Memory can be a tricky thing, particularly after a vexing or traumatic experience. Stephen Schwartz, for instance, was all of twenty-three years old when he met one of Broadway’s most venerated director/choreographers in the fall of 1971, but the composer and lyricist of beloved musicals ranging from “Godspell” to “Wicked” can recall only a few details of their first encounter. “It’s crazy,” Schwartz admits. “I mean, that was a momentous meeting. You’d think I would always remember exactly where I was when I met Bob Fosse. But I don’t.”

The meeting took place somewhere in the Los Angeles area, in a film studio. Schwartz was in town—he thinks—for the local premiere of “Godspell,” by then a smash hit off-Broadway. Fosse was editing footage of his screen adaptation of “Cabaret,” which would help propel his career to new heights after a relatively short but painful dry spell. Pleasantries were exchanged; Schwartz mentioned how much he had enjoyed Fosse’s previous movie, “Sweet Charity,” which some critics and audiences had met with less enthusiasm.

 The younger artist then played a few songs from another musical he was working on, called “Pippin,” and the showbiz veteran offered praise in return. “I just remember it being very pleasant, that Bob was congenial and complimentary,” says Schwartz. But “Pippin” producer Stuart Ostrow, who had arranged the meeting in hopes that Fosse would helm the show, remembers precisely how the director summed up its book to him after a first read. And it wasn’t with bouquets.

“He thought it was a college jape,” says Ostrow. “Actually, he called it a piece of shit. But I paid him a lot of money to do it, and he needed the money.”

It was on this unromantic note, according to the producer, that one of the most fractious and fruitful collaborations in musical theater was launched, between two of the most celebrated artists of their respective generations—men who would never work together after completing “Pippin” and would speak again only once, briefly and years later, during a chance encounter. 

In the interim, mind you, they would have some choice words about each other, several of which were shared with journalists. “I think he’s very talented,” Fosse conceded to the New York Times, discussing Schwartz for an article that ran shortly after Pippin’s opening date of October 23, 1972. “But not as talented as he thinks he is.” 

About two months earlier, Schwartz had told Newsday that working on “Pippin” had been “one of the worst experiences of my life. I don’t think I’ll ever work on Broadway again.” In 1976, by which point the wunderkind actually had three hit musicals running there — “Pippin,” “The Magic Show,” and a new production of “Godspell” — he was still recovering. “Bob Fosse is not interested in writers,” he told a reporter.

It can actually be said, without sarcasm, that Fosse’s best friends were writers. None were closer than the playwrights and screenwriters Paddy Chayefsky and Herb Gardner, who would pop up in Washington, D.C., just as Fosse was preparing Pippin for its out-of-town premiere in September 1972. Their visit wasn’t purely social, according to Schwartz and various cast members; they arrived as script doctors, those frequently uncredited scribes who are often enlisted when shows require first aid.

Fosse was still on good terms with Pippin’s librettist, Roger O. Hirson, but his relationship with Schwartz had so deteriorated that at one point, at least, the director had ordered the composer barred from rehearsals. Where Hirson pretty much accepted whatever changes Fosse was demanding, Ostrow explains, “Stephen kept complaining, and finally Fosse said, ‘I can’t stand him—please take him out of here.’”

From Elysa Gardner’s “Magic To Do: Pippin’s Fantastic, Fraught Journey to Broadway and Beyond,” Applause, 212 pages.