"Why not?" "I do not believe the reasons you have given are sufficiently compelling.”
"Explain 'compelling'!" The words had been snapped out like a command and there were limits to patience, the dean decided. He replied coldly, "I believe it would be better for both of us if this interview were ended. Good day!" But Lord made no attempt to move. He remained seated in front of the dean's desk, glaring.”I'm asking you to reconsider. If you don't, you may regret it.”
"In what way might I regret it?" "I could decide to leave.” Dean Harris said, and meant it, "I would be sorry to see that happen, Dr. Lord, and your departure would be a loss. You have brought credit to the'university and will, I believe, continue to. On the other hand"-the dean permitted himself a thin smile-"I believe that even after your departure this institution would survive.”
Lord rose from the chair, his face flushed with anger. Without a word he stalked from the office and slammed the door behind him. Reminding himself, as he had so many times before, that part of his job was to (teal calmly and fairly with un-calm, talented people who often behaved unreasonably, the dean returned to other work.
Unlike the dean, Dr. Lord did not put the matter from his mind. As if a recording were implanted in his brain, he replayed the interview over and over, growing increasingly bitter and angry until he came to hate not only Harris, but the entire university. Vincent Lord suspected-even though the subject had not been mentioned at the interview-that those minor changes he was having to make in his two most recently published papers had something to do with his rejection. The suspicion increased his anger because, as he saw it, the matter was trivial compared with his overall scientific record. Oh yes, he conceded even to himself, he knew how those errors had occurred. He had been impatient, overenthusiastic, in a hurry. He had, for the absolute briefest time, let wishful thinking about results overrule his scientific caution. But he had since vowed never to let anything similar happen again. Also, the incident was past, he would shortly publish corrections, so why should it be considered? Petty! Trivial! At no point did it occur to Vincent Lord that it was not the incidents themselves, including the one four years ago, that his critics were concerned with, but certain symptoms and signals about his character. In the absence of such reasoning and understanding by Dr. Lord, his bitterness continued festering. Consequently when, three months later during a scientific meeting in San Antonio, he was approached by a representative of Felding-Roth Pharmaceuticals with an invitation to "come aboard"-a euphemism for an offer of employment-his reaction, while not immediately positive, was at least, "Well, maybe.”
The approach itself was not unusual. The big drug firms were constantly on the lookout for new scientific talent and monitored carefully all published papers originating in universities. In the case of something interesting, a congratulatory letter might he written. Then, following through, scholarly gatherings where drug company people met academic scientists on neutral ground were useful points of contact. In all these ways, and well before the San Antonio meeting, Vincent Lord's name had been considered and selected as a "target.”
More specific talks followed. What Felding-Roth wanted was a scientist of highest caliber in his field to head a new division to develop steroids. From the beginning, the company representatives treated Dr. Lord with deference and respect, an attitude which pleased him and which he saw as a pleasant contrast to what he considered his shabby treatment by the university. The opportunity, from a scientific point of view, was interesting. So was the salary offered-fourteen thousand dollars a year, almost twice as much as he was earning at U of 1. To be fair to Vincent Lord, it could have been said that money itself held almost as little interest for him as did food. His personal needs were simple; he never had difficulty living on his university pay. But the drug firm's money was one more compliment-a recognition of his worth. After thinking about it for two weeks, Dr. Lord accepted. He left the university abruptly, with minimal goodbyes. He began work at Felding-Roth in September 1957. Almost at once an extraordinary thing occurred. In early November the drug firm's director of research collapsed over a microscope and died of a massive cerebral hemorrhage. Vincent Lord was in place and available. He had the needed qualifications. He was appointed to the vacant post.
Now, three years later, Dr. Lord was solidly entrenched at Felding-Roth. He continued to be respected. His competence was never questioned. He ran his department efficiently, with minimal outside interference, and despite Lord's private personality problems, relations with his staff were good. Equally important, his personal scientific work was going well. Most others, in the circumstances, would have been happy. Yet for Vincent Lord there was that perpetual looking-backward syndrome, the doubts and soul-searching about long-ago decisions, the anger and bitterness-as impassioned as ever-about his refused promotion at U of 1. The present held problems too, or so he thought. Outside his department, he was suspicious of others in the company. Were they undermining him? There were several people whom he disliked and distrusted--one of them that pushy woman. Celia Jordan received altogether too much attention. Her promotion had been unwelcome to him. He saw her as a competitor for prestige and power. There was always the possibility, which he hoped for, that the Jordan bitch would overreach, be toppled, and disappear. As far as Dr. Lord was concerned, it could not happen too soon. Of course, none of this would matter, not even the insult in the past at U of 1, and no one would come close to Vincent Lord in power and respect if a certain event occurred which now seemed likely. Like most scientists, Vince Lord was inspired by the challenge of the unknown. Also like others, he had long dreamed of achieving, personally, a major breakthrough, a discovery which would push back dramatically the frontiers of knowledge and place his name in the honor roll of history. Such a dream now seemed attainable. After three years of persistent, painstaking work at FeldingRoth, work which he knew to be brilliantly conceived, a chemical compound was at last in sight which could become a revolutionary new drug. There was still a great deal to be done. Research and animal experiments were needed over two more years at least, but preliminaries had been successful, the signposts were in place. With his knowledge, experience and scientific intuition, Vincent Lord could see them clearly. Of course, the new drug when marketed would make an undreamed-of fortune for Felding-Roth. But that was unimportant. What was important was what it would do to the worldwide reputation of Dr. Vincent Lord. A little more time was all he needed. Then he would show them. By God, he would show them all! Thalidomide exploded! As Celia said much later, "Though none of us knew it then, nothing in the drug industry would ever be quite the same again after the facts about Thalidomide became well known.”
Developments started slowly, unnoticed except locally, and-in the minds of anyone involved at the beginning-unconnected with a drug. In West Germany, in April 1961, physicians were startled by an outbreak of phocomelia-a rare phenomenon in which babies are born tragically deformed, without arms or legs, instead having tiny, useless, seal-like flippers. The previous year two cases had been reported----even that an unprecedented number since, as one researcher put it, "'two-headed children have been more common.”