Strong Medicine

by Arthur Hailey

  “I see.”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t say this. But frankly, Celia, if I were in your position I’d say, ‘To hell with ’em all!’ Then I’d walk out of here—right now.”

  She shook her head negatively. “If I did, someone else would say, ‘How like a woman!’ Besides, I agreed to come back to do a cleanup job, and so I will. When it’s finished, though … well, let’s wait until then.”

  The conversation reminded her of one she had had years before with Sam, when Celia had been made assistant director of Sales Training instead of director, because—as Sam expressed it at the time—“There are some in the company who can’t swallow quite that much. Not yet.”

  Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose, she quoted silently to herself. The more things change, the more they remain the same.

  “Do you feel terribly hurt?” Andrew asked at dinner.

  Celia thought before answering. “Yes, I suppose so. The injustice gets to me. Yet in another way, strangely, I find I don’t care as much as I would have a few years ago.”

  “That’s what I thought. Would you like me to tell you why?”

  She laughed. “Please do, Doctor.”

  “It’s because you’re a fulfilled woman, my love. Fulfilled in every way. You’re the best wife any man could have, and a superb mother, and you’re smart, responsible and competent at work, and can run rings around most men. You’ve proved a thousand times how good you are. So you don’t, anymore, need the trappings and the titles because everybody who knows you knows your worth—including those chauvinist boobs on the Felding-Roth board, not one of whom is worth your little finger. That’s why what happened today shouldn’t cause you a second’s anguish, because those who made the decision are the losers, and sooner or later they’ll find out.”

  Andrew stopped. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make a speech. I just wanted to state some truths and maybe cheer you up.”

  Celia got up from her chair and threw her arms around him. As she kissed him she said, “As, indeed, you have.”

  Winnie’s baby—a healthy son—was born the following day. The event delighted not only Winnie and Hank, but the entire Jordan family, Lisa phoning Winnie enthusiastically from California, Bruce from Pennsylvania.

  Winnie, as usual, took everything in stride. “Looks like I ’it the jackpot,” she contended happily from her hospital bed. “Now p’raps ’Ank an’ me should try fer twins.”

  9

  Vincent Lord was a changed man. He radiated energy and happiness.

  After almost twenty years of scientific dedication to a single idea, of pursuing a dream which few other than himself believed in—designing that drug to quench free radicals—the dream had at last come true. The decades of dedication were about to be rewarded.

  What was now feasible, needing only the completion of trials on animals and humans to satisfy the law’s requirements, was a drug which would make other drugs, hitherto dangerous, beneficial and safe.

  Hexin W—Lord’s provisional name for his creation had, so far, persisted—was being discussed avidly within the industry, although full details remained a Felding-Roth secret. Other pharmaceutical firms, which kept surveillance on patent filings and understood the implications of this one, were already letting their interest be known.

  As the head of a major competitive company expressed it in a telephone call to Celia, “Naturally we wish our own researchers had discovered what Dr. Lord appears to have done, but since they didn’t, we want to be first in line when you people are ready to talk deals.”

  Of equal interest was that the new drug would be usable in either of two ways. It could be included as an active ingredient when other drugs were formulated—that is, mixed in during manufacturing. Or it could be made up as a separate tablet, to be taken with other medication.

  Thus, Hexin W would be an “across-the-board” drug. Expressed another way, it was a drug-scientist’s drug, to be used by developers of other pharmaceutical products, and marketed, not by one company, but by many. The other companies would operate under license, with royalties—presumably enormous—being paid to Felding-Roth.

  Among principal beneficiaries from Hexin W would be arthritis and cancer patients. Many strong potions for those conditions already existed, but were prescribed sparingly, or not at all, because of dangerous side effects. With Hexin W, those effects and dangers would be removed or markedly reduced.

  Vince Lord explained to Celia and several others during a sales planning session what would happen with arthritis. He used non-scientific language.

  “Sufferers get inflammation in the joints which causes immobility and pain. It occurs when the disease condition generates free radicals which, in turn, attract leukocytes—white blood cells. The leukocytes pile up, creating and worsening the inflammation.

  “But Hexin W,” Lord continued, “stops free-radical production, so leukocytes are not attracted. Result—there is no inflammation, and pain disappears.”

  The effect of Lord’s statement was such that several of his listeners clapped their hands. He flushed with pleasure.

  Lesser ailments, he added, would also have new choices of treatment, because of Hexin W.

  The big breakthrough with his research had come to Vince Lord some three months earlier. It marked a gloriously satisfying victory in a laborious, wearying process of trial and error—a process frequently heartbreaking and strewn with repeated failures.

  The process itself was another measure of Lord’s achievement because nowadays, by some, it was regarded as outdated.

  Expressed simply: the system developed new drugs from old drugs, making use of organic chemistry. Beginning with an existing active compound, the drug’s chemistry was modified, then modified again … and again, and again, and again … if necessary to infinity. Always, the search was for a new effective drug, derived from the old, and with no, or low, toxicity. Looking back, Lord remembered how, two years ago, after trying nearly a thousand different compounds—all unsuccessful—he vowed he would never give up.

  A differing, newer approach—employed by Sir James Black, the distinguished developer of SmithKline’s Tagamet—was to decide which biological disorder might be corrected pharmaceutically, then create a totally new drug. Martin Peat-Smith, at Harlow, was using genetic methods which were newer still. However, even the last two involved years of experimentation and could end in failure, though when they succeeded, revolutionary new drugs resulted.

  But Lord had decided the older method was more suited to his purpose and temperament and, by God!, he reminded himself, he had been right.

  What caused his more immediate happiness was the small army of specialists—chemists, biologists, physicians, clinical pharmacologists, physiologists, toxicologists, veterinarians, pathologists, and statisticians—who, at Felding-Roth, were working together, exercising their talents to bring Hexin W to its final form.

  Even so, because of a complex testing program in animals and humans, it would be another two years before an application for general use of Hexin W could be made to FDA.

  While not saying so aloud, Lord had been pleased to hear of the setback to Peat-Smith’s Peptide 7 program. This, because a two-year delay at Harlow meant Hexin W might now be on the market first.

  Lord’s upbeat mood had even caused him to take an initiative in making peace with Celia. Soon after her return to the company, he went to her office. Offering congratulations on her new appointment, he told her, “I’m glad to see you back.”

  “For that matter,” Celia said, “congratulations to you. I’ve just read the report on Hexin W.”

  “I expect it to be recognized as one of the major discoveries of the century,” Lord acknowledged matter-of-factly. Even a certain mellowing with the passage of years had not dimmed his appreciation of his own worth.

  In his conversation with Celia, Lord did not choose to admit she had been right about Montayne, and himself wrong. His reasoning was that she had merely made a lucky, unscientifi
c guess; therefore she deserved no more intellectual credit than did the holder of a winning lottery ticket.

  Despite the tentative rapport with Celia, he was relieved when, after Sam Hawthorne’s death, she did not become president. That would have been too much to live with. For once, he thought, the board of directors had shown some sense.

  As the world entered the new year of 1978, Hexin W continued to be a strong center of hope at Felding-Roth.

  The appointment of Preston O’Halloran as Felding-Roth president pro tem made little difference, if any, to Celia’s responsibilities and day-by-day routine. The day after the special board meeting, O’Halloran had been open and frank with her.

  They met—just the two of them—in the president’s office suite. The sight of a new tenant in quarters which until so recently had been occupied by Sam was a poignant reminder to Celia of her grief at Sam’s death, which she still had difficulty accepting.

  Speaking carefully with his well-bred New England accent, the elderly O’Halloran said, “I would like you to know, Mrs. Jordan, that I was not one of those adamantly opposed to your becoming president. I’ll be equally honest in admitting I did not support your candidacy, but would have gone along with a majority in your favor, had that been possible. I even went so far as to inform the other board members of that.”

  “I’m interested to know you regard that as ‘going far,’” Celia acknowledged, with a touch of acidity she could not resist.

  “Touché!” The old man smiled and she thought: at least he has a sense of humor.

  “All right, Mr. O’Halloran,” she continued briskly, “so both of us know where we stand, and I appreciate that. What I need from you, in addition, are instructions on how you wish me to operate, and our division of duties.”

  “My close friends call me Snow.” Again a wry smile. “The name originates from a misspent youth when I did a great deal of skiing. I’d be glad to have you use it, and perhaps I may call you Celia.”

  “Okay—you Snow, me Celia,” Celia said. “Now let’s lay out how we work.” She knew she was being bitchy, but didn’t care.

  “That’s easy. I would like you to carry on exactly as you have until now—and I am aware that is with great competence and resourcefulness.”

  “And you, Snow? What will you be doing while I’m being competent and resourceful?”

  He chided her gently, “The president does not have to account to the executive vice president, Celia. It is the other way around. However, so there is no misunderstanding between us, let me concede that my knowledge of the pharmaceutical business is in no way comparable with yours, in fact far less. What I do know a great deal about—almost certainly more than you—is company finance. It is an area needing special attention at this time. Therefore reviewing money matters is how I shall spend most of the six months, or less, I will be occupying this chair.”

  Celia admitted to herself that she had been dealt with courteously and with patience. She said, more pleasantly than earlier, “Thank you, Snow, I’ll do my best to keep up my end of that arrangement.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  The new president did not come into the office every day, but when he did he developed a financial master plan for Felding-Roth, covering the next five years, which Seth Feingold described to Celia as “a gem, a real contribution.”

  The comptroller added, “The old codger may need a cane to walk, but not for his mind, which is still sharp as a razor blade.”

  At the same time, Celia came to appreciate O’Halloran herself—his support of everything she did, and his unfailing courtesy. He was truly, in an outmoded description she remembered, “a gentleman of the old school.”

  Consequently she was sorry, in the last week of January, 1978, to learn of his confinement to bed with influenza, and genuinely sad a week later when Snow O’Halloran died of a massive coronary occlusion.

  This time there was no two-week delay in appointing a successor. The matter was settled the day after O’Halloran’s funeral.

  No viable outside candidate had appeared, even though the president pro tempore had served more than four of his agreed six months.

  There was only one possible choice and the board of directors made it, taking less than fifteen minutes to decide what should have been decided the previous September: Celia Jordan would become president and chief executive officer of Felding-Roth.

  10

  The raw idea had come to her on the flight back from Hawaii last August. A remark of Andrew’s had triggered it.

  He had said to Celia, Lisa and Bruce: “I don’t believe a drug should be taken for anything that is just uncomfortable or self-limiting.” The subject was pregnancy. The Montayne disaster, fresh in all their minds, had prompted the remark.

  Andrew had added, advising his own daughter, “When your time comes, don’t you take anything … And if you want a sound, healthy baby—no liquor, wine, or smoking either.”

  Those words were the foundation of what Celia was now ready to propose as a fixed company policy. She had a name for what she planned: the Felding-Roth Doctrine.

  She had considered bringing the idea forward sooner, during her time as executive vice president, but decided against it for fear of being overruled.

  Even after her appointment as president she waited, biding her time, knowing that what she intended would require approval of the board of directors.

  Now, seven months later, in September, she was prepared to move.

  Bill Ingram, recently promoted to vice president of sales and marketing, had helped with the wording of the Felding-Roth Doctrine, of which the draft introduction read:

  FELDING-ROTH PHARMACEUTICALS INCORPORATED

  solemnly pledges:

  Article 1: This company will never research, manufacture, distribute, or market directly or indirectly, any pharmaceutical product intended for use by women during pregnancy and aimed at treating any natural, self-limiting condition, such as nausea and sickness, relating to a normal pregnancy.

  Article 2: Felding-Roth will actively advocate, in all ways open to it, that no pregnant woman shall have prescribed for her, or shall obtain and use directly, during a normal pregnancy, any such product as described in Article 1 and originating elsewhere.

  Article 3: Felding-Roth will advise pregnant women to avoid the use of all prescription and non-prescription drugs—its own and those of other companies—throughout their pregnancies, except those drugs prescribed by a physician for exceptional medical needs.

  Article 4: Felding-Roth will further actively advocate that pregnant women abstain, throughout their pregnancies, from the use of alcoholic beverages, including wine, and from cigarette and other smoking, including the inhalation of smoke from other persons …

  There was more. Another reference to physicians was included—in part to uphold the advisory-trust relationship between doctor and patient; also as a sop to doctors who, as prescribers, were Felding-Roth’s best customers. There were references to special conditions, such as medical emergencies, where the use of drugs might be essential or overriding.

  As Bill Ingram put it, “The whole thing makes more sense, Celia, than anything I’ve read in a long time. Someone in this business should have done it years ago.”

  Ingram, who had voted against Celia and for Montayne at the critical meeting prior to her resignation, had been penitent and uneasy at the time of her return to Felding-Roth. Several weeks later he had admitted, “I’ve been wondering if, after all that happened, you want me working here at all.”

  “The answer is yes,” Celia told him. “I know how you work, also that I can trust and rely on you. As to what’s past, you made a mistake in judgment, which all of us do at times. It was bad luck that it turned out to be a mistake with awful consequences, but you weren’t alone, and I imagine you’ve learned from the experience.”

  “Oh, have I learned! And suffered, too, wishing I’d had the intelligence and guts to stick with you.”

  “Don’t n
ecessarily stick with me,” she advised. “Not even now. There’ll be times when I’ll be wrong, and if you think I am, I want to hear about it.”

  After Celia’s elevation to the presidency, there was a restructuring of duties, along with several promotions. Bill Ingram’s was among them. He was already doing well in his new senior post.

  Celia, now a full-fledged member of the board of directors, prepared carefully for the meeting which would consider her proposed Felding-Roth Doctrine.

  Bearing in mind what Sam once told her about his problems with the board, and remembering the resistance there had been, years before, to Sam’s controversial plan for a British research institute, Celia expected opposition.

  To her surprise, there was little, almost none.

  One member of the board—Adrian Caston, who was chairman of a financial trust group and a cautious thinker—did ask, “Is it wise or necessary to block ourselves off permanently from a field of medicine which, at some future time, might see new and safer developments of a highly profitable nature?”

  They were meeting in the boardroom at company headquarters, and Celia answered, looking down the long walnut table, “Mr. Caston, I believe that is exactly what we should do. We should do it because we will also be blocking ourselves, and others who succeed us here, from the temptation, the chance, and the risk of involving this company with another Montayne.”

  There was an attentive silence as she continued. “Memories fade quickly. Many young women now at the age of motherhood do not remember Thalidomide, indeed have never heard of it. In a few more years, that will be equally true of Montayne, at which point pregnant women will again take anything their doctors prescribe. But if it happens, let us have no part of it, remembering that the entire history of influencing, by drugs, the normal course of pregnancy has been burdened with disaster.