approximately 11” x 7.5”. Overall, the condition appears to be very good, clear writing, nice colour ink, conserved paper. 

Langston Hughes was principally known as a poet, novelist and playwright. He was also a regular contributor to a number of newspapers and periodicals, and with his strong views on social issues and civil rights, he sometimes touched on subjects that were perhaps intended to incite a response, and often succeeded.

The manuscript, with the extract from a letter written to Langston Hughes in May 1964, refers to an article Hughes wrote for the New York Post, and published on 15th May. That is the reference at the top of the letter. I have been able to find a record of that article. Here it is in full.

_______________________________________________________________________

From the New York Post, May 15, 1964

CONTEMPT OF COURT

By Langston Hughes

Let's imagine that I, Jesse B. Semple, have been cited for contempt of court. I, a Harlemite, by nickname Simple, living in Harlem with 200,000 other Harlemites, stand cited for contempt of court. When I get the summons, I would wonder, "Contempt of what? Contempt of who?" But if I was to stand up before the court, I would say to the high judge on his bench, I cite you for contempt of me. I, Harlem, cite you, judge, for contempt of me, I cite you for contempt.

I am black. I am American. I have been in America 300-odd years, but not because I wanted to be. I was forced to come here. Me, Harlemite, living here now, am no newcomer. I was born here. I did not come from Hungary last year or the year before. I did not come from Germany running from Hitler in the forties. I did not come from Ireland from hunger, or Russia from persecution, or Italy, from poverty. I was born here. I worked here as a slave unpaid. I worked here as a second-class citizen poorly paid. Barred out of your unions, your factories, and your shops, your stores, your graft and your honesty — me, barred, me starved, me beaten. Yet you cite me for contempt.

As to Harlem, I have been in Harlem a long time, almost since the turn of the century, and these are my memories. When I first moved here, if I even walked down St. Nicholas Avenue, which was a "white" avenue, a white stone might bust the daylights out of me. I remember, and I cite you for contempt.

When I first moved to Harlem, there were restaurants in the middle of Harlem in which I could not eat, well known chains of restaurants with branches in Harlem where I could not eat. I cite you for contempt.

I remember in the days when I, Negro, first moved to Harlem there were theaters on Seventh Avenue, 125th Street and 116th Street, which sent me to the top balcony if I wished to see a show. Those theaters still operate and advertise for my patronage today. I cite you for contempt of me.

I remember in the twenties chain stores with merchandising branches in Harlem. As the Negro population grew, rather than appreciate my patronage or give me jobs, these chain stores closed their Harlem branches. I cite you for contempt of me.

All along 125th Street and all up and down Lenox Avenue and Seventh Avenue there were white-owned shops which accepted my patronage in the 1920's, but would not give me a clerkship-only porter, if that, insofar as employment went. To get jobs behind the counters in these shops, Adam Powell and I and hundreds of other Negroes picketed, bargained, just to get a little old job in a shop. Merchants, I cite you in contempt of me.

In that fun-loving heyday of prohibition Harlem when sepia entertainment was in vogue — the most famous of the Harlem nightclubs, the Cotton Club, did not welcome Negro patronage. If black folks wanted to hear Duke Ellington or see the Cotton Club lovelies in which Lena Horne danced, we had to wait until they appeared at a Negro dance or special all-colored performance. Whoever was responsible, I cite you in contempt of me.

In those days there were jobs to be had for Negroes as cooks, butlers, porters, errand boys, and maids, but almost no jobs at any other tasks downtown, if you were colored. Employers, I cite you in contempt of me.

When the depression came and people were hungry and poor and ill-tempered and dangerous all over America, the papers concentrated on describing me, Harlem, as the most hungry, the most poor, most ragged, most ill-tempered and dangerous. The whole community was blackened. The white funseekers were frightened out of ever coming to Harlem. I was done in, accused, maligned. White press, I cite you for contempt of me.

When the war came, World War II, I, Harlemite – young, strong, patriotic – wanted to Join the Air Force. No Negroes admitted. I wanted to join the Navy. Only a messman's classification open to colored boys. I wanted to join the Marines. No Negroes. Labor battalions, yes. As a soldier I could work, if not fight, load boats, drive trucks. But could I give my blood to the Red Cross? No. After protests, colored blood was finally accepted, but put in cans marked AA – AfroAmerican – only to be given other AfroAmericans. I cite you for contempt. How dare you cite me?

When after the war the Puerto Ricans began to come in ever-increasing numbers to New York – having been welcomed into the American commonwealth on paper and in theory and by official promulgation – it was Puerto Rican Harlem that quickly became a "West Side Story" – a knife-wielding, devious, dangerous community on the pages of the newspapers, on Broadway, in the public mind. So, by implication, all of Harlem became a jungle to the down-town mind. I cite you in contempt of me.

And now I ask, how dare you cite me in contempt of you? You give me your second-class jobs and cite me in contempt? You give me your second-class schools and cite me in contempt? You give me your second-class slums cite me in contempt? You even give me second-class filibuster yet cite me in contempt. After what you have done to me, I ask, how dare you cite me in contempt.

_______________________________________________________________________

The article prompted a response in the House of Representatives from the Hon. James Roosevelt, the eldest son of former President Franklin D. Roosevelt, representing California. He served five times, and in an address to the House on Monday, June 8, 1964, he felt that Langston Hughes' piece was so pertinent to the day's discussions that he insisted a transcript be included in the Congressional Record ... and that's where I found it.

Knowing about the article before reading the transcript, the letter from Hans makes more sense. In it, he takes issue with several of Hughes' statements in the column and replies in similar terms, ending each paragraph with "I cite you for contempt," much as Hughes did in his article. He concludes with an appeal for all human rights generally, not just the specific rights of minority groups.

Langston Hughes then added a hand writing note of thanks to Miss Saunders, presumably a staff member at the Post. Perhaps she worked in the editor's office and handled mail, sending him the excerpt. The article likely elicited many letters, and Hans' was at odds with others received by the newspaper.

Lastly, the article briefly refers to Jesse B. Semple, a character in several of Hughes' books and a regular reference in his columns and articles. Jesse symbolized the everyday black man in Harlem.

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