In the history of champagne, the most unusual bottles ever used were those reportedly made of genuine crystal and supplied to Czar Alexander II by his French purveyor, Louis Roederer. That is until the fall of 1975, when torrents of fine champagne were served in large laboratory flagons to the crowd of well-wishers gathered in David Baltimore’s lab at MIT to celebrate the announcement that he had just won the Nobel Prize for discoveries concerning the interaction between tumor viruses and the genetic material of the cell.
Naturally, all the teams from the neighboring labs were invited to join the festivities.
As one would have expected, the moment the prize was announced on the radio, Greg Morgenstern immediately sprang into action. He phoned Sandy to meet him at Martignetti’s Wine Store to help schlep the bubbly—a magnum of which he paid for out of his own pocket.
He also outsped all the other famous MIT professors, including the many Nobelists, and was the first visitor to congratulate the thirty-seven-year-old wunderkind.
After the celebration, as they were walking back to their own domain, Sandy remarked to Morgenstern, “I bet we’ll be drinking to you someday soon.”
“No,” the older man replied. “Not a chance.”
“But Greg, you’re close as hell to synthesizing that protein. Take my word for it, you’ll be in the history books too.”
“Sandy,” his mentor responded, “I wish you’d stop referring to me as a one-man band. If I hadn’t been lucky enough to find the other young Turks—especially you—I’d still be miles away.”
Though he had not revealed it, Sandy had been deeply affected by his father’s inability to establish a suitable new relationship. Neither of his parents, he sometimes reflected, would have qualified for passage on Noah’s Ark. Even Sidney, who was a professional success, had been a personal failure. He would love to have a woman of his own, but unfortunately it was never the same one. And Sandy was convinced that he had confused his priorities.
True, Greg was not a giant in his profession, at least not yet. But he had a devoted family who worshiped him like a hero. Wasn’t this the most important aspect of life?
Thus Sandy fell in love not merely with the Morgensterns’ daughter, but with their values. Their sense of togetherness.
It was a heady new experience for him to join a happy cohesive family for occasions like Thanksgiving dinner, Christmas punch, and New Year’s Eve. All of them—Greg, his wife Ruth, as well as Judy—opened their home and their hearts to him.
It took Sandy much longer to realize that Judy’s feelings were, to an enormous extent, influenced by her father’s admiration for him. Greg Morgenstern had never felt so strongly, spoken so rhapsodically, of a scientific mind—even a senior colleague’s. It was never mentioned specifically, but it was clear beyond any doubt that the greatest gift she could give her father was Sandy Raven as a son-in-law.
Independence Day became a double celebration on their calendar: not only the declaration of American autonomy, but the anniversary of the first meeting of Sandy and Judy, who by this time were living together in Cambridge without benefit of clergy.
At first, when they discussed the possible housing arrangement, Sandy was worried about the effect it might have on his professional relationship with Greg. But she reassured him.
“The other day he told me he loved you so much, that if we hadn’t gotten together, he would have adopted you.”
If Gregory Morgenstern possessed a flaw, it seemed to be an almost fanatic sense of honesty. When a high-powered biotech company lured away his second-in-command, he insisted upon going through an elaborate selection process—even soliciting letters from other faculty members—so he could make the choice with his head, not merely his heart.
When Sandy finally received the seal of approval, he felt at once honored and exasperated. Greg was so maddeningly egalitarian that every paper coming out of their lab listed its authors not in order of rank, but alphabetically. It was almost as if Morgenstern had an aversion to eminence.
Sandy theorized that this was what drew Greg to the urgent yet scientifically unpopular scourge of liver cancer: he would be left alone.
The liver is the largest—and the busiest—organ in the human body. Not only does it metabolize carbohydrates, fats, and proteins, it also detoxifies the blood, filters its impurities, produces helpful clotting factors, and destroys exhausted red blood cells. Clearly, since it does so much, if it should be impaired, the body would be in grave danger.
There were many theoretical “cures” for hepatic cancer, the most obvious being transplants. But this was obviously impossible on a large scale, especially in areas where the disease had reached epidemic proportions.
Greg was leading a biochemical quest into uncharted territory. Since cancers occur when the usual checks and balances of cell growth cease to function, he hoped to produce an artificial protein that would restore the damaged gene to normal functioning.
Their “patients” were mice. More specifically, humanoid rodents developed in Max Rudolph’s laboratory at Harvard.
“Dad never explained to me why you guys always use little Mickeys and Minnies instead of more grown-up species,” Judy remarked over dinner.
“I know it doesn’t seem to make sense,” Sandy replied. “But a quirk of nature made those creatures’ systems more like ours than some primates’. By contrast, guinea pigs are completely different. Did you know that if they had been chosen for the first penicillin tests, we might never have had antibiotics? Because—for some strange reason—at certain times of the year, even small doses can simply kill them.”
“Wow,” Judy reacted. “That was a close call. Now, how about you guys—is it a state secret or are you near anything resembling paydirt?”
“It’s funny, I’m so close to the stuff, I find that question impossible to answer. But if it’s any indication, a film crew from ‘Nova’ is visiting the lab tomorrow. Maybe they’re getting some vibes.”
“Super, be sure to wear your lenses. Would it be okay if I came and watched? I really like the way Dad fields all those difficult questions and explains them so ordinary people can understand. And I can be sure your hair’s properly combed.”
“Great,” Sandy enthused. “You could even do my part of the interview, since you’re so much better-looking.”
By the time Judy arrived the next morning, a large WGBH van was parked in front of the lab, two wheels up on the sidewalk, its cables reaching through the front door like electronic tentacles.
Inside, separate film crews were at work. One camera was set up in Morgenstern’s office, interviewing Greg as he spoke of his altruistic motives in attacking the liver cancer problem. Meanwhile, Sandy was leading the other camera on a tour of the rest of the plant, introducing the teams and the technology.
As he spoke, various techs could be seen in the background, performing different tasks like loading up the PCR machine, a device that “photocopied” individual segments of DNA in a heated test tube, and scurrying to and fro to check the contents of petri dishes under the various microscopes.
Though he too had an office, Sandy preferred to sit at a desk where the action was. “I like to be as close as possible to my hardware.” He smiled to the lens.
From off camera the producer, a frizzy-haired girl in jeans, fed him questions.
Sandy first tried to explain to the lay audience how DNA carries the genetic code. Then how they were working with it.
“There’s also a particular protein that acts something like a traffic cop. It supervises the cell division, and if something begins to go wrong, it can stop it immediately.
“Now, little mutations happen all the time, but they’re usually not dangerous. The one thing we worry about is if the duplication goes crazy and starts to grow cancer cells.”
“What exactly are you and Dr. Morgenstern doing?” she asked.
“We’ve analyzed tissue from different cases of liver carcinoma and found that in every instance a specific area of this protein was damaged. Obviously, if we can fix it, we might repair the disease.”
“You make it sound so easy, Doctor.”
“Oh, there’s nothing radical about the theory—it’s the actual realization that’s so tough. We have to evolve a drug that will cause the ‘folded’ parts to flip back so the cell can resume its normal shape and function.”
At this point, he had reached a large computer monitor at the SUN computer work station. The camera zoomed to a close shot of the screen as Sandy continued to explain.
“Our X-ray crystallography unit is helping us to determine the makeup of the protein. We have a multiwire proportional chamber that sends the structure pattern straight to the computer. Someday we may get our solution quite literally on television.”
“Are you optimistic, Dr. Raven?” the producer asked.
“Let’s put it this way. When you’re searching for a molecule in a mountain, you’ve either got to be very optimistic—or very crazy. I’d say I was a little of both.”
“You were cool,” Judy declared when the filming was complete and they were walking arm in arm to lunch. “And I’m really happy Dad’s finally getting some recognition for all his unsung labor.”
“Yeah,” Sandy agreed. “And if this thing pays off, I’m afraid Greg will be inflicted with honors, probably even a Nobel. Do you think he’d like that?”
She looked at him with a gleam in her eye. “Not as much as the other project you’ve helped develop.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about being pregnant.” She smiled. “By the way, does that make you happy?”
“Yes and no,” Sandy answered, his cheeks flushed. “I mean, I love babies—but I don’t believe in unwed mothers. Are you willing to do something about it?”
“Oh, what the hell,” she replied blithely. “I’ll bow to convention and go legal. What about high noon tomorrow at City Hall? That’ll give us time to get the blood tests.”
“As a matter of principle, your father never takes a lunch break,” Sandy warned.
“Yeah,” Judy acknowledged, “but I somehow think in this case he’ll make an exception.”