This year, the National Book Foundation celebrated the 75th anniversary of the National Book Awards. The modern incarnation of the awards was launched in 1950 by the American Book Publishers Council, the American Booksellers Association, and the Book Manufacturers Institute, after a seven-year initial run under the ABA alone that began in 1936. Since then, the awards have been, for the better part of a century, among the most coveted and prestigious prizes in American literature—comprising, alongside the National Book Critics Circle Awards and the Pulitzer Prizes, what some have called the U.S.’s “literary triple crown.”

To mark the milestone, we asked former and current chairpersons and executive directors of the National Book Foundation—which has administered the awards since 1989—to recall moments from their tenures that they consider to be the most definitive, powerful, or reflective of the awards, the foundation, and their shared spirit. We also dug into PW’s archive and beyond, unearthing photos representing the awards’ history.

Neil Baldwin (executive director, 1989-2003)

It was November 27, 1990, in the gilded age, votive candle-lit, flower-bedecked Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel—the second National Book Award ceremony of my fledgling executive directorship. Catherine Stimpson, chair of the fiction panel, announced the winner: Charles Johnson, professor of English at the University of Washington, for his novel Middle Passage, a dramatic account through the eyes of Rutherford Calhoun, a newly freed slave and scoundrel, stowed away on the slave ship Republic. “I've been waiting my entire life for this,” Johnson began his moving acceptance speech. He gestured to the center of the room. “I am the first Black man to win this award since Ralph Ellison paved the way in 1953 with Invisible Man…. I am profoundly grateful to him for the insistence that a novel should have all of the bright magic of a fairy tale and be rich at the same time, not driven by ideology or agenda.” After the 76-year-old Ellison had risen slowly to his feet to waves of applause, Johnson forged ahead with the hope that black American fiction would shift in the coming decade “from narrow complaint to broad celebration.”

Bruno Quinson (chairman, 1989-1996)

At a board meeting, one of our board members suggested the addition of poetry, stating that it was a writing art form that could stand on its own, as it covered fiction and nonfiction, and could and should be included as its own category. He pointed out that, in the past, poetry books were bestsellers, and poetry needed to have its own category recognized. We voted and added poetry unanimously. We also looked at the children’s book field, which successfully were promoting their books with well-designed Caldecott and Newberry Awards. The medallion helped the sales of the individual books in perpetuity. We then all agreed as a board to have a design produced. It caught on right away.

Deborah Wiley (chairman, 1996-2006)

On September 11, 2001, a small group of directors, Paul LeClerc, Steve Riggio, and I met with Neil Baldwin to decide whether we should proceed with the award ceremony in light of what had just transpired. The outcome was to not capitulate to the horror of what the terrorists had done, so we proceeded on our normal course with one philanthropic aspect: we had a successful fundraising auction during the event, for which the families of the employees of Windows on the World were the beneficiaries.

Harold Augenbraum (executive director, 2004-2016)

In 2014, the Foundation presented its Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters to Ursula Le Guin. When I contacted Ursula to offer her the Medal, she reminded me that she had had a problematic relationship with the National Book Awards. While she had won the National Book Award in 1973 for The Farthest Shore, and had been a finalist three other times, I had sent her a request to participate in a poll for best of the National Book Awards Fiction five years before, to celebrate 60 years of the National Book Awards. She declined to participate in the vote, expressing dissatisfaction that the Awards had leaned too much to “realistic” fiction and to New York. I told her that her relationship with the Foundation had no bearing on our offering her the medal: we wanted to honor her work. She called the following day and accepted. Her speech at the Awards reiterated her unhappiness that the Awards had not recognized fantasy and science fiction and then spoke truth to power, slowly taking apart the whole idea of the commodification of literature taking place in American publishing—in a room full of commercial publishers—punctuated only by Jacqueline Woodson’s yelling, during a pause, “We love you, Ursula!” We uploaded her speech to the web that night, and it was viewed by 250,000 people in the first three weeks. When I emailed Ursula to tell her that, she wrote back one sentence: “Long live the National Book Awards!” A gracious woman.

David Steinberger (chairman, 2007-present)

The year is 2016. Robert Caro, a historian and writer of unprecedented achievement, received the Foundation’s Distinguished Contribution to American Letters for his life’s work and its extraordinary impact on this country’s literary heritage. In his remarks, Bob recalls telling Ina, his wife and sole source of research, the realization that his LBJ biography cannot be written without their relocating from New York to the hill country of Texas. Like always, he said, she was completely supportive, and immediately agreed to the move. He then related what Ina said next: “Just one thing…next time, could you please write a biography of Napoleon?” It is just one line, a little bit of humor, yet it is a moment that remains indelible for me, capturing the powerful way the National Book Awards so often gives us a unique and unexpected glimpse into the essential humanity of writers and their craft.

Lisa Lucas (executive director, 2016-2020)

On November 18, 2016, the 67th National Book Awards ceremony and my first as executive director, the United States hadn't even had two weeks to process the results of the election, and no one was quite sure how it was all going to go down. Much of the book world seemed anxious, devastated, or depressed. But by force of literary miracle, by the end of the night, Toi Dericotte had reminded us that “joy is an act of resistance,” Colson Whitehead had skillfully deployed the word “motherfucker” on stage, and the iconic civil rights icon John Lewis had wept over the receipt of this honor, now bestowed upon a man who as a child in the south was denied access to use of a library simply because he was Black. That night gave us all succor, hope, and books that would and will help us find a way out of no way.

Ruth Dickey (executive director, 2021-present)

2022 was the first year that we returned to an in-person Awards after the pandemic. As our nonfiction winner was being announced, I happened to be facing Imani Perry’s table. We don’t often have children attend the Awards, but Imani had brought her two sons with her. And when Oscar Villalon, our nonfiction chair that year, called Imani’s name, I got to see the three of them smile at one another, and then see her sons leap to their feet and begin cheering wildly. I love how the Awards are such a big stage for celebrating books, from the more than 700 people in the room to the tens of thousands who tune in online. But sometimes, the small moments within that celebration are the most special. I felt so lucky that I happened to be looking in the right spot, to get to witness that moment of so much joy.