The story line went like this: Bialystock and Bloom, my producers, would find the worst play ever written, which led me to create Franz Liebkind, not only one of the worst writers that ever wielded a pen, but also a regenerate dyed-in-the-wool Nazi. He was madly in love with his Führer, Adolf Hitler, and always wore a World War II German helmet splattered with pigeon droppings.
The next step would be to find the worst director who ever directed a play on Broadway. Thus assuring our crooked heroes the worst production ever produced on Broadway. And to top it all off, the very worst actors to ever set foot on a Broadway stage. （I knew I could find those characters; there were always plenty of very good and bad actors around.）
Then, taking a page out of the past, Bialystock would entertain a collection of little old ladies who would be happy to invest in his play for a few kisses and a little flattery.
I sent the outline of Springtime for Hitler to several Broadway producers to see if anyone was interested and excited enough to actually produce it. The most interesting response I got was from Kermit Bloomgarden, who had produced Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, one of the most memorable plays ever on Broadway. He was kind enough to invite me to lunch, where he told me, “This is a great idea, but you have too many characters in too many scenes. One of the unwritten rules of getting your money back on Broadway is no more than one set and five characters. We try to stick to that. You have about thirty-five characters in thirty-five sets. It is not a play. What it is, is a movie. Write it as a screenplay and you’ve got a chance for success.”
He made a lot of sense.
So I immediately began writing it as a movie. He was right. I could see it, scene after scene. I could almost hear the dialogue.
It went something like this:
BLOOM
Amazing. It’s absolutely amazing.
But under the right circumstances, a producer could make more money with a flop than he could with a hit.
QUICK CUT TO BIALYSTOCK’S SLEEPING FACE.
HIS EYES POP OPEN.
CUT BACK TO BLOOM.
BLOOM
Yes. Yes. It’s quite possible.
If he were certain the show would fail, a man could make a fortune.
BIALYSTOCK
Yes?
BLOOM
Yes, what?
BIALYSTOCK
What you were saying. Keep talking.
BLOOM
What was I saying?
BIALYSTOCK
You were saying that under the right circumstances, a producer could make more money with a flop than he could with a hit.
BLOOM
Yes, it’s quite possible.
BIALYSTOCK
You keep saying that, but you don’t tell me how. How could a producer make more money with a flop than with a hit?
BLOOM
It’s simply a matter of creative accounting.
Let us assume, just for the moment, that you are a dishonest man.
BIALYSTOCK
Assume away!
The wonderfully talented Alfa-Betty Olsen （who had helped Buck and me work on the pilot of Get Smart） once again assisted me in translating my play outline into a screenplay, and with her invaluable help, I set sail.
While I was writing the screenplay, I hit a stone wall. I would need a production number so awful that it would send the first-night audience flying out of the theater. I had a great title; a big musical celebration of the Third Reich called “Springtime for Hitler.” But who could write the song? I mentioned my dilemma to Anne.
“I know who could write it,” she said.
“Who?” I asked.
“You,” she said. “You’re musical. You’re a good singer. You never stop singing around the house! And besides, you’re a born songwriter. No one else could write ‘Springtime for Hitler’ but you. So here’s a pad and a pencil. Go into the next room, and I bet within an hour you’ll come out with the beginning of a song.”
I did exactly what she said. I took a pad, a pencil, and went into the next room. And one hour and one month later, came out with “Springtime for Hitler.” I had come up with not only the lyrics but also the tune, which I’d heard in my head, picked out on a piano, and then sung into a tape recorder. A full 32-bar song that a musicologist friend of mine then transcribed into actual notes on actual music paper, a method of composing I’ve since used for all of my songs.
（After all, I went to VMI, not Juilliard.）
I loved music to death, but I never thought that I could write music itself from a blank page, that I could compose a song. I developed my method right then, which was, and still is, that the songs are written for characters within a story. I just don’t sit down and write like other composers who write a love song. For me it always comes from the story or the characters. So for this story, I came up with the most offensive song in the world that would have Jews looking for the exit doors.