Strong Medicine (72 page)

There was more discussion by the board members, mostly questions about

how the doctrine would be put into effect. But it was the TV-radio

network czar Owen Norton who had the final word.

Looking at Celia from the opposite end of the boardroom table, Norton,

who a few days earlier had celebrated his eighty-second birthday,

observed dryly, "You may have noticed, Mrs. Jordan, that we are finally

getting around to respecting your womanly judgment. I can only say, for

myself and others like me, I am sorry we took so long."

"Sir," Celia said, and meant it, "you have just made my day."

The vote that followed, establishing the doctrine as official company

policy, was unanimous.

The impact of the Felding-Roth Doctrine was substantial, though, with the

general public, not as great as Celia had hoped.

Doctors, with a few exceptions, liked it. One obstetrician wrote:

Kindly send me some extra copies, one of which I shall have

framed to hang on my office wall. I intend to point to it when

pregnant patients suggest I am serving them less than ade

quately if I decline to write a prescription for some palliative

which, in my opinion, they would be better off without.

You have, by your highly ethical stand, strengthened the

hands of some of us who do not believe there is a drug for

every occasion. More power to you!

The extra copies were sent-to that doctor and many others who requested

them.

Physicians who objected did so on the grounds that they, and not

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a pharmaceutical company, should advise patients about which drugs to take,

or not, and when. But judging by the volume of mail, they were a small

minority.

The F61ding-Roth Doctrine was featured widely in the company's advertising,

though this was confined to medical and scientific magazines. Celia at

first favored advertising in newspapers and general publications, but was

persuaded this would create antagonism from organized medicine which, along

with FDA, frowned on direct approaches to consumers about prescription

drugs.

Perhaps because of this absence, newspapers gave only minor attention to

the Felding-Rotb Doctrine. The New York Times ran a short two-paragraph

story amid its financial news, the Washington Post buried a similar report

in a rear section of the paper. Elsewhere, in other newspapers, brief items

appeared if there happened to be room. Television, despite public relations

attempts to persuade producers otherwise, paid no attention at all.

"If we market a drug that turns out to have harmful side effects we didn't

expect," Bill Ingram complained to Celia, "those TV news types take our

skins off. But when we do something positive like this, all we get is

yawns."

"That's because TV journalism is simplistic," she responded. "Its people

are trained to look for strong, quick impact, so they avoid the thoughtful,

the cerebral, which take too much air time. Don't worry, though. At times

that policy can help us."

Ingram said doubtfully, "Be sure to tell me when it does."

Reaction to the Felding-Roth Doctrine from other drug firms was mixed.

Those who marketed products for use by women during pregnancy were openly

hostile. "A cheap shot, shoddy publicity, nothing more," was how a

spokesman for one such company described the doctrine publicly.

From others came suggestions that Felding-Roth had attempted to be "holier

than thou," and might have harmed the industry, though in what way was not

made clear. However, one or two competitors were openly admiring.

"Frankly," Celia was told by a respected industry leader, "I wish we'd

thought of it first."

"None of which proves anything," she confided to Andrew, "except you can't

please everyone."

"Be patient," he urged. "You've done something good, and you've started

ripples which are spreading. In time, you'll be surprised how far they go."

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Other rings of ripples were resulting from Montayne. One had its origin on

Washington's Capitol Hill.

Aides to a congressional veteran, Senator Dennis Donahue, had spent a year,

on and off, reviewing the Montayne matter and now declared it an ideal

subject for their leader to focus on at a Senate investigative hearing.

"Ideal," in this case, meant with wide public interest, generous exposure

and, almost certainly, television coverage. As the senator was apt to

remind those closest to him politically, "Let's never forget TV is where

the masses and the votes are."

Accordingly, it was announced that the Senate Subcommittee on Ethical

Merchandising, of which Donahue was chairman, would begin hearings in

Washington, D.C., early in December. Witnesses, the senator stated during

an October news conference, were already being subpoenaed. Others with

firsthand knowledge of the subject were invited to communicate with the

committee's staff.

When Celia heard the initial report, she telephoned Childers Quentin, the

Washington lawyer.

"That really is bad news," he affirmed. "I'm afraid that your company, and

probably you as its chief spokesman, Mrs. Jordan, are in for a rough time.

If you'll consider some advice, I urge you to begin preparing for the

hearings now, with help from legal counsel. I know how these things work,

and I assure you the senator's staff will dig up and place on view every

unsavory fact and rumor they can find."

If the word demagogue, or dimag6gos, had not been coined by the Ancient

Greeks around the time of Cleon, it would have been invented, out of

necessity, to define United States Senator Dennis Donahue. No more striking

example of the breed existed.

He was born to wealth and privilege but posed, and regularly described

himself, as "a son of the common people, truly one of

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them, and 'of the earth, earthy.' " No description could have been more

inaccurate but, like anything repeated often enough, it became accepted

and believed by many.

Another way the senator liked to be portrayed was as "a spokesman for the

poor and suffering; a foe of their oppressors." Whether, inside his soul,

he really cared about the poor and suffering, only Donahue himself knew.

Either way, he made good use of them.

I Anywhere in the nation, where there happened to be a newsworthy David

vs. Goliath struggle, Donahue hastened to the scene, stridently siding

with the Davids, even on occasions when-to thoughtful people-Goliath was

clearly in the right. "There are always more Davids, and they're useful

at election time," an aide once explained in a moment of unguarded

frankness.

Perhaps for the same reason, in any labor dispute Donahue unfailingly

supported organized labor, never favoring business even if labor excesses

were involved.

The labor and unemployment scenes were fertile fields for an ambitious

politician, he had discovered early. Which was why, at times of higher

than normal unemployment, the senator sometimes joined lines of

job-seekers outside employment offices, talking with them. Ostensibly

this was to "see for himself, and find out how the unemployed felt"-an

admirable aim to which no reasonable person could object. Interestingly,

though, the media always learned of the senator's intentions, so that TV

crews and press photographers awaited him. Thus his familiar face,

wearing its most soulful expression as he discoursed with the unemployed,

was on network news that night and in next day's newspapers.

As to other "common man" matters, the senator had discovered a recent,

fruitful one in his objections to first-class, tax-deductible air travel

by businessmen. If people wanted that kind of special privilege, he

argued, they should pay for it themselves, and not be subsidized by other

taxpayers. He introduced a Senate bill to make first-class air travel

non-deductible for tax purposes, though knowing full well the bill would

die somewhere in the legislative process.

Meanwhile, the amount of news coverage was remarkable. Keeping the idea

afloat, Senator Donahue made a point of traveling tourist class himself,

by air, informing the press before each journey. However, no first-class

passenger ever had as much- attention lavished on him as Donahue, back

in his tourist seat. One thing he failed to mention publicly was that the

bulk of his air travel was in

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the luxury of private aircraft--either chartered through a family trust

fund or made available by friends.

In appearance, Donahue was stocky, and had a cherubic face which made him

look younger than the forty-nine he was. He was overweight without being

fat, and referred to himself as "comfortably upholstered." Most of the

time, especially when on public view, he exuded friendliness, expressed

through an easy grin. His dress and hairstyle had a studied untidiness,

conforming with the "common man" image.

While objective observers saw Donahue for the opportunist he was, he was

genuinely liked by many people, not only members of his own party, but

political opponents. One reason was that he had a sense of humor and

could take a joke at his own expense. Another was that he was good

company, always interesting to be with.

The last made him attractive to some women, a situation Donahue had a

reputation for taking advantage of, even though he had a secure marriage

and was seen frequently in the company of his wife and teenage children.

This was the Senator Donahue who, shortly after 10 A.M. on the first

Tuesday of December, gaveled to order the Senate Subcommittee on Ethical

Merchandising, and announced that proceedings would begin with a short

statement of his own.

The committee was meeting in Room SR-253 of the Old Senate Office

Building, an impressive setting. The chairman and fellow senators sat

behind an elevated U-shaped desk, facing witnesses and the public. Three

large windows overlooked the Senate park and fountain. There was a marble

fireplace. Beige curtains had printed on them the Great Seal of the

United States.

"All of us here," Dennis Donahue began, reading from a prepared paper,

"are aware of the ghastly, worldwide tragedy involving children whose

brainpower and other normal functions have allegedly been destroyed by

a drug which, until recently, was prescribed and sold in this country.

The name of that drug is Montayne."

The senator was a strong, commanding speaker, and the hundred or so

people in the room were attentively silent. TV cameras were focused on

him. Besides Donahue, eight other senators were present-five from

Donahue's own majority party, and three from the minority. To the

chairman's left was Stanley Urbach, the committee's chief counsel, a

former district attorney from Boston. Behind

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the senators were fifteen members of the committee staff, some seated,

others standing.

"What these hearings will investigate," Donahue continued, "is the

responsibility for this series of events, and whether . . ."

Celia, who was sclieduled to be the first witness, listened as the opening