Arthur Hailey - Strong Medicine

"Sam... what the hell?" Sam passed a hand across his head, shiny under the spotlight; it was an unconscious habit when he was thinking a problem through. His craggy face was serious.”If you don't mind, Irving, there's something I'd like to say, and have everyone hear, before Mrs. Jordan goes.”

Celia wondered what was coming. Surely Sam wasn't going to endorse her expulsion by telling the world about their conversation of this morning and his warning. It would be out of character. Yet ambition did strange things to people. Was it possible that Sam believed some comment would make him look good in the eyes of the assembled brass? Looking up at the platform, the vice president of sales asked testily, "What is it?" "Well," Sam said, close enough to the microphone so his voice could be heard again through the now-silent hall, "I guess you could say, Irving, I'm standing up here to be counted.”

"In what way counted?" This time the question was from Eli Camperdown, now also on his feet. Sam Hawthorne faced the Felding-Roth president, at the same time moving closer to the mike.”Counted with Mrs. Jordan, Eli. And admitting-even though no one else seems willing to-that everything she said is true. As we all damn well know, even while pretending otherwise.”

The silence in the hall was awesome. Only minor noises filtered in-the sound of traffic, distantly; a rattle of glassware from a kitchen; muted voices from a corridor outside. It seemed as if everyone was still, rooted, not wanting to move and thereby miss a word. Amid the quiet, Sam continued. "I'd also like to go on record as wishing I'd had the wit and moral courage to make the speech which Mrs. Jordan did. And there's something else.”

Irving Gregson interrupted.”Don't you think you've said enough?" "Let him finish," Eli Camperdown ordered.”It might as well all hang out.”

The sales vice president subsided. "In particular," Sam Hawthorne went on, "I agree with the opinion that if our industry fails to mend its ways, laws will be passed compelling us to do so. Moreover, those laws will be more restrictive by far than if we accept the good advice we have just heard and clean house ourselves. "Finally, about Mrs. Jordan. Several times already she has proved her great value to this company. In my opinion she has just done so again, and if we let her leave this room in this way, we're all short-sighted fools.”

Celia could scarcely believe what she heard. She had a momentary sense of shame for doubting Sam's motives. What he had just done, she realized, was to put his own job, his ambitions, his promising future at Felding-Roth, all on the line on her behalf Still the uncanny silence persisted. There was a shared awareness of a moment of high drama in which no one seemed certain what would happen next. It was Eli Camperdown who moved first, returning to his seat beside the chairman of the board where the two senior officers began a second urgent, low-voiced conversation. This time Camperdown was doing most of the talking-it seemed, attempting to persuade while the elderly VanHouten listened. At first the chairman shook his head adamantly, then appeared to relent, and finally shrugged. Camperdown beckoned Irving Gregson to join them. Since decisions were obviously taking shape at highest level, others waited, though now a buzz of conversation filled the hall, It diminished as the vice president of sales left the other two and ascended the speakers' platform. He took over the microphone from Sam Hawthorne, who returned to his seat below. Gregson surveyed the sea of curious faces, paused for effect, then permitted himself a broad grin. "Whatever else you may say about our sales conferences," he declared, "we always promise you they are never dull.”

It was the fight thing to say and there was a roar of appreciative laughter in which even the dour VanHouten joined. "I am instructed by our chairman and president," Gregson said, ,.an instruction in which I personally join, to state that a few moments ago we may all have acted hastily, even unwisely.”

Again the grin, a pause, and the sales chief continued. "Many years ago, when I was a small boy and sometimes got into trouble-as all boys do-my mother taught me something. 'Irving,' she said, 'when you've made an ass of yourself and an apology is called for, stand up straight, be a man, and do it handsomely.' My dear mother, rest her soul, is dead; but somehow I can hear her voice saying, 'Irving, my boy, that time is now.”

Watching and listening, Celia thought: Gregson had style. It was clearly not by accident he had been promoted to the hierarchy of sales. She realized he was pointing directly at her.”Mrs. Jordan, come this way, please. You too, Sam.”

When all three of them were on the platform--Celia dazed, almost unbelieving-Gregson said, "I announced I would apologize, Mrs. Jordan, and I do. We will, after all, consider your suggestions carefully. And now I'll relieve you of that file of yours if you don't mind.”

Turning to the audience Gregson said, "I believe you have just witnessed an example of why ours is a great company and will 11

T he remainder of his remarks were drowned out by applause and cheering and, moments later, executives and others were surrounding Celia, offering congratulations and shaking her hand.

"Why did you risk it?" Sam Hawthorne asked. "If it comes to that," Celia answered, "why did you?" It was a week later. Celia and Andrew were spending an evening at the Hawthornes' home and during dinner-a superb meal attesting Lilian Hawthorne's culinary skill-they had avoided the subject of the sales convention and talked of other things. A few days earlier the Russians had announced the shooting down of an American U-2 plane and the capture of its pilot, Gary Powers. Moscow charged that both were spying. The United States at first denied the charge but soon afterward President Eisenhower admitted, redfaced, that it was true. Most Americans, the Hawthornes and Jordans agreed, felt embarrassed too. In Britain the Queen's sister, Princess Margaret, had set tongues wagging and raised eyebrows by marrying a professional photographer, Antony Armstrong-Jones. The wedding took place in what the press described as a "carnival mood.”

People were asking: Would the marriage diminish the prestige of the British throne? Andrew emphatically said no. After dinner they listened to a new recording by Elvis Presley-a pop ballad, "Fame and Fortune.”

Presley had resumed his career after a year in the U.S. Army, his absence having left his popularity undimmed. The women liked "Fame and Fortune.”

The men didn't. Finally, over brandies in the Hawthomes' spacious, artistically decorated living room, it was Sam who introduced the subject, closer to home, that was on all their minds. Answering Celia's question, he said, "When I followed you onto that platform, maybe I just couldn't resist being part of a dramatic scene.”

She objected, "You know it was more than that.”

"We all do," Andrew put in. He was leaning back in a comfortable armchair and savoring the brandy; he had had a busy day with patients in a practice that was growing rapidly, and was tired.”You risked everything, Sam-far more than Celia.”

"Of course, I'm grateful-" Celia began, but Sam cut her off. "You don't need to be. If you want the truth, I felt I was being tested.”

He addressed Andrew.”Your wife had already demonstrated she had more guts, along with greater respect for truth, than anyone else Mere. I didn't want to fall below her standards.”

Sam smiled at Celia.”Especially if you're trying to follow me up the ladder at Felding-Roth.”

"You know about that?" "I told him," Lilian Hawthorne said.”I'm sorry if I broke your confidence, Celia, but Sam and I don't keep secrets from each other.” "I have a secret," Sam said; "it's about Celia.”