006-gerhardstein-all-one-word

Dr. Richard Gehardstein I am the aforementioned stiff, Dr. Richard Gerhardstein. As you have read, I lack warmth unless you view me with my wife. Don’t be surprised if you feel a bit of a chill. Gerhardstein is all one word, my middle name is not Gerhard, and my surname is likewise not Stein.

You have just read an enjoyable and largely

accurate account of my first meetings with Peter Kosinski.

This

having taken place prior to his introduction to Peter, Miles has asked me to write this section. I had never heard that Orwell quote before. If someone had enlightened me by the time, I might have reconsidered my enthusiasm. I might have retired when my wife wanted me to. During those weeks, I had been spending much of my time in the office and far too much time at home preparing to give an address at the International AIDS Conference in Barcelona. It was to be a keynote, or I was called a “major speaker”.

I was

the “Scientific Keynoter”. Of course, anyone speaking at a major international event might suffer some anxiety. I had spoken at several by that time; a flop sweat was not one of my worries. I had come to Chicago to open this research center; an

offer that was agreeable to me. It worked financially; it put me in a position where I could build the whole works in the image I saw. Nothing at Harvard worked exactly that way.

It never does.

I needed to prove myself as Chicago’s great white hope. I needed to do that quickly. Using my name, University of Chicago had funded the opening; of what they were calling, a top notch research facility.

It is not named after me.

My name was

supposed to give it some prestige in the scientific community. These conferences, like this Barcelona affair I addressed, are biennial events. It would not have been possible to establish something in the research community during the time in between this one and the next. My good name would not have carried budgets till a Bangkok colloquium two years hence. In theory any way, I had to make a big bang. I had spoken at that same conference two years prior about some drug cocktail improvements I developed.

That forum was in

Durban, South Africa. It was called a shining moment for me. It was written that I had presented the best treatment research to date.

This was positioning me to be a part of

whatever the next big thing would be.

Then, I was in Durbin, where the disease is a far more glaring part of existence, and I was talking about the development of treatments that no one in all of South Africa could afford. Now there’s been some fruit from the protocols I introduced there. For those in the world who can afford them, a little bit easier time dying. There is little comfort where the most people get sick. I could and did say at the time that our research was largely futile due to market conditions. There was little money for University research. Private drug research was a lot better funded for conditions that afflict the more affluent. Those for-profit interests in the AIDS industry hold a gun to the head of the dying Africans. You would think some introspection might stop this long before they uttered “gimme your dough” to an emaciated waif and the flies buzzing around them. I can still rant about this, as it’s not yet over. There is one piece of that I must explain first. By ‘more affluent’ I was referring to those more affluent than co-humans in Sub-Saharan Africa. You can consider American Homeless in the

‘more affluent’ category. I was thrilled when Miles gave me this piece of Tribe to read, a bit nervous and duty bound when he asked me to annotate the section. Tribe is diatribe in case you hadn’t gathered. I saw the salutation to his imaginary friend that night in the bar. “Dear Diatribe” I liked it. I thought it was clever. He occasionally in passing referred to his poor short-term memory as a reason for constant note taking. Socially he pulled off an acceptance from most that he was always writing, and looking like he might be ignoring you. This “tablet” he had was a laptop computer that comes apart. You can use just the screen with a stylist, or type with the keyboard.

Being a trained pianist, no matter what he did with

that skill at the time, he preferred a keyboard. He often looked like he might be a reporter. This instilled enough fear in many to see it as a breach in etiquette. Is the stylus mightier than the sword? We had that machine on in the Get Me High jazz club without

umbrage. I had become fascinated with the open source pharmaceuticals concept.

My Oxford mentor, Malcolm Blythe,

thought I should base my entire speech on it. I first read of this a few months previous when Malcolm told me that Geeta’s husband “had this idea” that was very interesting. “Having an idea” is something you might discuss over a drink. He was not a name thinker; he wasn’t in any sort of position of influence. He had recently been left without any sort of position at all. Malcolm asked me to read some of this theory from Geeta’s husband and give it a cursory vetting. Malcolm’s orders.

I always follow

So many do, that they he only give

suggestions now. Sangeeta had given me that short synopsis document we discussed in the bar. It was well written. It seemed to cover the major points of what would need be cover had someone wanted to pursue that type of venture. I spent hours thinking through it. It was very abridged, but I could see that he had at least a sentence to cover each point I could think of. This guy, who dashed off this ‘treatise’ as I called it, was someone I wanted to meet. I was intrigued by the fact that he wrote down all his ideas. People have ideas outside of their

areas of expertise all the time. Peter had sensed that this was a good one. I agreed with him. I thought should get his due. He was clearly shocked hear that someone like myself would find it so affecting. I’ve never have had the chance to recount this meeting in such detail. It does lend credence to the memory-jogging aspect of journaling. When I tried to recall myself, my memories weren’t nearly as detailed; mine were wrong in several places. To answer his question; it was not a job interview that night. It didn’t become one for a couple of days. I was going to see a jazz show, and listen to something from Peter that I was interested in.

It was very germane to the topics I was to

discuss in Spain. These Diatribes of his are very accurate, although often limited by perspective. There is but one thing I wish to challenge in this bit of Tribe.

I am not going to challenge

really; I will add my perspective which gives a far clearer view of where Sangeeta fits in, and therefore why the meeting took place. I am speaking of the “daddy at Harvard” bit. Dr. Rajeev Patel is Sangeeta’s father.

He is in Endocrinology at Mass

General, an instructor of Harvard Med Students. Dr. Patel and I

met at an MGH Research Committee meeting in mid 1982. He was new there at the time. We crossed paths regularly; we always chose seats near each other, agreed on variety of issues, had some nice talks. At that time we didn’t yet have something I would call a friendship. Not until his second year in Cambridge, he was invited to a fete for medical instructors at the Faculty Club on the square. Helen and I had brought our three children, as the invitation had specified that families were welcome. Phillip, our eldest, was thirteen; Kristin was ten and Amy nine. Rajeev walked in and scoped the unfamiliar crowd until he saw me. The energized grin that I had come to identify him sprung forth as he pointed me out to his wife and rushed her over. We met Rani and exchanged introductions. Through the crowd I hadn’t seen that they had ten-year-old Sangeeta in tow. When her mother turned to introduce her, she was already laughing with Kristin and Amy. To correct Peter, it was actually Kristin who introduced me to Sangeeta later that afternoon at a table in front of the club. Sangeeta was a close friend of all three of my children until each of them were grown and moved away. She is still in

touch with Kristin in Columbus Ohio and has visited Amy, the future fashion icon, on trips to New York. She was a regular fixture in my home. Always bright, always inquisitive, the key to Geeta’s intelligence must have been asking the right questions. I believe my daughters gained from their friendship with her. Shortly before coming to Chicago, I ran into her father. He informed, or reminded me (I didn’t remember, but I must have known.) that Geeta was living there and pursuing an MBA at the University. I was absolutely thrilled. Peter’s claim that her father got her the job is way off the mark to me. I would have been crushed if I found that she had another job and didn’t want to work with me. I asked her father for her phone number at lunch.

He said

he would get it to me. When he hadn’t called my house by the terribly late hour of 6:30pm, I called Kristin to get this started. Kristin hadn’t spoken with Geeta in a month or more. Knowing far more than I did about her school-work-insurancemoney situation, she said it was likely she would be interested in working for me.

My recruitment zeal was burnished by Helen. When I came home I asked “Did you know Geeta lives in Chicago?” She nodded knowingly. Geeta and Helen have a special relationship, of which, I know the outlines, not the intricacies of feminine discourse. The pivotal time in their friendship came when our family mourned and attempted active support roles when Geeta’s Mother passed away. Geeta was just sixteen years old. During her last days, Rajeev and I spoke about his wife Rani, but it was limited to terms like Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. I could get as far as putting an arm around him during the worst of things. I probably comforted him most by erecting the ivy-covered wall of academic disassociation and standing behind it with him. Geeta spent nearly every moment outside Mass General with my girls. Helen was easily one of the girls. No surprise, she is six years younger than I am, but I don’t think age is the driving factor there. She offered the needed support for Geeta which binds them to this day.

There was nothing in the way of nepotism; not by the standard definition.

It would be a real shame if this type of

networking were to be frowned upon.

Keeping close contact with

the finest people you meet is a cornerstone for any good manager.

I don’t believe that I could have found better than

Sangeeta had I looked.

There is however, something to be said

for the benefits of growing up around those of academic or professional achievement, and Sangeeta did have that in her favor. Peter’s Diatribes also must be read understanding that they reflect momentary moods.

He had career challenges at that time.

It is not unlikely that there would be some jealousy of one who did not.