Strong Medicine (17 page)

is a formal occasion, as he remembered just in time, and we will keep it

that way.

"A promotion supported by you is always accepted." Vincent Lord scowled

as he corrected himself He hated being subservient to this dean whom he

considered an inferior has-been scientist, now a pathetic paper pusher.

Unfortunately he was a paper pusher with the authority of the university

behind him.

Dean Harris did not reply. What Lord had said about his support of any

promotion was true, but that was because he never took a position on one

until he was sure it would be acceptable to the faculty. Though a dean

was the senior member of a faculty, the faculty as a whole had more power

than a dean. Which was why he knew he would never get Lord's promotion

agreed to at this point, even if he pushed it.

By now, gossip about those two most recent published papers of Vincent

Lord's was undoubtedly circulating through the campus. Gossip, plus

questions about ethics, plus the earlier, four-year-old incident which

had been almost forgotten but now would be revived.

There was no point, the dean reasoned, in delaying announcement of a

decision already taken.

"Dr. Lord," he stated quietly, "I will not recommend you for accelerated

promotion at this point."

"Why not?"

"I do not believe the reasons you have given are sufficiently com-

pelling."

"Explain 'compelling'!"

The words had been snapped out like a command and there were limits to

patience, the dean decided. He replied coldly, "I believe it would be

better for both of us if this interview were ended. Good day!"

But Lord made no attempt to move. He remained seated in front of the

dean's desk, glaring. "I'm asking you to reconsider. If you don't, you

may regret it."

"In what way might I regret it?"

"I could decide to leave."

90

Dean Harris said, and meant it, "I would be sorry to see that happen, Dr.

Lord, and your departure would be a loss. You have brought credit to

the'university and will, I believe, continue to. On the other hand"-the

dean permitted himself a thin smile-"I believe that even after your

departure this institution would survive."

Lord rose from the chair, his face flushed with anger. Without a word he

stalked from the office and slammed the door behind him.

Reminding himself, as he had so many times before, that part of his job was

to (teal calmly and fairly with un-calm, talented people who often behaved

unreasonably, the dean returned to other work.

Unlike the dean, Dr. Lord did not put the matter from his mind. As if a

recording were implanted in his brain, he replayed the interview over and

over, growing increasingly bitter and angry until he came to hate not only

Harris, but the entire university.

Vincent Lord suspected-even though the subject had not been mentioned at

the interview-that those minor changes he was having to make in his two

most recently published papers had something to do with his rejection. The

suspicion increased his anger because, as he saw it, the matter was trivial

compared with his overall scientific record. Oh yes, he conceded even to

himself, he knew how those errors had occurred. He had been impatient,

overenthusiastic, in a hurry. He had, for the absolute briefest time, let

wishful thinking about results overrule his scientific caution. But he had

since vowed never to let anything similar happen again. Also, the incident

was past, he would shortly publish corrections, so why should it be

considered? Petty! Trivial!

At no point did it occur to Vincent Lord that it was not the incidents

themselves, including the one four years ago, that his critics were

concerned with, but certain symptoms and signals about his character. In

the absence of such reasoning and understanding by Dr. Lord, his bitterness

continued festering.

Consequently when, three months later during a scientific meeting in San

Antonio, he was approached by a representative of Felding-Roth

Pharmaceuticals with an invitation to "come aboard"-a euphemism for an

offer of employment-his reaction, while not immediately positive, was at

least, "Well, maybe."

The approach itself was not unusual. The big drug firms were constantly on

the lookout for new scientific talent and monitored carefully all published

papers originating in universities. In the case of something interesting,

a congratulatory letter might he written.

91

Then, following through, scholarly gatherings where drug company people met

academic scientists on neutral ground were useful points of contact. In all

these ways, and well before the San Antonio meeting, Vincent Lord's name had

been considered and selected as a "target."

More specific talks followed. What Felding-Roth wanted was a scientist of

highest caliber in his field to head a new division to develop steroids.

From the beginning, the company representatives treated Dr. Lord with

deference and respect, an attitude which pleased him and which he saw as a

pleasant contrast to what he considered his shabby treatment by the

university.

The opportunity, from a scientific point of view, was interesting. So was

the salary offered-fourteen thousand dollars a year, almost twice as much

as he was earning at U of 1.

To be fair to Vincent Lord, it could have been said that money itself held

almost as little interest for him as did food. His personal needs were

simple; he never had difficulty living on his university pay. But the drug

firm's money was one more compliment-a recognition of his worth.

After thinking about it for two weeks, Dr. Lord accepted. He left the

university abruptly, with minimal goodbyes. He began work at Felding-Roth

in September 1957.

Almost at once an extraordinary thing occurred. In early November the drug

firm's director of research collapsed over a microscope and died of a

massive cerebral hemorrhage. Vincent Lord was in place and available. He

had the needed qualifications. He was appointed to the vacant post.

Now, three years later, Dr. Lord was solidly entrenched at Felding-Roth. He

continued to be respected. His competence was never questioned. He ran his

department efficiently, with minimal outside interference, and despite

Lord's private personality problems, relations with his staff were good.

Equally important, his personal scientific work was going well.

Most others, in the circumstances, would have been happy. Yet for Vincent

Lord there was that perpetual looking-backward syndrome, the doubts and

soul-searching about long-ago decisions, the anger and bitterness-as

impassioned as ever-about his refused promotion at U of 1. The present held

problems too, or so he thought. Outside his department, he was suspicious

of others in the company. Were they undermining him? There were several

people

92

whom he disliked and distrusted--one of them that pushy woman. Celia

Jordan reeeived altogether too much attention. Her promotion had been

unwelcome to him. He saw her as a competitor for prestige and power.

There was always the possibility, which he hoped for, that the Jordan

bitch would overreach, be toppled, and disappear. As far as Dr. Lord was

concerned, it could not happen too soon.

Of course, none of this would matter, not even the insult in the past at

U of 1, and no one would come close to Vincent Lord in power and respect

if a certain event occurred which now seemed likely.

Like most scientists, Vince Lord was inspired by the challenge of the

unknown. Also like others, he had long dreamed of achieving, personally,

a major breakthrough, a discovery which would push back dramatically the

frontiers of knowledge and place his name in the honor roll of history.

Such a dream now seemed attainable.

After three years of persistent, painstaking work at FeldingRoth, work

which he knew to be brilliantly conceived, a chemical compound was at

last in sight which could become a revolutionary new drug. There was

still a great deal to be done. Research and animal experiments were

needed over two more years at least, but preliminaries had been

successful, the signposts were in place. With his knowledge, experience

and scientific intuition, Vincent Lord could see them clearly.

Of course, the new drug when marketed would make an undreamed-of fortune

for Felding-Roth. But that was unimportant. What was important was what

it would do to the worldwide reputation of Dr. Vincent Lord.

A little more time was all he needed.

Then he would show them. By God, he would show them all!

93

Thalidomide exploded!

As Celia said much later, "Though none of us knew it then, nothing in the

drug industry would ever be quite the same again after the facts about

Thalidomide became well known."

Developments started slowly, unnoticed except locally, and-in the minds

of anyone involved at the beginning-unconnected with a drug.

In West Germany, in April 1961, physicians were startled by an outbreak

of phocomelia-a rare phenomenon in which babies are born tragically

deformed, without arms or legs, instead having tiny, useless, seal-like

flippers. The previous year two cases had been reported----even that an

unprecedented number since, as one researcher put it, "'two-headed

children have been more common." Now, suddenly, there were dozens of

phocomelic babies.

Some mothers, when shown the children to whom they had given birth,

screamed in revulsion and despair. Others wept, knowing that, as one put

it, "my son could never feed himself unaided, bathe himself, attend to

basic sanitary requirements, open a door, hold a woman in his arms, or

even write his name."

Among the mothers, several committed suicide; far more required

psychiatric help. A formerly devout father cursed God. "I spit and shit

upon him!" Then he corrected himself. "There is no God. How could there

be?"

And still the cause of the phocomelia outbreak remained unknown. (The

word, it was explained, is from the Greek-phoke meaning "seal"; melos is

"limb.") One study suggested the cause might- be radioactive fallout from

atom bombs. Another, that a virus was at work.

Many of the babies had other defects as well as missing limbs. Ears were

absent or deformed; hearts, bowels and other organs were incomplete or

didn't function as they should. Some babies died-"the lucky ones," as one

observer wrote.

94

Then, in November 1961, two doctors working independently and unknown to

each other-a pediatrician in Germany and an obstetrician in

Australia-linked phocomelia to the drug Thalidomide. Soon afterward, it was

established that the drug was indeed the cause of the defective births.

Australian authorities, acting swiftly, ordered Thalidomide off the market

during the same month the connection became known. West Germany and Britain

withdrew the drug a month later, in December. But in the United States it

was two months more until, in February 1962, the Thalidomide-Kevadon