Here’s hoping that the No, No Nanette that’s currently at Encores! is going more swimmingly than both the original and the famed 1971 revival.

The production that wound up on Broadway as a 1925 hit had a shaky start. But the ol’ story that its producer-director, H.H. Frazee — also then the owner of the Boston Red Sox — sold Babe Ruth to the Yankees to finance Nanette is untrue; he unloaded the Bambino years before in order to buy five theaters, three in New York, two in Chicago.

During Nanette's rehearsals, Frazee was unhappy with what lyricist Otto Harbach had set to composer Vincent Youmans’ melodies. With Harbach busy with Frank Mandel in fixing the book, Frazee hired Irving Caesar (who’d penned the words to the Jolson hit “Swanee”) to add some lyrics. Youmans and Caesar wrote “You Can Dance with Any Girl at All” in 15 minutes, and “Too Many Rings around Rosie” in a half-hour. On the road, they took a bit longer to write the score’s most enduring hits: “I Want to Be Happy” and “Tea for Two.” Caesar always said that he meant the latter simply as a dummy lyric (one lyricists use just to get the scan of the melody). “I mean,” he’d say for the remaining 70 years of 101-year life, “How can they be having tea if the girl’s sitting on his lap?”

Nanette tells of Jimmy Smith, a Bible salesman who’s at the dangerous age where he flirts, not only with Winnie from Washington, but also with Betty from Boston and Flora from Frisco. Jimmy’s wife Sue suspects nothing, but her best friend Lucille decides to tell her what’s going on. Lucille soon has problems of her own, because she’ll suspect her husband Billy of infidelity.

And who’s Nanette, and how does she fit into all this? She’s Sue’s young “protégé” who’s smitten with Tom. Still, Nanette feels she should experience life a little more before she settles down. Tom’s none too happy, for he suspects Nanette is about to commit a no-no.

The pre-Broadway tryout had to be the strangest ever. Nanette opened in Chicago for ostensibly a few weeks, but it became a sensation, and lasted 49 weeks there. Then came four (!) national companies before the show even opened on Broadway for 321 performances. However, it wasn’t all smooth sailing, for during rehearsals and the tryout, Frazee replaced the performers who portrayed Jimmy, Lucille, and Nanette.

Still, that’s nothing compared to the bloodletting that producer Cyma Rubin did on her 1971 smash revival. Starting with the first rehearsal and right down to its final tryout stop in Baltimore, no fewer than 35 were fired — including Harry Rigby.

He’s the producer who came to her in 1969 and said that a revival of No, No, Nanette could be the hit of the ‘70s — if Sue were played by Ruby (“You’re going out there a youngster, but you’ve got to come back a star”) Keeler and her maid by Patsy Kelly, the sassy comedienne who began her film career in 1929. They’d be under the direction and choreography of ‘30s film legend Busby Berkeley.

Don Dunn, then a Business Week writer, decided to dig into the Rubin-Rigby relationship in The Making of "No, No, Nanette." It’s one thing for a paperback’s back cover to feature great quotes about the book, and Dunn’s has plenty of those. But what it also has as an endorsement quotation is “Dunn had four lawyers read the book before it was printed.” — Chicago Tribune. So you know it’s going to be hot stuff.

How well I remember in 1998, asking Helen Gallagher, who won a Best Musical Actress Tony for this Nanette, what she thought of the book. “I never read it,” she snarled, before realizing that she’d said that in a much-too-strong voice. She pulled back and said more matter-of-factly, “Why would I read it? I lived it.” A few years earlier, I’d interviewed Hilary Knight, who provided the marvelous purple-and-pink Nanette window card. He admitted to reading the book, but was none too pleased with Dunn. “He called me ‘diminutive.’” Knight said with great umbrage. “He should talk! He only came up to my waist!”

But the book’s the thing, and it’s terrific. Dunn described Rigby as “a bachelor” with a voice “as feminine as it is masculine (which) resembles Phyllis Diller’s.” Rubin he characterized as “a lady with whom to be reckoned.” She got her fortune the way women did then — by a second marriage. Her husband Sam, of Revlon cosmetics fame, put up virtually all of the $500,00 budget for a show that needed 270 costumes.

David Merrick, then the still-reigning king of producers, predicted a three-week run. Who could blame him? Charles Gaynor was hired to re-write the book, but couldn’t cut it (literally and figuratively). The 75-year-old Busby Berkeley got off the plane, and immediately collapsed onto the tarmac. Ruby Keeler warned them, “I haven’t danced in 20 years,” and looked every bit the housewife. Kelly felt defeated from all her near-misses in TV Land: “I’ve made so many pilots, I could start my own airline.”

Rubin kept a keen eye on expenses. She’d only pay the legendary Bobby Van (as Billy) half-salary during rehearsals. Even Carole Demas, signed as Nanette, got one-fifth of what the Nanette in 1925 got. However, Rubin didn’t stint on the salary given Loni Zoe Ackerman, who played Betty from Boston. But then again, Rubin was her mother.

Hiram Sherman was hired as Jimmy, though he was famous for leaving show’s at a moment’s notice. He would with this one, too, during the first leg of the tryout. And though he had a run-of-the-play contract, he settled for two weeks’ salary, because he didn’t believe the show would run. Demas settled for a settlement, too, of about four months salary when her dismissal was demanded by Burt Shevelove, the director who took over for Berkeley, soon considered too feeble. Berkeley  was later relegated to punching three holes in each page of the script so they could be accommodated in binders. That script by, the way, was now being re-written by Shevelove, so he couldn’t attend every rehearsal. Not a good sign.

Keeler, who’d been living in California for decades, was lonely, so Rubin hired the star’s son as assistant stage manager, her sister as her dresser, and her daughter as a chorus girl. The last-named refused, knowing she didn’t have the ability to do it. If she had accepted, she would have had to accede to Rubin’s demand that each girl cut her hair in a ‘20s fashion. Rubin had put that in each contract, though, somehow, she missed putting it in one for the first girl she’d hired. That actress chose not to cut her hair — and was fired the second her contract ran out. However, one chorus girl was exempted from cutting her hair in the cookie-cutter style: Loni Zoe Ackerman.

Sherman said he hated Shevelove’s “basic rudeness to Ruby.” Keeler refused to learn “one more step.” Rigby told Rubin, “You’re everything I hate in a woman.” Rubin asked Kelly, “Who does the cast call me ‘the Black Witch?’” Costume designer Raoul Pene du Bois said he couldn’t design for Gallagher, whom he described as “ugly” and with a “fat ass.” (Could this be why Gallagher chose not to read the book?) After on rehearsal, Gallagher said she’s “going to my group and them what I’ve been going through.” Demas’ mother showed up at another rehearsal, and Shevelove treated her as a queen, introduced her warmly to the company, even though he knew he was firing Demas the next day in favor of Susan Watson. Rubin recommended someone else to play Nanette: Loni Zoe Ackerman.

When they headed out-of-town, many pundits echoed Mike Todd’s famous out-of-town pronouncement with Oklahoma!: “No stars, no relevance, no nudity, no chance.” Even Shevelove admitted that the story was little more than “Will Nanette, an innocent little child, get her wish and spend a weekend in Atlantic City?” Their first Boston preview would be on Halloween. Trick or treat?

Treat. Every critic and audience went wild, mostly from the nostalgia value. Ditto in the other cities they visited in the following nine weeks. The wear and tear had worn down Sherman, though, who was spitting up blood, so that's when he left. Frank McHugh, a forgotten featured player, was hired, did three performances, and was fired. Jack Gilford took the role, and they came to town to amazing notices — though John Simon panned it. Later, Simon admitted that he got more hate mail for that notice than for any other he’d ever written.

The show was grossing “a whopping amount” each week, says Dunn: $107,000. Today, of course, with that amount, you’d close faster than Glory Days, but those were the glory days of a $12 top, $15 on weekends, and five bucks for standing room. Scalpers were getting $25. The $500,000 investment was paid back in six months.

Dunn quoted Alex Cohen’s statement that he’d use only one word to describe the show’s success: “Infuckingcredible.” I’d use the same one to describe Don Dunn’s The Making of "No, No, Nanette.”

“How could you leave out West Side Story?” wrote some. “How the hell could you leave out West Side Story?” asked others. Others still followed “How the” with a word not usually heard in polite company before asking the same question: Leave out West Side Story?!?

This all stemmed from my offering my list of the 25 Best Improvements Made in Movies of Broadway Musicals. Dozens upon dozens wondered why my list was West Side Story-free.

Truth to tell, when I first formulated the list, I wound up with 27 items. That meant I had to drop two to get it down to 25. One excision turned out to be cited by Douglas Braverman: That in Damn Yankees, we get to see Griffith Stadium in Washington, DC. The other one I dropped involved West Side Story, and I shed it purposely just to see how many would mention what I chose to eliminate: How the movie switched the order of “Cool” and “Gee, Officer Krupke," and how the slant of the number “America” changed.

Jason Flum saw through my ruse: “I'm sure you consciously left off the flip of ‘Gee, Officer Krupke’ and ‘Cool.’ To me, ‘Cool’ just makes more sense AFTER the Rumble. It fits in beautifully the way it's framed in the movie. ‘Gee, Officer Krupke’ is too lighthearted after the boys watched two their friend and leader die.”

Wrote Jeremy Fassler, “Yes, I know that (lyricist Stephen) Sondheim and (bookwriter Arthur) Laurents deep down rue this switch, but ‘Cool’ makes so much more sense in the movie--it's so much more exciting.

Paul Mendenhall weighed in, too: “Despite what Sondheim and Laurents say, that switch was absolutely right. There is no way those devastated kids would do a merry number like ‘Krupke’ after just seeing two of their friends murdered. And ‘Cool’ has a major point to make in its new position: that the assumed nonchalance of these kids is about avoiding pain and vulnerability. Plus, the new setting in the garage offers great new staging opportunities.”

Tom Adams decided, “The West Side Story movie improves the song order. Now ‘Cool’ and ‘Gee, Officer Krupke’ are where each always belonged. It never made sense to have them singing and having a wonderful time after their good friend Riff died. Then, at last, I heard Sondheim say last month (at UCLA, with Frank Rich) that he complained about it to Jerome Robbins during previews. Apparently, however, it was too late to change it, due to the way the sets were constructed. But he told Steve that he'd change it for the film -- before he had his early exit,” he wrote, referring to Robbins’ being fired from the film.

Susan Berlin brought up the other point with which I’m in agreement: “I like ‘America’ better in the movie. Instead of making fun of the woman who wants to return to Puerto Rico, the new lyrics allow Bernardo and the Sharks to complain about what’s wrong in America, while Anita and the other young woman are telling you they are not going.” That should come as some solace to Tom Lancaster, who lamented, “I'm one of the only people I know who prefers ‘America’ as a men-vs.-women number.”

Many other readers had even bigger issues with my choosing The Wizard of Oz and how I handled it. I chose as my improvements, “Judy Garland, Ray Bolger, Jack Haley, Bert Lahr, and Margaret Hamilton. Those who originated their roles on Broadway COULDN’T have been better, could they have?”

“What!” Ezirio Lanchow screeched: "The Wizard of Oz on this list??!? You might as well have found something in the movie musical of My Sister Eileen that you liked better than in Wonderful Town,” he said, citing two other wildly different musical properties.

Actually, when first formulating my list, I took my lead from Denny Martin Flinn’s book, Musicals! In his appendix, “Broadway on Film,” he includes The Wizard of Oz: “Really a Hollywood original,” he wrote, “but in 1903 there had been a lavish and successful musical of Frank Baum’s story.” But, really, the true reason I mentioned the Fabulous Five was that homaging them seemed a fitting way to end the column.

So I wrote Lachow and said, “Well, like it or not, there WAS a musical version of The Wizard of Oz in the early 20th century. True, it didn’t have the Arlen-Harburg score, or the script. But all I'm saying is that the five people who played those roles on Broadway in 1903 COULDN'T have been better than the five in the 1939 movie.

“And Toto, too!”

Really, you can keep your Lassies, Benjis, Rin-Tin-Tins, Rin-Tin-Toons, and Rong-Tong-Tongs: Have you EVER seen a dog give a better performance than “Terry” did as Toto in The Wizard of Oz? Look at him as he follows everyone who follows the Yellow Brick Road. The dog is working hard. He’s looking up at them with an – I mean this – intelligence.

Try telling that to Lanchow: “And Toto too?” he snorted. “In the original The Wizard of Oz stage musical, the part of Toto was played by a cow (whose great-great granddaughter might be Caroline in Gypsy).”

I’ll still put my money on Terry.

I was impressed, though, with how much Lanchow knew about that way-back-when Broadway musical: “The vaudeville comedy team of Montgomery and Stone played the Scarecrow and the Tin Man, and they followed the practice of the time by interpolating songs that had little to do with the plot. One of the big hits was ‘Hurrah for Baffin's Bay,’ about a maritime trip to the north -- but ‘We couldn't find the pole because the barber moved away.’ They were the sensations of the show and I imagine they would give Ray Bolger and Jack Haley  a run for the money, at least in terms of comedy interplay."

He summed up with, “Conscious choices were made to set it apart from the blockbuster stage show that had toured the country well within living memory, so you're right in pointing out that the movie version was an improvement. I still don't think it belongs on the list, though, since the two adaptations you're comparing were so wildly dissimilar. We continue to disagree on this one!”

Rick Thompson felt the same way after I answered his objection with the exact same answer I gave Lanchow. “I looked it up in my Bordman,” he responded, referring to Gerald Bordman’s tome American Musical Theatre, “and Bordman says ‘the most memorable moments were the carryings-on of Fred Stone and Dave Montgomery as the Scarecrow and the Tin Man,’ roles that ‘established them as stars. Time and again their offerings were to prove the major success of the season; and while they had a few imitators, they had no rivals.’

He summed up with, “I would imagine that, back in 1903, people were saying no one could ever play the Scarecrow and the Tin Man as well. So maybe we shouldn't give the crown to Bolger and Haley quite so quickly, if in fact we're going to award any crowns at all. Personally, I don't think they can be compared. They were in different times, in different shows, and in different TYPES of shows.”

I’m telling you, those scientists have got to get on the ball and invent us a time machine. That’s the only way we’ll ever really know.