THE STONEWALLYA KID
In Tom’s own words: When I settled on Voltaire’s Candide as the musical I would next write following The Darwin Theory, I thought no one else would ever entertain this notion. With two or three lyrics completed, I learned I was wrong. Compose Lucas Foss and novelist Alan Marcus urged me to write to Leonard Bernstein and send examples of my work. I did and got a swift reply, a special delivery registered letter from him advising me that a lyricist had already been engaged for his musicalization of
Voltaire’s novel.
I was advised by Edwin Lester, Eleanor Pinkham, and others to drop Candide as a project, and for a number of years I did. In later years, however, the idea still bugging me, I thought why not a novel utilizing the lyrics as dialogue.
I thought Dr. Pangloss, Candide’s mentor, should perhaps have a new cause, a new obsession. Not completely jettisoning optimism, I chose procreation, breeding. And what of those who choose not to breed, or for whom nature made the choice? They would be banished to a country specially created for them inasmuch as non-breeders seemed to be progenitors of the Ancient Inscrutable Disease, the damnable scourge wiping out nations and spreading throughout the known world. With non-breeders out of the way, breeders would hopefully not be contaminated either by contact or something elusive floating in the air.
The story: Candide, in love with cousin Cunegonde, is compromised by her brother and banished from his home, his uncle’s castle.
In Rome/mania he is asked by a barren soldier and wife to father their child. Caught in the criminal act of obliging, Candide is hanged, a malfunction saving him.
In Euthanasia, true to its name, Candide, without cash, is labeled trash and marked for disposal. An amorous apothecary saves him.
In Lisbon with his master, Dr. Pangloss, they are consigned to an auto-da-fe staged to discourage future earthquakes. An earthquake interrupts the burnings and Candide escapes, rescued by Cunegonde, the mistress of the Grand Inquisitor.
Candide kills the Inquisitor and together with Cunegonde’s serving woman they make their getaway.
Their adventures, as the Inquisition police chase them, include Cunegonde’s marriage to a pompous Argentinean governor to escape arrest and Candide’s finding his father, a dashing pirate who, because of Embrysol, a youth restorative manufactured in Euthanasia Minor from “pre-embryos,” looks as young as Candide although his former lover, the serving woman, looks as old as she really is.
In order to enter Stonewallya (where he was inconceivably conceived), Candide must pose as his father’s lover which leads to both
Stonewallyan acceptance and complications.
BREED, BREED, BREED
“Good morning, my pupils.”
“Good morning, Dr. Pangloss. What are we to learn today?”
“War, famine, disease
Take us out whenever they please.
In compensation we sorely need
More copulation and less spilt seed.
To increase population, then what, Candide?”
“Sir, when the law allows you,
With what the Lord endows you,
You do as bulls and cows do –
Breed, breed, breed.”
“Correct, indeed!
Breed, breed, breed.
At the proper age of course.
You’re not yet of age, of course,
For interchange or intercourse.
I’m not suggesting now, of course.
With the proper vow, of course –
Breed, breed, breed.”
BULLIED BY A
TALL BULGARIAN
(Cunegonde, with a little help from Candide)
Those bully Bulgarians invaded our castle.
Oh, what a hassle
We had.
They ravished my mother
And ditto my brother
And disemboweled dear ole Dad
Then they turned their thoughts to me
Oh, night of misery.
I can’t wait for you to see –
A scar this long, this wide.
Darling, that I will see
On the day you are my bride.
Oh, no!
Oh, don’t you understand —
I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian.
I was done
By a Hun,
Not an Aryan.
All my virtue
Is gone.
I would hurt you,
Alas.
I am dirt. You
Must go, and find yourself another lass
Who wasn’t bullied by a tall Bulgarian male.
Horrible, horrible.
I’ll ignore. I’ll adore –
Oh, don’t go on.
I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian.
I was gored
By the sword
He was carryin’.
I was grabbed from
The front.
I was stabbed from
The rear.
I was jabbed with
A stick, and stuck upon a chandelier
And bullied, bullied by a tall Bulgarian male.
Horrible, horrible.
Is there more? Say no more.
I can’t go on!
(But she does)
Should’ve seen my cuts.
They went around and ‘round.
The whole scene was nuts.
I was gagged and I was bound.
I was bitten, bruised.
Have I said sore?
Sorely used
And abused.
From now on,
Abused no more.
That’s grand
But try to understand –
I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian.
I was flayed
By his blade,
That barbarian.
I was kicked in
The face.
I was pricked and
I fear
I was licked by
A Pekingese before I got the spear
And bullied, bullied by a tall Bulgarian male.
Horrible, horrible.
I implore, say no more.
I can’t go on.
I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian
And Iknow
He was no
Vegetarian.
I was clipped like
A lamb.
I was ripped like
A bear.
I was stripped like
A chicken, all my feathers ev’rywhere,
And bullied, bullied by a tall Bulgarian male.
Heard enough, that’s enough.
Of this bore say no more.
I must go on.
(It helps me to talk about it.)
I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian.
After him
Came a slim
Centenarian.
He was drooped in
The drawers.
He was pooped in
The breath.
He was stooped in
The shoulders and he stooped me half to death.
He couldn’t bully like a tall Bulgarian male.
God, such twits. Call it quits.
Stop the tale, you grow pale.
You can’t go on!
Should’ve seen my gash,
It was deep as it can be.
Oh, they tried to mash
All the stuffing out of me.
Guess I’m tomboy tough –
It’s a wonder I’m not dead.
Darling, I’ve heard enough.
Only promise we’ll be wed.
You goose!
You really are obtuse –
I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian,
And I mean
An obscene
Kind of hairy one.
I was bumped like
A ball.
I was pumped like
A well
I was slumped and
Unconscious,
Ehen they hollered, “Give ‘er hell,”
And I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian male.
Be my wife,
A new life.
Say no more,
No encore –
You can’t go on.
I can’t go on!
We can’t go on!
[Note: Also knows as “Buggered by a Tall Bulgarian.”I believe that Tom came to prefer the triple “L” sounds to the double “G”sounds. ]
TWENTY BEAUTIFUL GIRLS
Being rarities in the kingdom of El Dorado, Candide and Cacambo are taken to the King’s castle where they are extended every courtesy, and more. As they emerge from the carriage, Candide and Cacambo are met by twenty beautiful girls who receive them, take them to their suite and relieve them of their clothes. Naked and exposed, Candide remembers the old man’s final words , “You
will doubtless pardon the customs of this country if there are some that displease you.”
What displeases him is having temptation put in his way. Twenty beautiful girls, andhe and Cacambo without a stitch on. He tries to distract himself by visualizingCunegonde, the true love of his life, a difficult task under the present charming circumstances.
Twenty beautiful girls while they’re shaving,
Twenty beautiful girls while they’re bathing.
Twenty beautiful girls to soap and scrub them.
Twenty beautiful girls to towel and rub them.
Twenty more beautiful girls to dress and shoe them.
Twenty beautiful girls to ah and oooh them.
Twenty beautiful girls to manicure them.
Twenty beautiful girls there to assure them . . .
That they’re ready to meet the King.
Beautiful voices sing.
Twenty beautiful girls to brush and groom them -
Pomade and powder them, primp and then perfume them.
Lips! Ah, none so lush.
Cheeks a natural blush.
Hush, my thoughts! Such thoughts will surely doom them.
Twenty more beautiful girls for last inspection.
Twenty more beautiful girls for lint detection.
Twenty more beautiful girls - where do they make them!
Twenty more beautiful girls come to take them . . . \
To His Majesty for cakes and tea.
When done, His Majesty
Is pleased they’re pleased to see
Twenty more beautiful, equally suitable girls.
Twenty beautiful girls to esquire them.
Twenty beautiful girls to retire them.
Twenty beautiful girls to do their flossing.
Twenty beautiful girls, their tresses tossing,
Removing the clothes they wear,
First outer then underwear,
Kneeling with them in prayer.
Twenty beautiful, plenty dutiful girls.
Oh!
Here come twenty other . . .
Hold it!
Twenty beautiful boys wearing sandals.
Twenty beautiful boys holding candles.
Twenty beautiful boys showing the dames out.
Twenty beautiful boys blowing the flames out.
Twenty beautiful boys, all of them charmers.
“Courtesy of the King, the King’s bedwarmers.”
INFLAMED TO A PASSION
From the abandoned stage version of The Stonewallya
Kid.
(Cunegonde)
Inflamed to a passion
I don’t understand,
All expectation
Is just second-hand
And, Candide,
I’ll own up,
When grown up
I fear I’ll not know
What to do.
(Candide)
Me, too.
Inflamed to a passion
I cannot disown.
Despite exhortation
To wait till we’re grown.
This guidance distresses.
My guess is
I, too,
Will be lost and not know
What do do.
(Together)
Inflamed to a passion
To touch someone’s skin.
The stimulation
Without and within.
Still virgins, we’ll marry
Some Mary or Harry.
Commit
Hari Kari.
Still a twit,
We’ll not know what to do.
(Cunegonde)
I think we’re clearly meant
To experiment
Before we settle down to breed,
Don’t you, Candide.
I see your pressing need.
(Candide)
Indeed
But we’ve been clearly told
That we’re not nearly old
Enough to do
What grown-ups do.
We must wait
For domesticity.
(Cunegonde)
But must we wait
For authenticity?
Unless we learn
The rudiments . . .
I’m shaking!
. . . the rudiments,
The lewd-iments
Of love-making . . .
I’m aching
To learn how,
To learn now,
For the sake of future spouses
Just what it is that rouses.
(Candide)]
I think we know that now.
(Cunegonde)
I know, but let’s learn how.
You know, the other.
Follow me.
(Candide)
But I’m your cousin.
(Cunegonde)
Oh, bother!
We’re not going to breed, silly. We’re just going to go through
The preliminaries. I can hardly do it with my brother
And there’s no other,
So it’s you.
WITH THAT I’M THROUGH
From the abandoned stage version of The Stonewallya Kid, a scene between Pangloss and Candide. Candide despairs that
he will ever find Cunegonde again.
(Candide)
With that I’m through.
I’ve got to let it rest.
To love someone and lose -
More fatal than I guessed.
The heart goes first,
And then the mind.
Before I go completely crazed,
Purblind,
And dangling at rope’s end,
I've got to let it go
And end my quest.
(Pangloss)
Oh, stop it now.
You’re standing precariously on the rim of despair,
Also dangerously near the stern of the ship.
Step back before you jump or slip.
(Candide)
With her I’ll never lie
But lie alone
Until the day I die.
(Pangloss)
You’ll pardon my ha ha.
Self pity in your case
Deserves more than a guffaw.
(Candide)
Yours is such a coarse laugh.
(Pangloss)
I was trying for a horselaugh.
How many have you lain with?
Though I’m leery,
The count will make me weary.
(Candide)
I cringe at the grossness of your inquiry.
(Pangloss)
And with that you’re through?
You rail at fate.
How futile to rail at fate,
At accident,
At disease,
At one’s nature,
At the vagaries of life,
At all that which doesn’t please.
(Candide)
Sweet Lord, how cruel the jest!
Auto-da-fes,
Buggering knaves,
And uncaressed
By her for whom I was designed.
Pity this poor sod,
Naked limbs aligned
With all and sundry,
Yet with her obsessed.
With that I’m through.
(Pangloss)
With all and sundry, or the obsession?
Come, I see your grin -confession.
In Tom’s own words: When I settled on Voltaire’s Candide as the musical I would next write following The Darwin Theory, I thought no one else would ever entertain this notion. With two or three lyrics completed, I learned I was wrong. Compose Lucas Foss and novelist Alan Marcus urged me to write to Leonard Bernstein and send examples of my work. I did and got a swift reply, a special delivery registered letter from him advising me that a lyricist had already been engaged for his musicalization of
Voltaire’s novel.
I was advised by Edwin Lester, Eleanor Pinkham, and others to drop Candide as a project, and for a number of years I did. In later years, however, the idea still bugging me, I thought why not a novel utilizing the lyrics as dialogue.
I thought Dr. Pangloss, Candide’s mentor, should perhaps have a new cause, a new obsession. Not completely jettisoning optimism, I chose procreation, breeding. And what of those who choose not to breed, or for whom nature made the choice? They would be banished to a country specially created for them inasmuch as non-breeders seemed to be progenitors of the Ancient Inscrutable Disease, the damnable scourge wiping out nations and spreading throughout the known world. With non-breeders out of the way, breeders would hopefully not be contaminated either by contact or something elusive floating in the air.
The story: Candide, in love with cousin Cunegonde, is compromised by her brother and banished from his home, his uncle’s castle.
In Rome/mania he is asked by a barren soldier and wife to father their child. Caught in the criminal act of obliging, Candide is hanged, a malfunction saving him.
In Euthanasia, true to its name, Candide, without cash, is labeled trash and marked for disposal. An amorous apothecary saves him.
In Lisbon with his master, Dr. Pangloss, they are consigned to an auto-da-fe staged to discourage future earthquakes. An earthquake interrupts the burnings and Candide escapes, rescued by Cunegonde, the mistress of the Grand Inquisitor.
Candide kills the Inquisitor and together with Cunegonde’s serving woman they make their getaway.
Their adventures, as the Inquisition police chase them, include Cunegonde’s marriage to a pompous Argentinean governor to escape arrest and Candide’s finding his father, a dashing pirate who, because of Embrysol, a youth restorative manufactured in Euthanasia Minor from “pre-embryos,” looks as young as Candide although his former lover, the serving woman, looks as old as she really is.
In order to enter Stonewallya (where he was inconceivably conceived), Candide must pose as his father’s lover which leads to both
Stonewallyan acceptance and complications.
BREED, BREED, BREED
“Good morning, my pupils.”
“Good morning, Dr. Pangloss. What are we to learn today?”
“War, famine, disease
Take us out whenever they please.
In compensation we sorely need
More copulation and less spilt seed.
To increase population, then what, Candide?”
“Sir, when the law allows you,
With what the Lord endows you,
You do as bulls and cows do –
Breed, breed, breed.”
“Correct, indeed!
Breed, breed, breed.
At the proper age of course.
You’re not yet of age, of course,
For interchange or intercourse.
I’m not suggesting now, of course.
With the proper vow, of course –
Breed, breed, breed.”
BULLIED BY A
TALL BULGARIAN
(Cunegonde, with a little help from Candide)
Those bully Bulgarians invaded our castle.
Oh, what a hassle
We had.
They ravished my mother
And ditto my brother
And disemboweled dear ole Dad
Then they turned their thoughts to me
Oh, night of misery.
I can’t wait for you to see –
A scar this long, this wide.
Darling, that I will see
On the day you are my bride.
Oh, no!
Oh, don’t you understand —
I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian.
I was done
By a Hun,
Not an Aryan.
All my virtue
Is gone.
I would hurt you,
Alas.
I am dirt. You
Must go, and find yourself another lass
Who wasn’t bullied by a tall Bulgarian male.
Horrible, horrible.
I’ll ignore. I’ll adore –
Oh, don’t go on.
I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian.
I was gored
By the sword
He was carryin’.
I was grabbed from
The front.
I was stabbed from
The rear.
I was jabbed with
A stick, and stuck upon a chandelier
And bullied, bullied by a tall Bulgarian male.
Horrible, horrible.
Is there more? Say no more.
I can’t go on!
(But she does)
Should’ve seen my cuts.
They went around and ‘round.
The whole scene was nuts.
I was gagged and I was bound.
I was bitten, bruised.
Have I said sore?
Sorely used
And abused.
From now on,
Abused no more.
That’s grand
But try to understand –
I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian.
I was flayed
By his blade,
That barbarian.
I was kicked in
The face.
I was pricked and
I fear
I was licked by
A Pekingese before I got the spear
And bullied, bullied by a tall Bulgarian male.
Horrible, horrible.
I implore, say no more.
I can’t go on.
I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian
And Iknow
He was no
Vegetarian.
I was clipped like
A lamb.
I was ripped like
A bear.
I was stripped like
A chicken, all my feathers ev’rywhere,
And bullied, bullied by a tall Bulgarian male.
Heard enough, that’s enough.
Of this bore say no more.
I must go on.
(It helps me to talk about it.)
I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian.
After him
Came a slim
Centenarian.
He was drooped in
The drawers.
He was pooped in
The breath.
He was stooped in
The shoulders and he stooped me half to death.
He couldn’t bully like a tall Bulgarian male.
God, such twits. Call it quits.
Stop the tale, you grow pale.
You can’t go on!
Should’ve seen my gash,
It was deep as it can be.
Oh, they tried to mash
All the stuffing out of me.
Guess I’m tomboy tough –
It’s a wonder I’m not dead.
Darling, I’ve heard enough.
Only promise we’ll be wed.
You goose!
You really are obtuse –
I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian,
And I mean
An obscene
Kind of hairy one.
I was bumped like
A ball.
I was pumped like
A well
I was slumped and
Unconscious,
Ehen they hollered, “Give ‘er hell,”
And I was bullied by a tall Bulgarian male.
Be my wife,
A new life.
Say no more,
No encore –
You can’t go on.
I can’t go on!
We can’t go on!
[Note: Also knows as “Buggered by a Tall Bulgarian.”I believe that Tom came to prefer the triple “L” sounds to the double “G”sounds. ]
TWENTY BEAUTIFUL GIRLS
Being rarities in the kingdom of El Dorado, Candide and Cacambo are taken to the King’s castle where they are extended every courtesy, and more. As they emerge from the carriage, Candide and Cacambo are met by twenty beautiful girls who receive them, take them to their suite and relieve them of their clothes. Naked and exposed, Candide remembers the old man’s final words , “You
will doubtless pardon the customs of this country if there are some that displease you.”
What displeases him is having temptation put in his way. Twenty beautiful girls, andhe and Cacambo without a stitch on. He tries to distract himself by visualizingCunegonde, the true love of his life, a difficult task under the present charming circumstances.
Twenty beautiful girls while they’re shaving,
Twenty beautiful girls while they’re bathing.
Twenty beautiful girls to soap and scrub them.
Twenty beautiful girls to towel and rub them.
Twenty more beautiful girls to dress and shoe them.
Twenty beautiful girls to ah and oooh them.
Twenty beautiful girls to manicure them.
Twenty beautiful girls there to assure them . . .
That they’re ready to meet the King.
Beautiful voices sing.
Twenty beautiful girls to brush and groom them -
Pomade and powder them, primp and then perfume them.
Lips! Ah, none so lush.
Cheeks a natural blush.
Hush, my thoughts! Such thoughts will surely doom them.
Twenty more beautiful girls for last inspection.
Twenty more beautiful girls for lint detection.
Twenty more beautiful girls - where do they make them!
Twenty more beautiful girls come to take them . . . \
To His Majesty for cakes and tea.
When done, His Majesty
Is pleased they’re pleased to see
Twenty more beautiful, equally suitable girls.
Twenty beautiful girls to esquire them.
Twenty beautiful girls to retire them.
Twenty beautiful girls to do their flossing.
Twenty beautiful girls, their tresses tossing,
Removing the clothes they wear,
First outer then underwear,
Kneeling with them in prayer.
Twenty beautiful, plenty dutiful girls.
Oh!
Here come twenty other . . .
Hold it!
Twenty beautiful boys wearing sandals.
Twenty beautiful boys holding candles.
Twenty beautiful boys showing the dames out.
Twenty beautiful boys blowing the flames out.
Twenty beautiful boys, all of them charmers.
“Courtesy of the King, the King’s bedwarmers.”
INFLAMED TO A PASSION
From the abandoned stage version of The Stonewallya
Kid.
(Cunegonde)
Inflamed to a passion
I don’t understand,
All expectation
Is just second-hand
And, Candide,
I’ll own up,
When grown up
I fear I’ll not know
What to do.
(Candide)
Me, too.
Inflamed to a passion
I cannot disown.
Despite exhortation
To wait till we’re grown.
This guidance distresses.
My guess is
I, too,
Will be lost and not know
What do do.
(Together)
Inflamed to a passion
To touch someone’s skin.
The stimulation
Without and within.
Still virgins, we’ll marry
Some Mary or Harry.
Commit
Hari Kari.
Still a twit,
We’ll not know what to do.
(Cunegonde)
I think we’re clearly meant
To experiment
Before we settle down to breed,
Don’t you, Candide.
I see your pressing need.
(Candide)
Indeed
But we’ve been clearly told
That we’re not nearly old
Enough to do
What grown-ups do.
We must wait
For domesticity.
(Cunegonde)
But must we wait
For authenticity?
Unless we learn
The rudiments . . .
I’m shaking!
. . . the rudiments,
The lewd-iments
Of love-making . . .
I’m aching
To learn how,
To learn now,
For the sake of future spouses
Just what it is that rouses.
(Candide)]
I think we know that now.
(Cunegonde)
I know, but let’s learn how.
You know, the other.
Follow me.
(Candide)
But I’m your cousin.
(Cunegonde)
Oh, bother!
We’re not going to breed, silly. We’re just going to go through
The preliminaries. I can hardly do it with my brother
And there’s no other,
So it’s you.
WITH THAT I’M THROUGH
From the abandoned stage version of The Stonewallya Kid, a scene between Pangloss and Candide. Candide despairs that
he will ever find Cunegonde again.
(Candide)
With that I’m through.
I’ve got to let it rest.
To love someone and lose -
More fatal than I guessed.
The heart goes first,
And then the mind.
Before I go completely crazed,
Purblind,
And dangling at rope’s end,
I've got to let it go
And end my quest.
(Pangloss)
Oh, stop it now.
You’re standing precariously on the rim of despair,
Also dangerously near the stern of the ship.
Step back before you jump or slip.
(Candide)
With her I’ll never lie
But lie alone
Until the day I die.
(Pangloss)
You’ll pardon my ha ha.
Self pity in your case
Deserves more than a guffaw.
(Candide)
Yours is such a coarse laugh.
(Pangloss)
I was trying for a horselaugh.
How many have you lain with?
Though I’m leery,
The count will make me weary.
(Candide)
I cringe at the grossness of your inquiry.
(Pangloss)
And with that you’re through?
You rail at fate.
How futile to rail at fate,
At accident,
At disease,
At one’s nature,
At the vagaries of life,
At all that which doesn’t please.
(Candide)
Sweet Lord, how cruel the jest!
Auto-da-fes,
Buggering knaves,
And uncaressed
By her for whom I was designed.
Pity this poor sod,
Naked limbs aligned
With all and sundry,
Yet with her obsessed.
With that I’m through.
(Pangloss)
With all and sundry, or the obsession?
Come, I see your grin -confession.