production problem over to them. Within two years, the scientists developed a new formula that created a method allowing for the large production of insulin. Eli’s program had orchestrated a very profitable university-industry partnership that led to the development of even more medicines. Even though frictions soon surfaced regarding patent and licensing rights, Eli was able to streamline the entire process to everyone’s satisfaction. The days of folk medicine were over. The search for even more new drugs and ways to manufacture them was on, and Eli had the company leading the pack.
The temperature was climbing rapidly, but Josiah ignored the physical discomfort. Sitting at his father’s side always gave him a sense of pride, and he was enjoying every second of it. The Colonel’s company was now the third largest pharmaceutical manufacturing company in the world. The insulin program enabled the company to attract the attention of well-respected scientists and help them develop even more medical advances. Eli was directly involved in every significant decision related to product development. It was he who made the decision to establish fellowships at various colleges and universities. While it was perceived by the public as a magnanimous gesture, Josiah fretted that Eli’s real intentions were less than philanthropic. While he would never embarrass his son, he knew Eli’s main purpose for the fellowships was to increase the friendliness of the faculties of the various universities toward the company, perhaps gaining an upper hand over the competition with privileged information about the progress and development of new formulas. While not illegal, Josiah was certain the Colonel would not have approved of Eli’s tactics.
A soft breeze blew across Josiah’s face, temporarily breaking his wanderings but, when it came to his son, he was never in a hurry to shorten his reflections. In many ways, they were both alike, six feet tall, auburn hair with the seemingly mandatory freckles, and similar voices, but the similarities did not end there. In his early days, when the Colonel started the company, Josiah’s patience did not match the Colonel’s, frequently putting him at odds with his father. The Colonel usually won, but not without leaving a valuable lesson for his son behind. The Colonel called it a learning experience. Josiah felt he and Eli shared a similar father-son relationship as his own with the Colonel, but there was a difference. While Eli was named after his grandfather, he shared little else in common with the Colonel. Their most obvious difference was patience. Eli had none.
The minutes quickly turned to hours and, as if by magic, the sun began to disappear behind a block-long bank of massive oak trees that lined the west side of the cemetery.
Josiah finally stood, stretching his legs. Time well spent, he said to himself.
That night, Josiah lay in bed, unable to sleep. His aching bones reminded him that he was nearing the inevitable. He would retire soon, naming Eli as his successor. During the last twenty-nine years, he had made many decisions but only a few that dramatically changed the direction of the company. In the pharmaceutical business there was a fine line between sound business practices and moral integrity. The Colonel had never crossed it. Always loyal to his father’s credo, Josiah sensed the industry was changing. It had become common practice for some competitors to base their manufacturing decisions solely on profits, pushing some products ahead by shortcutting the research and testing process. It wasn’t right, but it was a well-kept industry secret that morality was frequently trumped by the lure of quick profits. While he had been steadfast in never crossing that line, he felt Eli may have difficulty comprehending some of the moral legacies the Colonel passed on. With his own retirement only two years away, Eli had earned the right to succeed him, but he had serious reservations that his son’s maverick management style could eventually lead to trouble.
Chapter 6
June 11th, 1927
Minneapolis, Minnesota
A majestic convoy of warships escorted the USS Memphis along with its celebrated passenger on a ride up the Chesapeake and Potomac Rivers to Washington where President Coolidge was waiting. Charles Lindbergh was triumphantly returning home to America. Newscasters reported that tears were running down Lindbergh’s cheeks.
As Lindbergh disembarked for his ride to the White House, eleven hundred miles to the west, it was already 7:40 A.M. in Minnesota. After catching bits and pieces of the radio broadcast of Lindbergh’s return celebration at a local diner, Jeremiah Trent headed to his office. Gusts of river-chilled wind from the east bank of the Mississippi river funneled up the stairs, slamming against Trent’s back as he scurried up the stairs to his office in the University of Minnesota’s Science Center. He was on a mission. For the moment, last night’s phone call from Richard Gurzi made everything else in his life insignificant.
Trent spent the entire day in his office preparing for any possible scenario Gurzi might throw at him. When he finally proclaimed himself ready, he leaned back in his chair and once again reviewed the precarious threshold he was about to cross and the opportunity it presented. His advancement in the field of chemistry had come quickly. Fellowship programs had financially helped him accelerate his studies, but grants came with invisible strings that he abhorred. Money from major drug companies came with an unspoken understanding there was an unspoken debt to be paid. Any scientific discoveries or breakthroughs that came on the drug company’s dollar, the sponsors expected to be given first right of refusal for any new commercial applications being released to competitors. It was simple. If the discovery or advancement had a monetary value, both the drug companies and the university would benefit monetarily. The scientists would get academic recognition for their resumes and, possibly, a salary increase, but little else.
Later, as the sun began to set, Trent was once again outside waving down another taxi for the twenty-minute ride from his office across the Mississippi to the St. Paul Hotel. While he was excited that Gurzi was interested in brokering his interest, he tempered his enthusiasm because he felt his development of a vaccine preservative was not particularly brilliant. He always believed that the simplest of inventions or accomplishments were usually born only because somebody thought of them first, not because what they invented or did was necessarily difficult or complicated. Somebody found a way to make a horse useful by inventing a bridle, followed by a harness for a plough, then a cart for the horse to pull. One just had to find a need or a goal and then create. If Lindbergh hadn’t flown across the Atlantic, someone else would have. He used the same analogy about his formula. If he hadn’t created a bacteria-free vaccine storage solution, one surely would have followed eventually. First was always rewarded or recognized. Second place was not. It was that simple.
For the first time in his life, Trent knew he had gotten there first. It was his formula, developed on his own time, and all related expenses personally paid. Medical school started in August. For now, it was Gurzi who held the key to his future. It was time to make the deal.
Chapter 7
June 11th, 1927
St. Paul, Minnesota
Jeremiah Trent stood outside, staring at the two huge brass entry doors that led to the St. Paul Hotel’s lobby. Instinct told him to abandon his plan, turn and run, but just walking had suddenly become a major challenge. The most important meeting of his life was just fifty yards away and he was afraid to go inside. He could still hear Richard Gurzi’s early morning telephone conversation… Come alone! Gurzi emphasized the word alone so ominously it caught him off guard. His words were cold, harsh, and remained imbedded in his mind eight hours later.
Shaking some life back into his legs, Trent tipped the door attendant and walked inside. His heartbeat kept pace with his racing mind as he took a booth in the dining room and waited. Even though Gurzi had always been affable and accommodating, Trent thought him an enigma. He could switch personalities as he saw the need, going from friendly to evasive, genuine to condescending. For Trent, it was clear that Gurzi was not a man one should cross. Whether or not he should be trusted wasn’t a sure thing either.
