"Who doesn't trea­sure a hand­made present? As the years go by, we may begin to offload the ill-fit­ting sweaters, the nev­er lit sand cast can­dles, and the Sty­ro­foam ball snow­men. But a present made of words takes up very lit­tle space, and it has the Ghost of Christ­mas Past's pow­er to instant­ly evoke the sender as they once were. Sev­en­ty years ago, poet Langston Hugh­es, too skint to go Christ­mas shop­ping, sent every­one on his gift list sim­ple, home­made hol­i­day post­cards."
"The year start­ed aus­pi­cious­ly withThe New York Times prais­ing his libret­to for The Bar­ri­er, an opera based on his play, Mulat­to: A Tragedy of the Deep South. But the opera was a com­mer­cial flop, and pos­i­tive reviews for his book Sim­ple Speaks His Mind failed to trans­late into the hoped-for sales. Although he had recent­ly pur­chased an East Harlem brown­stone with an old­er cou­ple who dot­ed on him as they would a son,"
Handmade gifts, especially written ones, can evoke vivid memories with minimal physical space. Langston Hughes, financially strained in 1950, created simple, typed holiday couplets on white cardstock, signed and embellished with red and green pencils, and mailed them for a 3¢ stamp. Late 1950 found him in a melancholy mood as his spirits sank and he faced red-baiting. A promising start to the year with praise for his opera libretto was followed by a commercial flop and disappointing book sales. Hughes purchased an East Harlem brownstone and his handmade holiday cards now reside in Yale's Beinecke Library.
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