by Dan Isaac
And it also goes all the way back to Plato’s cave in The Republic, with the clear implication of how little of the real reality we truly see: only the merest light slipping down from the upper world of truth and real illumination.
***
1 Edwina Dakin Williams [as told to Lucy Freeman], Remember Me to Tom (New York: Putnam, 1963) pp. 62–3.
2 Tennessee Williams, Memoirs (New York: Doubleday, 1975), p. 41.
3 Albert J. Devlin, Nancy Tischler, editors, The Selected Letters of Tennessee Williams, Volume I (New Directions, New York, 2000) pp. 78–9.
4 from the Harvard Theater Collection.
5 The question of a year date for this letter is easily determined, thanks to the last paragraph where Hollifield offers Tom hearty congratulations “for getting a story accepted.” Between 1933 and 1938, Williams had only one story published, “Twenty-seven Wagons Full of Cotton,” in 1936, and accepted in 1935 as documented in Lyle Leverich’s biography of Williams, Tom, The Unknown Tennessee Williams, pp. 58 and 607, which establishes 1935 as the missing year date of Hollifield’s November 7 letter to Williams.
6 At the beginning of paragraph four of the Sept. 15 letter, Tom mentions that the Webster Groves Theater Guild is beginning to work on his play, The Magic Tower, which took first prize in a one-act play contest and was performed on October 13, 1936.
7 Lyle Leverich, Tom, The Unknown Tennessee Williams (New York: Crown, 1995) p. 208.
a personal note from the editor
How a copy of the production script of Tennessee Williams’ first produced full-length play, Candles to the Sun, came my way in 1989 is an instance of fortuitous happenstance. At the end of the summer of 1989, during a brief stay in Chicago, where I grew up and attended the University of Chicago, I stayed with old friends in order to spend a day or two at the Goodman Theater and the Chicago Public Library looking at early versions of Williams’ last produced full-length play, A House Not Meant to Stand. There I got to know the Goodman dramaturg, Abbot Crissman. Just before I left the city, Abbot phoned to tell me that a woman named Jane Garrett Carter had called, claiming to have portrayed Tennessee Williams’ first heroine in his first produced play, and she wanted to make a copy of that as yet unpublished play, Candles to the Sun, for someone who cared to have one. Apparently she had tried the local critics, who showed no interest, and then called the Goodman where she was referred to Crissman. He referred her to me. I told her just before leaving the city that I would write or call her from Ashland, Oregon, where I was going to live and work for a time. She sent the script on a few weeks after my arrival. I was fascinated by a text that I had only glanced at during a first hectic week-long 1984 visit to the Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center in Austin, Texas, where Williams’ earliest manuscripts had been deposited in 1962 after being rescued by bibliographer Andreas Brown, now the owner and proprietor of the famed Gotham Bookmart in New York.
Jane Garrett played Williams’ first female lead—creating the role of Star, the rebellious daughter of the Pilcher family—and we developed a friendship over the telephone and through the mail. Therefore I would like to dedicate my work on this first publication of Candles with respect, gratitude, and affection to Jane Garrett Carter.
—Dan Isaac,
—June 2004
production notes and credits
The action of the play takes place in a mining camp in the Red Hill section of Alabama and covers a period of about ten years.
Characters in this reading text:
bram
mrs. abbey
hester
sean o’connor
fern
ethel sunter
luke
miss simpson
joel
terrorists
starminers
miners
birmingham red
miners’ wives
tim adams
Candles to the Sun, by Thomas Lanier Williams, was first produced on March 18th and 20th 1937 by The Mummers of St. Louis, directed by Willard H. Holland, with the following cast:
Bram Pilcher: Wesley Gore
Hester: Genevieve Albers
Star: Jane Garrett
Joel (as a boy): Donald Smith
Mary Wallace: Jean Fischer
Tim Adams: Al Hohengarten
Fern: Viola Perle
Luke (as a boy): Lewis Turner
Mrs. Abbey: Mae Novotny
Ethel Sunter: Mary Hoehnberger
Luke: Sam Halley, Jr.
Birmingham Red: Willard Holland
Joel: Gene Durnin
Whitey Sunter: Fred Birkicht
Sean O’Conner: Frank Novotny
1st Miner: Leland Brewer
2nd Miner: Ralph Johanning
3rd Miner: George Drosten
Terrorist Leader: Joseph Giarraffa
Miners’ Wives: Lucile Williamson, Ann Bono, Irene Wisdom, Lillian Byrd
Other Miners, Women and a Gang of Terrorists
Scene: the play takes place in a mining camp in the Red Hill section of Alabama.
Scene 1. Bram Pilcher’s cabin, early morning.
Scene 2. The same, evening of the next day.
Scene 3. The same, five years later in early summer.
Scene 4. Star’s cabin, five years later.
Scene 5. Bram’s cabin, a few months later.
Scene 6. The same. Late that afternoon.
Scene 7. The same. That evening.
Scene 8. Star’s cabin, two nights later.
Scene 9. The same, immediately following.
Scene 10. Bram’s cabin, some weeks later.
Candles
to the Sun
scene one
Scene: Bram Pilcher’s cabin. Early morning.
In a mining camp in the Red Hill section of Alabama, it is a typical miner’s cabin, sparsely furnished, and dark, lit only by a faint streak of lamplight coming from a partially opened door of an adjoining room.
Bram, a huge shambling figure, barges out of the door and comes stumbling into the room, lunging forward, kicking against furniture and muttering under his breath.
bram: Whyncha turn the lamp on? Caint see a dern thing in here. [There is a loud impact.] Christ!
hester: Whaja do now?
bram: Stubbed my toe, by Jesus.
hester: Oughter be more keerful. The way you go bargin’ around like nothin’ human.
bram: Wyncha turn the lamp on in the mornins?
hester: Turn it on yerself. I got plenty to do. Should think you’d be uster feelin’ yer way around in the dark by now anyhow.
bram: Where’s the lamp at? Here. Got no matches!
hester: What?
bram: Matches!
hester: There’s one right on the base.
bram [lighting the lamp]: There now. Light! [He looks slowly around him, blinking his eyes, a dull, phlegmatic interest flickering on his face. His attention focuses again on the lamp.] Kind of low on oil, Hester.
hester: Fill ’er up. You’ll find the can settin’ next to the coal bucket.
bram [shambling over]: Hadn’t oughter leave coal oil round a stove. Mought start up a fire some night. Burn us all up in our beds. [He approaches everything, even an oil can, with an air of slow inevitability, almost like a clockwork figure.]
hester: It ain’t by the stove. It’s in the coal bucket.
bram [filling up the lamp]: Well, the coal bucket’s settin’ right by the stove.
hester [her voice rising with irritation]: Settin’ on the other side of the coal bucket from the stove. I reckon I know ’cause I put it there.
bram: She’s settin’ right smack up against the leg of the stove. Ain’t even by the coal bucket.
hester: Well, someone elst musta pushed it over there. Besides what diff’rince it make long as the fire caint tech it? [She comes swishing in with a steaming bowl of mush which she claps down on the bare table.]
bram: Might have combustion or somethin’.
h
ester: I’ll combustion you if you don’t leave off that grumblin’. Set down here and eat yer mush while it’s hot. [She walks over and opens the outside door and then comes back to the table.]
bram: Mush agin?
hester: You kin think of more diff’rent things to pester a body with. Spare that milk. It’s all we got. [She stares at Bram with a critical frown as he approaches the lamplight.] Look at yer Bram. Yer pants ain’t buttoned. [He buttons them.] When was the last time you had a good shave?
bram [lurching into the chair]: Shaved Sunday.
hester: Yer a holy sight. It’s a good thing you don’t work out where folks kin see yuh.
bram: Unh. Coffee done?
hester: Terackly.
[Bram turns up the lamp, pours milk, etc.]
bram: Bring in more milk with you. This here’s all gone.
hester [sharply]: That whole pitcher?
bram: Uh-huh.
hester: I told you to spare it. It’s all we got. [She passes off-stage.] If you’re gonna lap up milk like that you’d better buy me a cow.
bram: Buy you a cow?
[This amuses him. He laughs for several moments deep in his chest, then begins voraciously eating mush, bending low over the plate, slobbering. Coming to the bottom, he raises the bowl to his mouth and drinks the remainder. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and begins to stamp his feet under the table.]
hester [with shrill anger]: Quit that stompin’!
bram [continuing to stomp]: Git muh coffee in here.
hester: You quit that stompin’ or I’ll empty the pot on your head!
bram: Git it in here. S’bout time for the whistle.
hester [bustling in with coffee pot and tin cup]: You’ll have to drink it black.
bram: No cream?
hester: Not a drap.
bram: Hunh.
[Hester fills his cup. He instantly starts to raise it to his mouth.]
hester [grabbing his hand]: Don’t drink it now. It’s scaldin’. [She notices the lamp which he has turned too high.] Bram. [She turns it way down.]
bram: Leave it be.
hester: You got it turned way too high. [She dusts off the base with her apron.]
bram: I like it turned high. It makes a good light.
hester: It’s a waste o’ coal oil. You kin see plenty with it turned half that high.
bram: Caint see now.
hester: You’re gittin’ blind as a bat.
bram [almost in a bellow]: SUGAR!
hester [slamming it on the table]: Quit that hollering. Here.
[She starts to exit. Bram burns his mouth on the coffee and utters a loud yell.]
hester [returning to the kitchen]: There you go. I toleja it was scaldin’. Why don’t you listen. [She hurries out.]
bram: For Chrissake gimme some water!
hester [fetching a dipper of water]: Not so loud! You’ll wake the kids up.
bram: Water, water, water!
hester: Aw shut up! I toleja the coffee was hot. You just don’t listen. Not so loud, now. Star and Joel’s asleep.
bram: Ohh. Asleep, huh. What of it? They ought be up by now. Layin’ in bed’s a bad habit. That Joel, he gits lazier ev’ry day of his life. If he don’t git to work before long he won’t be fit fer nothin’.
hester: Joel’s goin’ to school. You know that.
bram: What good does school do a coal miner I’d liketa know.
hester: Joel ain’t a coal miner.
bram: He’s gonna be though. Everybody’s coal miners round here.
hester: I got somethin’ else in mind for the boy.
bram: Yes, like you had for John.
[There is a pause. Hester seats herself with her own tin cup, but does not drink. There is a tense brooding look on her face.]
bram: Sent him off an he never come back an you never heerd tell of the boy enny more.
hester: Quit harpin’ on that. John’s all right.
bram: You got no idea what become of John. I ain’t neither. He shoulda stayed here. Abbey woulda put him on with me. Then you’d been knowin’ where he was right now stead of gittin’ them advertisements put in the Birmingham paper. Lot a good them done you with John no more able to spell out his own name than you are yours. [He laughs grimly.]
hester [with sudden force]: Joel’s gonna git him an eddication.
bram: Hunh.
hester: Withouten that he’d never be nothin’ but what you are.
bram: Ain’t that good enough? [Hester groans.] The company never shoulda put up that schoolhouse. I was aginst it then and I’m still aginst it.
hester: The company wouldn’t a put it up if the state hadn’t forced ’em to. They’d rather we stay as iggerunt as a litter o’ pigs round here. It makes us easier for them to make use of.
bram: Well, we got no use fer a schoolhouse. They was right about that. It costs us money to keep the dern thing a-runnin’ an that’s all it ever done’s fur as I kin see. Ceptin’ it puts a lot o’ fool notions in the minds of the young-uns and gives ’em the idea they’re too good fer their own folks.
hester: Sure. That’s the way you look at it. You’re what I’d call a natcheral born slave.
bram: What d’ya mean by that?
hester: I mean you don’t know what it is to be free or even want to be free. The mines have you hawg tied and you don’t even care. Why, if they was to shut down the mines tomorrer, where’d you be?
bram: The mines won’t shut down. Long as there’s coal in the Red Hills there’ll be us miners diggin’ it out.
hester: In Wes’ Virginny the mines shut down fer eight months.
bram: Who’s been tellin’ you all this stuff anyhow?
hester: Miss Wallace told me.
bram: Who’s she?
hester: She’s the new school teacher.
bram: Well, why don’t she teach school an keep her nose out of other folks’ business. [He shoves cup toward Hester.] Gimme ’nother cup coffee.
hester: If you don’t quit drinkin’ so much I’ll have to start usin’ chicory.
bram: Gimme full cup.
hester: That’s all you git. I’m savin’ the rest for Joel. You drank up all the milk. [She sits down again.] Miss Wallace says Joel’s right quick at his books. Of course he got an awful late start, but he’s already up to the second reader. She says maybe by the time he gits old enough to go the company’ll be forced to put up a high school too.
bram: That won’t never happen long as I’m here to stop it. I guess I got a say about that. When I was Joel’s age I was diggin’ out coal.
hester: And you still are.
bram: Damn right I still am, and I will be til the day I die so help me. You won’t catch me dependin’ on nobody else for the bread I eat.
hester: You’re dependin’ right now on the company for every crumb of bread that goes in your mouth. God knows what you’d do for bread if I didn’t bake it myself. It’s a caution the price of it down at that store. Thirteen cents for a loaf of bread now. Ethel Sunter says in Birmingham you kin git the same size loaf for seven.
bram: We got no place else to trade.
hester: Yeah, that’s it. Just because they know we ain’t got no place else to trade they smack on any kind of price they feel like. That’s what I mean by your slavery, Bram. The company runs everything around here and you got to take what they give you and like it.
bram [in the manner of one propounding a great philosophic truth]: It’s dawg eat dawg. That’s life fer yuh. Dawg eat dawg.
hester: Yeah an it’s the underdog that gits eaten. That’s why my kids’re gonna come out on top. I had hopes for you once, Bram. When we got married I thought you was just stayin’ down here in the mines till times got better, but now you been down there twin’y four, twin’-five years an it’s still just the same. You don’t even wanta git out. And now already they call you “The Old Man of the Mines.” Yeah, that’s what all of them call you now. “The Old Man of the Mines.” Mrs. Abbey the s
uperintendent’s wife was tellin’ me so yesttiddy at the store like as a compliment, but I seen how she meant it.
bram: I ain’t ashamed of ’em callin’ me that. Them young fellers look up to me, I’m the leader.
hester: Why dontcha do somethin’ to help ’em git some good outa life?
bram: Minin’s not bad work. Good times it pays good money. When I was Joel’s age me and muh pap was loading sixteen cars between us evry blessed day an’ in them days it was real money, seventy cents a ton it was and them mules could draw damn near as much coal as these here enjins kin now. Between us, me and muh pap, we made as much as four, five dollars a day.
hester: Things’ve slumped considerable since then.
bram [somewhat glumly]: You kin still make a livin’.
hester: I wouldn’t call it a livin’.
bram: You eat, dontcha?
hester: Not much. After you and the kids git finished many’s the time I have to fill up on water.
bram: It’s a livin’ though.
hester: For my sons I want somethin’ better than that.
bram: What else could Joel do ’round here?
hester: How many times do I got to tell you Joel ain’t gonna stay ’round here? Him nor Star neither. They’re both gonna git outa this place.
bram: You want ’em to go off like John done an’ never be heard of agin? [He fills his pipe again.]
hester: Quit harpin’ on John.
bram: He mought be dead for all you know.
hester [fiercely]: Don’t say things to me like that. It goes right through me like a knife. [She gets up and looks out the window.]
bram: I’m not sayin’ he’s dead. I’m just sayin’ that seven year ’s a long time to go without seein’ hide nor hair, nor hearin’ a word tell o’ the boy. If he’d a stayed here you’d a known where he was.
hester: Yes, I’d a known where he was, just as if he’d had a little white cross stuck over his grave, I’d a known where he was. Down there in the ground. I caint see it makes much diff’rence whether you dig in the ground or just lie in the ground, ceptin’ one would be I should think a sight more restful than the other. John, he was a smart boy. He wanted to work out on top. He didn’t want to be an underground rat like you all his life.
