Signet Essay Contest Winner 2015: Korey Huskonen

 Diogenes, the foremost Cynic of Ancient Greece, once remarked “What I like to drink most is wine that belongs to others.” Diogenes was one rogue of a philosopher who wholeheartedly lived out his ideas, deliberately confining himself to poverty and seeming immorality in order to be free of all social conventions. In his pursuit of a simple, happy life, Diogenes frequently shocked the conscience of Athens with his aberrant and often obscene antics. Alfred Doolittle, a common dustman in George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion who also prefers his wine at the expense of others, is not unlike Diogenes. Doolittle rejects social customs and principles so that he can live freely and happily as one of the “undeserving poor.” He, too, shocks the conscience of the more genteel classes, only those of early twentieth century London rather than ancient Athens. In his musical adaptation My Fair Lady, Alan Jay Lerner expands upon the concept of an unprincipled, unconventional dustman. By adding scenes and songs that transform Doolittle into a major character and spotlight his philosophies, Lerner corroborates Doolittle as a bona fide Immoralist, a walking antithesis of all societal virtues.

Doolittle first appears in Act II of Pygmalion when he tries to rescue his daughter Eliza from Henry Higgins and a fate “worse than death,” meaning courtesanship. But when Higgins readily agrees to give his daughter back, Doolittle remonstrates and proposes an alternative arrangement wherein Higgins can keep Eliza in return for a five-pound note. According to Doolittle, Eliza is “not worth her keep” as a daughter. As Eliza affirms later in the act, Doolittle came not to save her, but “to touch him [Higgins] for some money to get drunk on.” In fact, as Doolittle explains to Colonel Pickering, he would not have come to his daughter’s aid even if he had suspected Higgins of dishonorable intentions. He only would have raised the price for Eliza to 50 pounds. Doolittle seems completely devoid of any sense of family responsibility. Even worse, he would joyously procure, that is, “pimp” his daughter for the right price. One would be hard-pressed to make Doolittle appear any more virtueless as a father, but Lerner manages to do so in My Fair Lady by adding two scenes prior to the Doolittle-Higgins encounter. In Act I, Scene 2, a bartender evicts Doolittle and company for failing to pay for their drinks. Eliza happens to walk by, and Doolittle manages to cajole her into subsidizing his alcoholic exploits. In Scene 4, after cheerfully discovering Eliza had “moved in with a swell” and anticipating a lucrative career, Doolittle voices his perspective on children by singing “A man was made to help support his children–but / With a little bit of luck … / They’ll go out and start supporting you!” Through these additional scenes, Lerner heightens Doolittle’s paternal amorality beyond the extent of Shaw.

Doolittle is no more virtuous when it comes to his relationships with grown women. Doolittle reveals in Act V of Pygmalion that he never married Eliza’s mother, a point that surprises Pickering, accustomed as he is to “middle class morality.” As for Doolittle’s current missus, he divulges in Act II that he is willing to marry her, but only because he has “no hold on her.” He would marry her not out of love or any emotional attachment, but so that he would no longer have to give her presents and “buy her clothes something sinful” to keep her around. When Doolittle’s missus does concede to marry him later in the play, Doolittle dreads the forthcoming nuptials because they were brought on by respectability and his inadvertent rise into the middle class. When it comes to women, Doolittle does not form any legitimate bonds, emotional or otherwise. Lerner exacerbates Doolittle’s vices by making him appear even more licentious and disloyal. In Act I, Scene 2 of My Fair Lady, Doolittle concedes that women were made for men to marry, but with a little bit of luck a man can “have it all and not get hooked.” Moreover, he endorses extramarital affairs by asserting that while philandering is a crime, a man “can see the bloodhound [his wife] don’t find out.” To this Doolittle, women are nothing more than objects to be used for immediate gratification of the senses. He bears out his philosophies in Act II, Scene 3, when he calls on all the “girls” to come kiss him and show him how much they will miss him once he is ensnared in matrimony. Indeed, Lerner’s Doolittle seems quite a promiscuous old dustman, much more so than Shaw’s.

Aside from his degeneracy as a father and partner, Doolittle’s dissolution extends to his socioeconomic status. Doolittle confesses in Pygmalion that he is and means to go on being one of the “undeserving poor.” He admits in Act V that before he accepted the bequest of Ezra D. Wannafeller he “touched pretty nigh everyone for money” and neglected to save any of it, choosing instead to give pleasure to himself and employment to others. In My Fair Lady, Doolittle’s daily debauchery escalates even further. He champions and readily succumbs to the sinful temptation of liquor (although he is customarily ejected from the pub for nonpayment). He strives to “run amuck” rather than walk the “straight and narrow.” In terms of his job, he hopes “Someone else’ll do the blinkin’ work!” He harbors no inclination to help his neighbors; in fact, he hopes he is not home when they “come around.” And, summarily, he evades the goodness “They’re always throwin’ … at you.” While Shaw’s Doolittle is considerably far from the ideal, productive citizen, Lerner’s is farther still.

The Alfred Doolittle of Pygmalion is certainly undeserving and unprincipled. He condemns himself best in Act II by saying he cannot afford any morals, poor as he is. But the Alfred Doolittle of My Fair Lady goes a step further. This Doolittle is not just without principles; he spurns them. This Doolittle does not just want to remain one of the undeserving poor; he vigorously shirks all societal inhibitions and responsibilities to live as freely, naturally, and happily as possible. Perhaps, as Henry Higgins jests, this Doolittle really is the most original moralist in England. At any rate, Diogenes would be proud.