Experiment Eleven (21 page)

“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?

In a bizarre move, half in jest apparently, Waksman and Russell Watson formed the “
W and W Sleuthing Agency
.” Its goal was to “discover and prosecute all those malevolent persons who misuse their presence at the Institution for private and undesirable purposes.” The “Institution” the Rutgers college farm. The two officials of the agency were named as Russell
E. Watson, attorney and chief prosecutor, and Selman A. Waksman, scientific sleuth. Its first report was titled “Information Gathered Concerning Dr. J.J. Martin.”

“His name was J.J. March, but he had it legally changed to Martin,” the report stated.

He claims to be a cousin of A. Schatz, a co-discoverer of streptomycin, and has been known to express that opinion to several people. He has worked for an Advertising Dentist Concern ... This is believed to be the poorest type of dentistry. Someone vaguely remembers that there was a dental technician that solicited patients for Dr. Martin saying that Martin did the dental work and he the technical work. It was also known that this technician has handed out his cards in such places as barrooms.

A number of dentists in Passaic County were asked for an opinion of Dr. Martin. They were rather cagey in expressing such an opinion. They said they knew him as a fellow practitioner, but none had anything complimentary to say about him. They have no regard for him at all in the dental profession.

In Report No. 2, a “search has been made” of the premises (of Bromberg and Associates) and the investigator was told that they were engaged in “some sort of advertising, mostly in foreign publications.” One office was a credit equipment corporation, the second a realtor. “No further information could be obtained concerning the above group.”

Report No. 3 could “not find the company in any Directory or Publishers Weekly or Dunn and Bradstreet. Various banks have also been checked. They have no credit reference of any kind.”

IN SEPTEMBER, SCHATZ
came to New York to take up his new appointment as an assistant professor at Brooklyn College, and Bromberg had found him a Manhattan lawyer named Louis Libert. Schatz had no need to worry about legal fees, Libert reassured him. The case would be conducted on a contingency: Schatz would pay him only if he won.

Libert quickly discovered, from Waksman's federal income tax returns, that he had a personal income of $124,000 in 1948. The only conceivable
source for the majority of it was a payment from streptomycin royalties, Libert concluded.

At the end of November, Russell Watson agreed to an extraordinary meeting at the Union League Club, on East Thirty-seventh Street and Park Avenue in Manhattan. Waksman and Watson were on one side of the table, Libert and Schatz on the other. Schatz felt that they might want to settle their differences, as he was keen to do, but Watson quickly killed any chance of compromise. He offered Schatz one thousand dollars—a “
nuisance value
” payoff for his trouble in putting his signature on patents for foreign countries. The sum was not what Schatz and Libert had in mind. For all they knew, the foreign patents were earning somebody, or some corporation, millions of dollars. “The party adjourned to a luncheonette, and broke up,” Schatz's lawyers recorded.

The battle was on, and Libert felt he needed help. He contacted his friend Jerome Eisenberg, a quick-witted New Jersey trial lawyer. Eisenberg had made a name for himself mostly in tough civil cases—defamation, contested wills, tax appeals, and torts. During the depression, he had listed as one of his achievements that in New Jersey he had foreclosed more homes than any other lawyer. He was a legal street fighter and just the man Schatz needed. He agreed to take the case on contingency.

Schatz told Seymour Hutner in New York, “The
die is cast
.”

BUT ON THIS
phony battleground, Waksman, with his superior arsenal, was to have the last word before he and Schatz were technically at war. At the end of October, the Royal Caroline Institute announced the winners of the 1949 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine. The prize was given for advances in brain research, including the prefrontal lobotomy, then a last resort of schizophrenics and manic-depressives. The recipients were the Spanish neurosurgeon Dr. Antonio Moniz and the Swiss physiologist Dr. Walter Hess, a specialist in circulatory and nervous systems. But the scientist on the cover of the November 7 issue of
Time
magazine was Dr. Selman Waksman. And the headline on the article, inside, which ran over six pages in the Medicine section, was “The Healing Soil.” It was a
story about antibiotics
, and it mentioned Alexander Fleming's penicillin and two new antibiotics by American researchers, but it concentrated on Waksman's “discovery” of streptomycin. Albert Schatz was not mentioned. The intent
of the story seemed to be that Waksman should be next for the Nobel Prize.