A Journey to Discover Poet Langston Hughes in Cleveland, Ohio

As a Black woman who has written since childhood, I can’t recall a moment when I wasn’t aware of the writer, poet, and activist James Mercer Langston Hughes. His influence has been significant in my life ever since I first encountered his work in elementary school.

Back then, my world revolved around the imaginary characters I brought to life and the compelling narratives I crafted for them—they were my refuge amid the chaos, trauma, and sorrow of my childhood. Memorizing the powerful lines of “Mother to Son” became my source of creative fortitude, resilience, and hope. Engaging with Hughes's poetry, essays, and journalism inspired me and provided a model for my aspirations. His writings illuminated the potential of what my art could eventually become.

Hughes rose to prominence in the 1920s with poems such as “I, Too” and my personal favorite, “Mother to Son.” He lived in New York from 1947 to 1967, playing a pivotal role in the Harlem Renaissance alongside peers like Zora Neale Hurston and W.E.B. Du Bois. His work mainly highlighted the experiences of working-class Black Americans—a groundbreaking effort for that era.

In 2018, I delved into his autobiography I Wonder as I Wander, which details his travels, family challenges, and financial struggles as a Black writer in the early 20th century. Through it, I discovered more about him than I ever had before, feeling a newfound connection. Hughes was witty, humorous, insightful, and a passionate traveler. His roots were deeply Midwestern: he was born in Joplin, Missouri, and spent five of his teenage years in Cleveland.

Before my arrival in Cleveland, I was uncertain about what I would uncover related to Hughes. An excitement bubbled within me that I couldn’t suppress. To soothe my anxious thoughts, I sipped a cup of tea in my hotel room.

On my first full day in the city, I made my way to the Western Reserve Historical Society’s archival library, located within the Cleveland History Center. In the tranquility of a well-lit room, I perused numerous handwritten letters from Hughes sent from various corners of the globe. Each meticulously dated note, crafted on his custom letterhead, felt like a tiny time capsule.

After years of yearning to uncover more about Hughes’s life beyond the basics I had absorbed as a young reader, visiting the Cleveland History Center felt like reaching a significant milestone. Yet, my quest for deeper insights had only just begun. High on my list was the desire to see the home where Hughes once lived—the place where he slept and dreamed during those five formative years in Cleveland. Whisked away from the library in an Uber, I was on my way.

Upon arriving at Hughes’s former residence in East Cleveland, a historically Black neighborhood, the first thing that struck me was the absence of any marker. There was no sign or indication that this was the childhood home of Hughes.

I took eight steps to reach the front door of the cream-colored house adorned with burgundy accents. At the top of the house is a rectangular window—the attic. Hughes resided there, paying rent and subsisting on simple meals prepared on the hot plate in his room. One dish he frequently had was hot dogs and rice, cooked until it became a thick paste.

Over the years, the now-vacant home experienced periods of neglect and disrepair. At one point, it was even nearly demolished by the city of Cleveland. Local librarian and historian Christopher Busta-Peck, dedicated to preserving historically significant sites in the city, played a crucial role in saving the house. Standing before it, I felt a wave of awe. I pictured Hughes trudging up those eight steps after a long day at school, his backpack heavy with novels and poetry collections.

During his youth in Cleveland, Hughes attended Central High School, which was once situated at East 40th between Central and Cedar. Central High can no longer be visited as the original building was demolished in 1952, although a new school structure was erected in its place that same year. (This new building now stands abandoned, with onlookers able to view it from Mytour.) Hughes produced his earliest published works at Central High, featured in the student literary magazine, The Monthly. The significance of Central High extends beyond being a space where Hughes found creative solace; it was also where he received encouragement, nurturing, and mentorship in his artistic pursuits, particularly from his teacher, Helen Maria Chesnutt, a Black woman.

Before the Civil War, Central High exclusively admitted Black students. By the 1930s, most of its student population was still comprised of Black students. Besides Hughes, Central High boasts a wealth of distinguished Black alumni, including the first Black elected school board member, Mary B. Martin, and John Green, Cleveland’s first Black elected official. The school, which opened in 1846 near Euclid Avenue and East Ninth Street, moved several times—largely due to challenges in securing funding for public schools—before settling at its current location on East 40th.

Karamu House is situated in the Fairfax neighborhood of East Cleveland, just a short drive from Hughes’s childhood home. There, I met with the current president and CEO, Tony F. Sias, at the front entrance. As he guided me through the building, it hit me that I was standing in a space that once served as a creative haven for Hughes.

Karamu House holds the title of the oldest theater in the country dedicated to Black theater production. In 1915, founders Rowena and Russell Jelliffe established a settlement house known as The Roaring Third, aiming to create a space where individuals from diverse cultural and socioeconomic backgrounds could unite and share mutual interests, believing that the arts were the ideal medium for this purpose. Two years later, they evolved The Roaring Third into The Playhouse Settlement.

In 1941, the Jeliffe family rebranded the building as “Karamu House.” Karamu translates to “a place of joyful gathering” in Swahili, symbolizing the theater’s community role as a gathering and performance space, while also emphasizing the essential Black cultural influence that shaped its identity.

During his teenage years at Central High, Hughes was a frequent visitor to Karamu House. At that time, it was one of the few venues in the U.S. producing works by playwrights of color; it was here that some of his earliest plays were written, staged, and presented to audiences.

“It is a cultural shame that a great country like America, with twenty million people of color, has no primarily serious colored theatre,” Hughes remarked in 1961. “There isn’t. Karamu is the very nearest thing to it. I believe a Negro theatre, if we choose to call it that, should not only showcase plays by and about Negroes but also reflect the community it serves.”

During its centennial celebrations, Karamu House faced several challenges, such as a shrinking budget, decreased attendance, and losing its tax-exempt status. However, with the community's support, Karamu House now describes itself as undergoing a “renaissance.”

Currently, the playhouse serves as a crucial hub for Black artists and theatrical productions in Cleveland, aligning with the original vision of Hughes and the Jeliffes. This October, Karamu House will host a regional premiere of the Pulitzer Prize-winning play, Clyde’s.

I concluded my journey in Cleveland at the very place where it began: a library, though this one was different—the Langston Hughes branch of the Cleveland Public Library. It felt like a ceremonial and appropriate finale, a complete circle of exploration, to end in a room brimming with books.

The library, boasting 8,370 square feet with a vaulted ceiling, opened its doors in 1998. Outside, a historical marker (authorized by the state of Ohio) shares biographical details about Hughes. Inside, visitors can discover a collection of artifacts related to Hughes. Notably arranged in a glass case at the back of the library are letters he penned to the Cleveland Public Library, a signed yearbook from Central High, and items from the home he occupied in East Cleveland.

Delving into Hughes’s legacy in Cleveland didn’t quench my thirst; rather, it sparked a greater curiosity and ignited my desire to uncover more treasures about his creative journey. I can’t predict what I’ll uncover as I continue to learn about Hughes on my own terms. However, taking these initial steps has instilled in me a sense of purpose—and a certainty about the joy found in exploring unanswered questions.