Here's my immediate reaction from a 1989 diary entry:
I just had a memorable experience: I saw the play "A Raisin In The Sun" by Lorraine Hansberry. It played for three hours, but I didn't want it to stop. It is one of those artistic miracles, like Joplin's "Treemonisha", perfection itself, total and utter flawlessness. It was about the biggest subjects in life: hope and despair, dignity and indignity. I was tearful throughout the play, in awe at its perfection. I have never felt so alive. I must find out who Lorraine Hansberry is. The play was compared to "Death Of A Salesman", but to me there is no comparison. This is a one of a kind play. On the surface, the play is about black people struggling with their own and society's limitations, but actually, it is about the human condition in general.