Strong Medicine by Arthur Hailey
“We’re getting a divorce.”
“Oh, no!” The shock and concern were genuine. Celia remembered her conviction, at Juliet’s and Dwight’s wedding, that theirs would be a strong marriage which would last.
“Everything was great until our baby was a few months old.” Juliet’s voice held the flatness of defeat. “Then, when we found out how he was, and why, nothing seemed to work anymore. Dwight was bitter at my father, even more than me. He wanted to sue Felding-Roth and Daddy personally, savaging them in court, handling the case himself. I could never have agreed to that.”
“No,” Celia said. “It would have torn everyone apart.”
“After that we tried to put things together for a while.” Juliet said sadly, “It didn’t work. We weren’t the same two people anymore. That’s when we decided on divorce.”
There seemed little to say, but Celia thought, How much sadness and tragedy, beyond the obvious, Montayne had wrought!
13
Of all the witnesses to appear before the Senate Subcommittee on Ethical Merchandising during its investigation of Montayne, Dr. Gideon Mace suffered the hardest time.
At one dramatic point during the cross-examination of Mace, Senator Donahue pointed an accusing finger and thundered in a voice matching Jehovah’s, “You were the one who, representing government and all the safeguards government has set, unleashed this scourge upon American womanhood and helpless unborn children. Therefore do not expect to leave this place unscathed, uncensured, or unburdened of a guilty conscience which should stay with you through all your days.”
What Mace had done a few minutes earlier, astounding all who heard, was admit that prior to recommending FDA approval of Montayne, he had had serious doubts about the drug, based on the earliest Australian report—doubts which never left him.
Urbach, conducting the cross-examination, had almost shouted, “Then why did you approve it?”
To which Mace answered, emotionally but lamely, “I … I just don’t know.”
The answer—the worst he could have given—produced from spectators in the hearing room an audible shock wave of disbelief and horror, and Donahue’s tirade a moment later.
Until that point, Mace had appeared—while plainly nervous—to be in control and able to account for his actions as the FDA reviewer who had overseen the Montayne new drug application. He had begun with a short statement of his own, describing the enormous amount of data submitted—125,000 pages in 307 volumes—followed by details of his various queries of that data, which resulted in delay. These queries, he stated, were eventually resolved to his satisfaction. He did not refer to the report from Australia; that only came out later, in response to questions.
It was during questioning, when the Australian matter was reached, that Mace became emotionally disturbed, then seemed suddenly to go to pieces. The awful admission—“I just don’t know”—had followed.
Despite an awareness of Mace’s weak position, Celia felt some sympathy for him, believing the load of blame on Mace was disproportionate. Later she spoke of it to Childers Quentin.
“It’s at times like this,” the lawyer commented, “that the British system of drug approvals is shown as clearly superior to ours.”
When Celia asked why, Quentin explained.
“In Britain a Committee on the Safety of Medicines advises the Minister of Health, and it’s the minister who grants a new drug license. Civil servants are among those counseling the minister, of course, but the minister has responsibility, so if anything goes wrong he, and he alone, must face Parliament and take the blame.
“A minister in the British government would not do anything as cowardly as we let happen here—allow a civil servant like Mace to carry the can and go to Capitol Hill, accepting blame. If we had the same strong moral system, the Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare would be up there, facing Donahue. But where is the Secretary now? Probably skulking in his office or conveniently out of town.”
There was another weakness in the United States system, Quentin believed.
“One effect of what you see happening is that FDA’s people become ultracautious, not wanting to be dragged before a congressional committee and maybe crucified. So instead of approving drugs which ought to be available, they sit on them and wait, sometimes far too long. Obviously some caution—a lot of caution—about new drugs is needed, but too much can be bad, delaying progress in medicine, depriving doctors, hospitals and patients of cures and other aid they ought to have.”
When Mace’s ordeal was finally over and a recess ordered, Celia was relieved. At the same time, because of her earlier sympathy, she got up and walked across to him.
“Dr. Mace, I’m Celia Jordan of Felding-Roth. I just wanted to say …”
She stopped, confounded and dismayed. At the mention of Felding-Roth, Mace’s features contorted into a look of blazing, savage hatred such as she had never seen before. Now, eyes glaring, teeth clenched, he hissed, “Stay away from me! Do you hear! Don’t ever, ever, come near me again!”
Before Celia could collect her thoughts and answer, Mace turned his back and walked away.
Quentin, close behind, asked curiously, “What was all that about?”
Shaken, she answered, “I don’t know. It happened when I used the company name. He seemed to go berserk.”
“So?” The lawyer shrugged. “Dr. Mace doesn’t like the manufacturer of Montayne. It’s understandable.”
“No. It’s something more than that. I’m sure.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Yet that expression of hatred stayed with Celia, troubling and puzzling her, for the remainder of the day.
Vincent Lord had stayed on in Washington for an extra day and Celia had a showdown with him about his testimony the previous afternoon. It took place in her hotel suite where she accused him bluntly of lying, and asked, “Why?”
To her surprise, the research director did not dispute the accusation and said contritely, “Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. I was nervous.”
“You didn’t appear to be nervous.”
“It doesn’t have to show. All those questions were getting to me. I wondered what that guy, Urbach, knew.”
“What could he know?”
Lord hesitated, groping for an answer. “Nothing more than we all do, I guess. Anyway, I figured that how I answered was the quickest way to end the questions and get out.”
Celia was unconvinced. “Why should you, more than anyone else, have to get out quickly? Okay, what’s happening is unpleasant for everyone, including me, and we all have consciences to answer. But nothing illegal was ever done about Montayne.” She stopped, a sudden thought striking her. “Or was it?”
“No! Of course not.” But the response was a second late and a shade too strong.
Some words of Sam’s, as they had once before, came back to Celia: “There’s … something you don’t know.”
She regarded Lord quizzically. “Vince, is there anything, anything at all, about Montayne and Felding-Roth that I’ve not been told?”
“I swear to you—nothing. What could there be?”
He was lying again. She knew it. She also knew that Sam’s secret, whatever it might be, had not died with him—that Lord had shared it.
But at the moment, she could go no further.
The subcommittee hearings lasted four days. There were other witnesses, among them two doctors—neurologists who had examined babies damaged by Montayne. One of the doctors had been to Europe to study cases there and showed slides of children he had seen.
Outwardly, there was nothing to suggest that the photographed children were other than normal. But most were lying down and, as the specialist explained, “Any but the smallest movement will always have to be made for them. Additionally, all these infants suffered serious brain damage during their embryonic stage.”
Some of the children’s faces were beautiful. One—older than the others—was a two-year-old boy. Supported by an unse
“This child,” the neurologist informed his silent audience, “will never think like you or me, and almost certainly will have no awareness of what is going on around him.”
The young face reminded Celia sharply of Bruce at the same age, sixteen years ago. Bruce, who had written only a few days before from Williams College, which he was now attending.
Dear Mom and Dad:
College is great! I love it here. What I like most is, they want you to think, think, think …
Celia was glad the lights had been lowered for the slides, then realized she was not alone in using a handkerchief to wipe her eyes.
Senator Donahue, when the doctor had finished, seemed to be having trouble with his voice. Yes, Celia thought, despite all his grandstanding and politics, he cares too.
Whatever softness there had been in Donahue had clearly vanished when, on the afternoon of the hearing’s fourth and final day, Celia was recalled as a witness. Even in exchanges with his own staff, the senator seemed impatient and irritable. Before Celia was called, Quentin whispered to her, “Be careful. The great man sounds as if he ate something during lunch which disagreed with him.”
Celia was questioned by subcommittee counsel Urbach concerning other testimony as it related to her own, earlier.
When queried about Vincent Lord’s assertion that he would have delayed Montayne had the responsibility been his, she replied, “We have since discussed that. My own recollection differs from Dr. Lord’s, but I see no point in disputing his statement, so let it stand.”
As to her visit to the headquarters of Citizens for Safer Medicine, Celia said, “There are differences in interpretation. I went to see Dr. Stavely on impulse and with friendly intentions, thinking we might learn something from each other. It did not turn out that way.”
Urbach asked, “Did you go there intending to talk about Montayne?”
“Not specifically.”
“But you did discuss Montayne?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hope to persuade Dr. Stavely and Citizens for Safer Medicine to cease, or moderate, their campaign to have the FDA’s approval of Montayne withdrawn?”
“I did not. The thought never occurred to me.”
“Was your visit an official one, on behalf of your company?”
“No. In fact, no one else at Felding-Roth knew of my intention to call on Dr. Stavely.”
In his seat beside Urbach, Donahue seemed displeased. He asked, “Are all those truthful answers, Mrs. Jordan?”
“All my answers have been truthful.” Anger seized her as she added, “Would you like me to take a polygraph test?”
Donahue scowled. “You are not on trial here.”
“Excuse me, Senator. I hadn’t noticed.”
Glowering, Donahue motioned for Urbach to continue.
The questioning moved on to the Felding-Roth Doctrine.
“You have heard Dr. Stavely describe the document as a ‘shameless piece of sales promotion,’” Urbach said. “Do you agree with that assessment?”
“Of course not. The doctrine has no objective other than the declared, straightforward one of charting future company policy.”
“Oh, really. Are you convinced, then, it will have no sales promotion value at all?”
Celia sensed a trap being sprung. She decided to be wary.
“I didn’t say that. But if—as an honest declaration—it eventually has that kind of value, it was not the original intention.”
Donahue was fidgeting. Urbach turned to him inquiringly. “Senator?”
The chairman seemed uncertain whether to intervene or not. Then he said dourly, “It all comes down to interpretation, doesn’t it? Whether we should believe a selfless, dedicated person like Dr. Stavely, or a spokeswoman for an industry which is so obsessed with profit that it regularly kills people or mutilates them, using drugs it knows in advance to be unsafe?”
There were gasps from spectators. Even Donahue’s aides looked uneasy, sensing he had gone too far.
Ignoring all else, Celia asked acidly, “Is that a question directed at me, Senator? Or is it what it appears to be: a totally biased, unsupported statement, revealing this hearing as a charade which reached its verdict before any of us arrived?”
Donahue pointed to Celia, as he had to Mace. “Let me warn the witness: there is an offense in this place called contempt of Congress.”
Not caring anymore, she shot back, “Don’t tempt me!”
The senator thundered, “I order you to explain that remark!”
Celia had progressed beyond all caution. Scarcely hearing a whispered plea from Quentin, and shaking off his hand, she leaped to her feet.
“I explain it by pointing out that you, who sit here in judgment of Montayne and Felding-Roth and FDA, are the same person who, two years ago, complained about a delay in approving Montayne, and described it as ridiculous.”
“That is a lie! Now you are in contempt, madam. I made no such statement.”
Celia felt a wondrous glow of satisfaction. Donahue had forgotten. It was hardly surprising—he made so many statements on so many subjects. And his aides, if they knew of what was said earlier, had failed to brief him. On both counts, Quentin had been wrong.
There was a folder in front of her which she had not opened until now. She had brought it, just in case. From it Celia produced a batch of press clippings stapled together. She chose the one on top.
“This is from the Washington Post of September 17, 1976.” She was still standing as she read:
“Referring to the drug Montayne, now under review at FDA and intended for women during pregnancy, Senator Dennis Donahue today described the FDA’s lack of a decision as ‘clearly ridiculous in the circumstances.’”
She added, “The same report was in other newspapers.”
Celia stopped. “And there is something else, Senator.” She selected another paper from her folder.
Donahue, who had flushed a deep brick red, reached for his gavel. As he did, Senator Jaffee on the minority side called out, “No, no! Let the lady finish. I want to hear.”
“You accused our industry of killing people,” Celia said, addressing Donahue. “I have here your voting record on tobacco subsidies ever since you entered Congress eighteen years ago. Every one of those years you voted ‘yes’ for subsidies. And with those votes, Senator, you have helped kill more people from lung cancer than the pharmaceutical industry has killed in most of its history.”
The last few words were lost in a tumult of confused shouting, some of it Donahue’s as he banged his gavel, declaring, “This hearing is adjourned.”
14
What started, for Celia, as a dismal experience ended—or so it seemed—as a personal triumph.
The same evening as her explosive clash with Senator Donahue, the television networks—ABC, CBS and NBC—carried almost the entire dramatic scene on their evening newscasts. As a critic subsequently wrote, “It was great theater, and TV at its immediate best.”
Newspapers, next day, accorded the story similar prominence. The New York Times headed its report:
A Spunky Lady Bests a Senator
The Chicago Tribune had it:
Sen. Donahue Crosses Jordan
Afterward Wishes He Hadn’t
There was other emphasis.
In this instance, it emerged, reporters—both for television and the press—had done their homework and some digging. As one explained it to Julian Hammond, who passed the information on to Celia, “Most of us found out about Mrs. Jordan’s resignation over Montayne, also her insistence when she came back that the drug be withdrawn without waiting for the FDA. What no one seemed sure of was how to use that bit of background, so we saved it. As it turned out, holding it proved more effective in the end.”
Thus, most reports after the showdown had Celia standing tall in two ways. First, both her departure from Felding
The Wall Street Journal began an editorial:
There is usually more honor in business than business receives credit for. How pleasant it is, then, to have some honor not only plainly shown but widely acknowledged.
A few days after her return from Washington, Celia and Julian Hammond were together in her office. The public affairs vice president had brought in, happily, a newly received batch of press clippings which he spread over Celia’s desk. Moments later, the arrival of Childers Quentin was announced.
Celia had not seen the Washington lawyer since their final day on Capitol Hill. His visit now was to review, with her, some more proposed settlements of Montayne lawsuits.
She told her secretary to send him in.
He looked tired and sounded moody, she thought as they greeted each other and she asked him to be seated.
Hammond said, “I was just leaving, Mr. Quentin.” He pointed to the news clippings. “We were savoring the spoils of victory.”
Quentin appeared unimpressed. “Is that what you call them?”
“Certainly.” The public affairs chief seemed surprised. “Wouldn’t you?”
The answer came grouchily. “If you think that, then you’re both shortsighted.”
There was a silence, after which Celia said, “All right, counselor. You’ve something on your mind. Tell us.”
“All of that,” Quentin motioned to the clippings, “as well as the TV coverage you’ve had, is heady stuff. But in a few weeks, most will be forgotten. The publicity will count for nothing.”
It was Hammond who asked, “What will count?”
“What will count is that this company—and you personally, Celia—have acquired a formidable enemy. I know Donahue. You made him look a fool. Worse, you did it on his own home ground, the Senate, and—as it turned out—with millions watching. He’ll never forgive that. Never. If, any time in the future, he can do harm to Felding-Roth or to you, Celia, he’ll do it and enjoy it. He may even look for ways, and a United States senator—as I told you once—has levers of power he can pull.”