Experiment Eleven

by Peter Pringle

  In preparing his counterattack in the spring of 1949, Waksman relied on the expert advice of Russell Watson, the sharp-witted lawyer for the Rutgers Foundation, and the media-savvy spin doctors of the Rutgers PR Department, always eager to defend their famous faculty member.

  Watson’s first concern was the question of the royalty payments. To lessen the impact, Waksman immediately volunteered to take a pay cut, slicing his royalty check in half, from 20 to 10 percent of whatever Rutgers received. In order to portray Waksman as a giver rather than a taker, the PR Department announced plans, which had been brewing for some months, for a new Institute of Microbiology to be built at Rutgers. According to the PR Department, it would be funded with a “gift” from Waksman of a million dollars. But this was a PR stunt. Waksman had not earned a million dollars in royalties from streptomycin to give away, and he had assigned the patent to the Rutgers Foundation; the rest of the royalty earnings belonged to Rutgers, not him.

  At the same time, Watson and Waksman launched a series of bizarre attempts to discredit Schatz, and made a crude bid to buy his silence. In the years to come, Waksman would wonder how he could have avoided the unpleasantness that was about to be unleashed. For now, he was determined to protect his reputation, and his fortune, at all costs.

  At Watson’s request, Waksman drafted a memo outlining why he, and not “Mr. Schatz,” should get the credit for the discovery of streptomycin. (He deliberately did not grant him the Ph.D. honorific of “Dr.”) The memo repeated much of what he had laid out in his letter to Schatz. He had been the director of the research lab. He had always given his graduate students—of whom Schatz had been only one—directions as to how to proceed once an organism had been isolated. They were his tools, he stressed, not yet fellow scientists.

  To reinforce his claim, Waksman now added a list of the occurrences when streptomycin was announced immediately after the discovery—“without the name of Schatz.” These included a public announcement from his lecture in New York on November 16, 1944, when he discussed the great possibilities of streptomycin; his first radio address on streptomycin, given in 1944; the first broad summary of streptomycin, published in 1945; and the radio address telling the story of streptomycin, “where you find outlined the emphatic points.” The name of Albert Schatz did not appear in connection with any of these special events, he triumphantly declared in the memo to Watson. Then he attached “Mr. Schatz’s PhD thesis,” which, he noted sarcastically, “must be read in the light of the general policy under which the graduate students submitting theses from our department are permitted to use data obtained by other students.” In other words, Albert Schatz’s thesis was not all his own work.

  WAKSMAN THEN SOUGHT the support of former students who had worked for him during the discovery of streptomycin. On March 14, Waksman held a conference of four former graduates in his office. Among those present were Elizabeth Bugie and Christine Reilly, who had worked in the upstairs lab in 1943 when Schatz was in the basement. The meeting was written up by Sam Epstein, the author of the 1946 Rutgers-sponsored book on streptomycin, Miracles from Microbes, and who was now a paid consultant to Waksman’s legal team. According to Epstein’s account of the meeting, all four former graduates agreed that

  Schatz made no unique contribution to streptomycin because (1) he was, like other members of the staff, carrying out Dr. Waksman’s directions; (2) doing no independent work; (3) the part done by Schatz could have been done by any of the other workers, had they been assigned to his task—as he could have done their work. In other words, the various assignments presented no special problems involving special skill or knowledge. Reilly and Bugie also agreed that Schatz had had closer contact with Waksman than other members of the staff, Bugie claiming Schatz’s (four times a day) trips up to Dr. Waksman’s office from the basement laboratory becoming something of a joke among members of the department.

  Next, Waksman asked Schatz’s former employers about his “personality” and work habits. Waksman already knew that Schatz had had difficulty in those first years trying to find the right work for himself, because Schatz had written him several times. Those early misfits—the way Schatz and his job had not matched and his tendency to be a loner—could be very useful to Waksman now in portraying Schatz as somewhat unbalanced and even unreliable.

  He asked Dr. Chester Stock, head of the chemotherapy research division at Sloan-Kettering, for “a confidential opinion of Dr. Schatz’s personality, especially his relations with the other workers both in your group and the other divisions of the Institute during his stay at Sloan-Kettering.”

  Without mentioning his confrontation with Schatz, he wrote, “Certain matters have come up recently which have made me quite suspicious of some of his activities, both here and in the other laboratories where he has been since he left us in 1946.”

  Waksman said he was “trying to collect, therefore, information concerning his associations with workers in other Institutions.” He asked Dr. Stock for “as frank an expression as you can concerning him, his work and other matters that may have a bearing upon his personality and his ability to get along with other people. All this information will be kept highly confidential.”

  But Waksman had no intention of keeping the information he gleaned confidential. He was preparing to use it in court.

  Dr. Stock was ready, even eager, to oblige. By return mail, he wrote that if Schatz had not left to go to C. B. van Niel’s, “we would have found it necessary to request him to leave,” but he did not explain why.

  Stock admitted that he had allowed Schatz to spend from “one fourth to one third of his time on research of his own choosing.” But that meant Schatz “worked upon everything but the problem he came here to do ... He processed [sic] with the requested studies in an indifferent fashion and allowed himself to be easily stopped by the problems encountered. Some of the problems are not easily handled, if at all, but Dr. Schatz failed to show initiative and enthusiasm in trying to overcome the difficulties. I believe it was due to his great interest in his other studies.”

  Yet Waksman already knew that Schatz had felt underemployed at Sloan-Kettering, mostly because the labs had not been ready. Out of boredom, he had taken Russian lessons at Columbia. They had discussed this in letters, and indeed, Waksman had advised him to leave and go to California and van Niel.

  As to Schatz’s personality, Dr. Stock said that Schatz totally lacked a “team spirit.” In seminars and other discussions his questions and comments were seldom “made in a friendly spirit.” His attitude at times might well be summarized as “anti-social,” and he had “rapid changes of interest.” This was “possibly” merely an indication of a keen, active mind, “but I have wondered if it might not be indicative of a certain instability which is also reflected in his somewhat anti-social attitude and actions.”

  Waksman also contacted Gilbert Dalldorf, the director of the Department of Health in Albany and Schatz’s first employer after Rutgers. Dalldorf wrote, “I personally was very fond of Dr. Schatz and was disappointed that he left. He was interested in opportunities for advanced study.” However, he added that “it was only after he left that I learned that he had been malicious toward one of the members of staff in a rather irresponsible manner. Perhaps this was an aberration that will never again repeat itself.” There was no further explanation.

  FOR HIS AGE and relative inexperience, Schatz, with the encouragement of his parents and the help of Uncle Joe, proved to be a surprisingly formidable adversary. His strength came from one main source: He knew that truth was on his side. He was not as concerned as Waksman by the prospect of a lawsuit; he had no money to lose. He took on his new mission with the same determination he had displayed when he faced the daunting task of finding the microbe that could kill TB.

  His first move was to inform his former colleague Doris Jones. She was doing her Ph.D. at Berkeley, about a hundred miles up the coast from Albert and Vivian in Pacific Grove. Schatz sent her a note about his exchange of
letters with Waksman, and she immediately reassured him of her total support. There were “no skeletons hidden in any of her closets concerning his part in the discovery of streptomycin,” she said. It was the work of Schatz and Schatz alone, toiling in the basement of the Soil Microbiology Department.

  “At no time,” she wrote, “have I ever regarded myself as being in any way instrumental to your isolation of the two organisms ... If Dr. Waksman now claims I had as much to do with it as you or even Chris [Christine Reilly] or Betty [Bugie], he is entirely mistaken ... I don’t know why all this to do over who did what at this late date, for you know as well as I the story behind the story.

  “I felt as strongly as any that your credit—at least in so far as the isolation and initial studies goes—was entirely discouraged and for reasons Dr. Waksman and only Dr. Waksman can answer.”

  There had been many times, she said, when she had wanted to “burst out to people and tell them what I knew had happened—from my viewpoint—but I have for the most part held my tongue because I knew that it would serve no purpose.” And she knew how bad Schatz had felt about the lack of credit from Waksman. “I can appreciate and sympathize with your disappointment in seeing so much of your work incorporated into the glory of Dr. Waksman and your chances of gaining recognition falling by the wayside.” It must have been especially hard because Schatz had been, as she put it, “more or less of an idol-worshipper” when it came to Selman Waksman. “I can see how that faith you had in him must have been terrifically shattered ... [You] expected that right would be done because it was promised.”

  She had found it difficult at first to see how Waksman could take the credit without a guilty conscience, but “as the years rolled by,” she had accepted his contention that he had been pushing and directing and consulting in many ways with many people to make the development possible.

  Oddly, Waksman was courting her now, she revealed. After having had no help from him in the way of grants for three years, she had received a letter asking if she would be interested in another position at Rutgers. She saw the offer as an attempt to attract her support in the coming legal battle with Schatz, and she had rejected it.

  A second ally turned out to be Seymour Hutner of Haskins Laboratories in New York. Schatz had spent time with him while he was at Sloan-Kettering. When Schatz told him about never having been paid for signing over the patents, Hutner replied, “There’s nothing very surprising in your imbroglio with Waksman, except that I thought he was cleverer than to get himself on record with such an arrant swindle.” Hutner warned, “When writing to the Rutgers boys, a good attitude might be a frigid detachment—you play into the hands of people like that if you lose your temper.” Hutner advised Schatz to be his “old self ... contumacious, rambunctious, irreverent, sacrilegious, heretical. Show me.”

  IN THE LATE spring of 1949, the Rutgers PR Department launched its own offensive. In a gesture of astonishing generosity, Professor Waksman, it announced, had “turned over the patent for streptomycin for the establishment of a new Institute of Microbiology at Rutgers.” The headlines blared: “Waksman Rejects Chance for Wealth” and “Streptomycin Income Goes to Rutgers for New Institute.” The stories came from the Rutgers press release, and they were wrong. Certainly, the new institute was Waksman’s idea, but the money was to come principally from the streptomycin royalties to the Rutgers Foundation, not out of the percentage of the royalties in Waksman’s pocket. Such details didn’t bother the alumni association, however. The class of 1948 received a solicitation for a “fiver or better.” “Remember, Waksman gave a million!” it read. “What are you going to give?”

  In its press release, Rutgers did not mention Schatz, but the Passaic Herald-News, Schatz’s hometown paper, never missed an opportunity to promote its local hero. “A former Passaic man participated in the discovery that is making the new institute possible,” it noted. He was “Dr. Albert Schatz, who worked at Rutgers under Dr. Waksman and who is recognized as the co-discoverer of streptomycin.” In the end, the Rutgers promotion backfired. When Schatz read about the “one million dollar gift,” not knowing any better, he took it seriously. For him this was the first indication of the size of the streptomycin royalties gleaned by Waksman behind his back. Schatz’s father, Julius, cabled his son in Pacific Grove: “Choose a lawyer.”

  Uncle Joe agreed, but he also had another idea. He enlisted the help of a friend who ran a Manhattan public relations company, M. D. Bromberg and Associates. The owner, Max Bromberg, “represented international companies,” and he was more than a match for the Rutgers PR team.

  Bromberg sent identical letters to several current and former members of Waksman’s staff at the Department of Soil Microbiology. The letter began, “I have recently been in correspondence with a Dr. Albert Schatz at the Hopkins Marine Station, Pacific Grove, California, concerning his writing for publication in a popular periodical an article on ‘The Discovery of Streptomycin.’”

  Dr. Schatz “has assured us that he is one of the discoverers of streptomycin.” He had sent Bromberg a number of publications to “substantiate his claim.” These included the original 1944 scientific papers and a copy of U.S. Patent No. 2,449,866, awarded in September 1948 and naming Schatz and Waksman as codiscoverers.

  “Being laymen with respect to the field of science,” Bromberg continued, “we are unable to evaluate Dr. Schatz’s claim that he is one of the discoverers of streptomycin in view of the confusing situation that our radio and press mention only Dr. Waksman as the discoverer.

  “In order that we may arrive at a fair decision regarding this matter, we should appreciate it if you would be kind enough to give us your opinion as to: (1) exactly what role did Dr. Schatz play in the discovery of streptomycin and also (2) whether you consider him to be one of the discoverers of this drug.”

  Those who received the Bromberg letter took it seriously. One of the first to reply was a former associate professor of plant pathology at Rutgers from 1938 to 1947, Dr. P. P. Pirone. He was now at the New York Botanical Garden, in the Bronx. Pirone wrote, “I suppose (as is the case with most research institutions), Dr. Waksman put him to work on the particular organism which later was found to produce streptomycin. The fact remains, however, that Dr. Schatz should be credited, at least, as co-discoverer of this chemical.” Pirone cited as evidence the streptomycin patent. Additional proof was Schatz’s doctoral thesis, for which Pirone had been one of the final examiners. Pirone recalled, correctly, that some earlier, popular stories had given Schatz credit but that “as time rolled on and as the discovery assumed greater and greater importance, his name was dropped from all radio and news releases.”

  “I have always felt that Dr. Schatz was treated very unfairly in the whole situation,” he concluded, and he hoped that “some day proper credit” would be given to him. “He expressed his disappointment to me personally several times and I always told him ‘the truth would out’ some day.”

  Doris Jones also received the Bromberg letter. It was “an absolute fact,” she said in her reply, that Schatz had been “solely responsible for the isolation of the first two streptomycin-producing strains ... One of these he obtained from the soil; the other from a plate prepared by myself from a swab of a chicken’s throat.”

  She said that Schatz had “tested countless cultures before by a lucky stroke of chance he found one which looked promising. I say ‘chance’ for the soil and other materials contain great numbers of microbes, any of which may or may not possess the properties essential for the production of an effective antibiotic agent.” As far as Jones was concerned, “there would have been no streptomycin without a Dr. Schatz—at least at that time. The fact that relatively few other active strains have been found since then give active support to the element of chance in the isolation of the culture.”

  The techniques used by Dr. Schatz were “not original,” she said. “They had been known for years.” They were “but a tool to the search, just as a Geiger counter might be to the
discovery of uranium.” It was due to Schatz’s “zealous persistence,” his attempts “to test as many cultures as humanly possible ... that he finally pulled S. griseus out of the microbial grab-bag.” She added, “Had it not been for him, my plate containing one of the first two strains might have been tossed away.” Schatz was so good at the lab-bench research that he “carried on independently” of the teachers. His contribution was “definitely fundamental” to the discovery, and she personally felt that “the radio and press—and even scientific publications—had neglected to give him due credit.”

  Others who received the Bromberg letter strove for balance, like Kent Wight, a former Waksman graduate student who had been in the Department of Soil Microbiology at the time of the discovery. He said that Schatz “is one of the discoverers of streptomycin,” but he did not wish to minimize the part Dr. Waksman had played. “Each person who had worked with Waksman over the years had made some contribution.” In another letter, Boyd Woodruff suggested that Bromberg should contact Waksman directly. “He is always happy to give credit to his associates on his research projects.” The dean of the Rutgers College of Agriculture, Dr. William Martin, said that Schatz was indeed one of the discoverers, but the “original thinking” behind the discovery had been contributed by Dr. Waksman, not by Dr. Schatz. He suggested that any article by Schatz should be peer reviewed before publication.

  WITHIN A FEW days, Waksman began receiving his own copies of the Bromberg letter, forwarded by loyal staff members. He was furious. He wrote on top of one, “Malicious, I might say, if not sinister.” But Waksman then took the dirty game to a new level. From seeing previous letters signed by Schatz as Dr. J. J. Martin, and assuming that “Dr. Martin” was a Schatz family member, Waksman was sure the Bromberg letter was a trick, but who were Bromberg and Associates?