“Not entirely, Mr. Urbach. You called them adverse reports. What they were—at that point—were allegations which had been investigated by Laboratoires Gironde-Chimie and declared unsubstantiated.”
The lawyer made an impatient gesture. “If we are quibbling about words, let me ask you this: Were the reports favorable?”
“No, and perhaps I can save us time. In the pharmaceutical business ’adverse reports’ has a specific meaning. In that sense, those from France and Spain were not.”
Urbach sighed. “Would the witness settle for ‘critical reports?’”
“I suppose so.” Celia already sensed this was going to be difficult, and that she was in for a hard time.
Senator Donahue cut in. “The point counsel is making is perfectly clear. Were you people—your company—aware of those three reports prior to Montayne’s being placed on sale here?”
“Yes, we were.”
“Yet you still went ahead and marketed the drug?”
“Senator, with any new drug there are always negative opinions. All of them must be examined carefully and assessed …”
“Please, Mrs. Jordan. I am not asking for a lecture on the practices of the pharmaceutical industry. My question requires a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ I repeat: Knowing about those reports, did your company go ahead and sell that drug to pregnant American women?”
Celia hesitated.
“We are waiting, Mrs. Jordan.”
“Yes, Senator, but …”
“The answer ‘yes’ will be sufficient.” Donahue nodded to Urbach. “Carry on.”
“Would it not have been better and more prudent,” the subcommittee counsel asked, “for Felding-Roth to have done more investigating of those reports and delayed the launching of Montayne?”
Celia thought wryly: that had been her argument which, later, caused her to resign. Remembering her role here, she answered, “With hindsight, yes. Of course. But at the time, the company was proceeding on scientific advice.”
“Whose advice?”
She considered before answering. It had, of course, been Lord’s advice, but she wanted to be fair. “Our director of research, Dr. Lord, but he was acting on what seemed authentic data from Gironde-Chimie.”
“We will ask Dr. Lord about that later. Meanwhile …” Urbach consulted notes. “Did the decision to go ahead, and not to delay Montayne despite those adverse … excuse me, critical reports have any relation to anticipated profits?”
“Well, profits are always a factor …”
“Mrs. Jordan! Yes or no?”
Inwardly, Celia sighed. What was the good? Every question was a trap, a contrived progression toward a preconceived conclusion.
She conceded, “Yes.”
“Were those profits critical to your company?”
“It was believed so, yes.”
“What were those profits expected to be?”
The remorseless, loaded questions continued. Yet, she found time to ask in a corner of her mind: Were they so unfairly loaded when touching so very close to truth? Wasn’t there a time, not long ago, when she would have asked those same questions herself? And wasn’t it ironic that she was appearing here in place of Sam Hawthorne who ought to have had these questions put to him, but was dead? For the first time since Hawaii, she was reminded of Andrew’s cautioning words: “If you go back … the Montayne mess and responsibility will rub off on you. “As happened so often, Andrew had been right …”
Her ordeal was interrupted by a lunch recess, Senator Donahue informing her, “Mrs. Jordan, you may stand down, but please be available for more questions later.” The senator then announced, “The next witness after lunch will be Dr. Vincent Lord.”
21
Quentin and Celia ate a sandwich lunch and drank coffee from a thermos in the rear of a limousine which had been waiting for them outside the Old Senate Office Building. “It’s faster and more private than we’d get elsewhere,” Quentin had said when announcing the arrangement. Now they were parked on Jefferson Drive, not far from the Smithsonian, with the uniformed chauffeur pacing to and fro outside.
Vincent Lord had been invited for the limousine lunch, but declined, having made other arrangements.
“You’re being made to look bad, and I mean bad personally,” Quentin said, after a while. “How do you feel about that?”
Celia grimaced. “How would anyone feel? I don’t like it.”
“What’s happening is a tactic.” The lawyer sipped his steaming coffee. “Any investigation of this type, which is a political exercise, requires a showcase villain. Representing your company, you happen to be the one available. But I could do something to change that.”
“Do what?”
“Let me explain some background first. Donahue and his staff know about your stand within the company against Montayne, and your resignation because of it. There’s no way they wouldn’t know; they’re thorough people. They probably know, too, the terms you insisted on when coming back, and they’re certainly aware of the Felding-Roth Doctrine, and that you were its author.”
“Then why …”
“Hear me out. Also, try to look at it their way.” Quentin nodded to a group of passing tourists who had peered into the limousine, then he turned his attention back to Celia. “Why should Donahue’s people concern themselves with bolstering your image? And if they did, who else could they focus on critically? Certainly not a dead man; he’s beyond their reach.”
“I suppose I understand all that, and I know you said this is a political exercise,” Celia admitted. “Just the same, isn’t the truth important at all?”
“If I were a lawyer on the other side,” Quentin said, “I’d answer your question this way: Yes, truth is always important. But concerning Montayne, the truth lies in what the company—Felding-Roth—did, because it marketed Montayne and is responsible. As to you individually—yes, you did resign. But you also came back and, in doing so, accepted your share of responsibility for Montayne, even after the fact.” Quentin smiled grimly. “Of course, I could argue the whole thing the other way and be equally convincing.”
“Lawyers!” Celia’s laugh was hollow. “Do they ever believe in anything?”
“One tries to. Though perpetual ambivalence is a hazard of the profession.”
“You said there was something you could do. Just what?”
“On the subcommittee,” Quentin pointed out, “are several minority members friendly to your industry. There’s also a minority counsel. None of them have spoken up yet, and probably won’t, because doing so might suggest they were in favor of Montayne—an impossible position. But what one of them will do, if I request it as a favor, is have questions asked to bring out your personal record and make you look good instead of awful.”
“If that happened, would it help Felding-Roth?”
“No. Probably the reverse.”
Celia said resignedly, “In that case, let’s leave it alone.”
“If you insist,” the lawyer said sadly. “It’s your head, and your blood on it.”
Vincent Lord took over the microphone reserved for witnesses when the afternoon session began.
Once more, Urbach led off the questioning, having Lord first describe his scientific background. The subcommittee counsel then proceeded through the early stages of Montayne, Lord responding to all questions in a confident, relaxed manner.
After about fifteen minutes, Urbach asked, “When Montayne was close to being marketed in the United States, and those reports from Australia, France and Spain were known within your company, did you recommend a delay?”
“No, I did not.”
“Why was that?”
“A delay at that point would have been a management decision. As director of research, my involvement was solely scientific.”
“Please explain that.”
“Certainly. My responsibility was to provide a scientific evaluation of the information then available, and supplied by Laboratoires Gironde-Chimie. On th
at basis I had no reason to recommend delay.”
Urbach persisted. “You used the phrase ‘scientific evaluation.’ Apart from science, did you have any feeling, any instinct, about those three reports?”
For the first time Lord hesitated before answering. “I might have had.”
“You might have had, or did have?”
“Well, I was uneasy. But, again, there wasn’t anything scientific.”
Celia, who had been relaxed while listening, suddenly paid closer attention.
Urbach was continuing. “If I understand you correctly, Dr. Lord, you were in something of a dilemma?”
“Well, yes.”
“A dilemma between science on the one hand and, on the other, your ‘unease’—I am using your word—as a human being? Is that correct.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“It is not a matter of guessing, Dr. Lord, nor what I would say. It is what you would say.”
“Well … all right, I would say it.”
“Thank you.” The subcommittee counsel glanced down at his notes. “And for the record, Doctor, after your reading of those reports we spoke of, did you advocate the marketing of Montayne?”
“No, I did not.”
The series of replies jolted Celia. Lord was lying. Not only had he supported going ahead with Montayne, he had voted for it at the meeting held by Sam, sneering at Celia’s doubts and her plea for a postponement.
Senator Donahue leaned in toward a microphone. “I’d like to ask the witness this question: If your responsibility had been a management one, Dr. Lord, and not just science, would you have recommended a delay?”
Again Lord hesitated. Then he answered firmly, “Yes, Senator, I would.”
The bastard! Celia began scribbling a note to Quentin: That isn’t true … Then she stopped. What difference did it make? Supposing she questioned Lord’s honesty and a debate ensued, with accusations and denials flying—what would it change? At this hearing—nothing. Disgusted, she crumpled the paper on which she had begun to write.
After a few more questions, Lord was thanked for his evidence and excused. He left the hearing room at once, without speaking with Celia or looking in her direction.
Dr. Maud Stavely was called as the next witness.
The chairperson of Citizens for Safer Medicine strode confidently forward from the rear of the room and went to a microphone at the witness table, some distance from Celia and Quentin. She did not glance their way.
Senator Donahue welcomed the witness cordially, after which Dr. Stavely read a prepared statement. It described her medical qualifications, the structure of the New York-based organization, CSM’s negative views about drug firms, and the group’s early opposition to Montayne.
While Celia disliked the statement’s emphasis and some allusions, she conceded mentally that Stavely sounded professional and impressive. As when the two of them had met two years earlier, the CSM leader was attractive and well groomed, and today was stylishly though simply dressed in a maroon tailored suit.
About Montayne, Stavely declared, “Unfortunately our protests were handicapped by a lack of funds. CSM does not have the enormous resources—multimillions of dollars—which companies like Felding-Roth can pour into sales propaganda, deluding doctors and the public into believing that drugs such as Montayne are safe, yet knowing—as they did with Montayne—that indications argue otherwise.”
As Stavely paused, Dennis Donahue interjected, “I imagine, Doctor, that since your opinions about Montayne have been proved correct, contributions to your organization have increased.”
“Indeed they have, Senator. And we hope, after these hearings which we welcome, they will become greater still.”
Donahue smiled without replying, and Stavely continued.
To Celia’s distress, her own visit to CSM headquarters was referred to. It introduced a complication she had hoped would be avoided.
The matter came up again during Stanley Urbach’s cross-examination of Dr. Stavely.
The subcommittee counsel asked, “What was the date of Mrs. Jordan’s visit to Citizens for Safer Medicine?”
Stavely consulted notes. “November twelfth, 1978.”
“Did Mrs. Jordan state her purpose in coming to see you at that time?”
“She said she wanted to talk. One of the things we talked about was Montayne.”
“At that point, I believe, while Montayne had been approved by FDA, it had not yet gone on sale. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Is it also correct that, at that time, Citizens for Safer Medicine was actively seeking to have the FDA approval canceled?”
“Yes. We were strong about that, working hard at it.”
“Did that strength, those efforts you were making to stop Montayne, appear to worry Mrs. Jordan?”
“Well, she certainly wasn’t pleased. She argued for Montayne, saying it was safe. Of course, I disagreed.”
“Did she say why she believed the drug was safe?”
“I remember very clearly—she did not. Of course she has no medical qualifications to make that kind of judgment—not that that stops sales-happy people like Jordan making them.” Stavely’s voice conveyed disdain, then she added, “Just the same, I was shocked at how little she did know.”
“Can you be specific as to why you were shocked?”
“Yes. You remember, at the time, the Australian case against Montayne had already received wide attention?”
Urbach smiled politely. “I’m supposed to be asking the questions, Doctor.”
Stavely smiled back. “Excuse me. The point I’m making is that Jordan had not even read the Australian trial transcript. She admitted it. I urged her to go away and do so.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Now, during your conversation, did you get the impression that Mrs. Jordan had come representing her company, Felding-Roth?”
“Very definitely, yes.”
“And again referring to the effort by Citizens for Safer Medicine to have the FDA approval of Montayne withdrawn, did you also form an impression that Felding-Roth had become anxious about that, and therefore sent Mrs. Jordan to you with a plea to ease up?”
“Well, it did occur to me, though I can’t prove it. However, if that was the woman’s purpose, she must have seen immediately that there was not the slightest chance of its happening.”
Listening and watching, Celia thought: Unlike Vince Lord, Stavely had not lied. But what a difference the selection of items, a tone of voice, and emphasis seasoned with opinion could make to a subsequent report of any conversation!
Senator Donahue, holding a paper, spoke into his microphone. “Dr. Stavely, I have in my hand a document described as ‘The Felding-Roth Doctrine.’ If you have not seen it, I will have this copy handed to you.”
“I have seen it, Senator, and once is enough.”
Donahue smiled. “I take it you have an opinion. We would like to hear it.”
“I believe the so-called doctrine is a nauseating, shameless piece of sales promotion which capitalizes on a ghastly tragedy and is an insult to the children and families who have been victims of Montayne.”
Celia, hot with anger and ready to leap to her feet, felt Quentin’s hand on her arm, restraining her. With an effort she stayed seated, her face flushed, seething.
A minority member of the subcommittee, Senator Jaffee, observed mildly, “But surely, Dr. Stavely, if a company, in effect, admits an error and promises for the future …”
Stavely snapped, “I was asked my opinion and gave it. If a piece of hocus-pocus like that deceives you, sir, it doesn’t me.”
Senator Donahue, with a half smile, put his paper down.
After a few more questions, Dr. Stavely was thanked and excused.
The first witness on the following day, it was announced, would be Dr. Gideon Mace from FDA.
That evening, in her suite at the Madison Hotel, Celia received a telephone call. The caller was Juliet Goodsmith who announ
ced she was downstairs in the lobby. Celia invited her to come up, and when Juliet arrived embraced her affectionately.
Sam’s and Lilian’s daughter looked older than her twenty-three years, Celia thought, though that was not surprising. She also appeared to have lost weight—too much of it, prompting Celia to suggest they have dinner together, but the offer was declined.
“I only came,” Juliet said, “because I’m in Washington, staying with a friend, and I read about those hearings. They’re not being fair to you. You’re the only one in the company who showed any decency about that filthy drug. All the others were greedy and rotten, and now you’re being punished.”
They were seated facing each other, and Celia said gently, “It wasn’t, and isn’t, quite like that.”
She explained that as the company’s senior representative, she was the immediate target for Senator Donahue and his aides; also that her personal actions had had no effect on the marketing of Montayne.
“The point is,” Celia said, “Donahue is trying to make Felding-Roth look like a public enemy.”
“Then maybe he’s right,” Juliet said, “and the company is a public enemy.”
“No, I won’t have that!” Celia said emphatically, “The company made a bad mistake over Montayne, but has done enormous good in the past and will do the same again.” Even now she was thinking, with excited optimism, about Peptide 7 and Hexin W.
“Also,” Celia went on, “whatever mistake your father made—which he paid for dearly—he wasn’t either of those things you said: ‘rotten’ or ‘greedy.’ He was a good man who did what he saw as right at the time.”
“How can I believe that?” Juliet retorted. “He gave me those pills without telling me they weren’t approved.”
“Try to forgive your father,” she urged. “If you don’t, now that he’s dead, you’ll achieve nothing and it will be harder on you.” As Juliet shook her head, Celia added, “I hope you will, in time.”
She knew better than to inquire about Juliet’s son, now almost two years old and in an institution for the helpless and incurable, where he would spend the remainder of his life. Instead, she asked, “How is Dwight?”