As I write my medical thriller, The Neah Virus, I often draw on personal experience to flesh out characters and give them a sense of realism. Time and again I cast my memory back over decades in the biotechnology industry, and time and again I find myself remembering personalities of less-than-sterling quality.
I’m not saying that all, or even most, people working in the business are of low and mean nature, but it is disturbing to recall how often those of lesser talent found ways of circumventing, backstabbing or simply outlasting their intellectual betters. On reflection, it amazes me sometimes how any significant scientific discoveries ever happened in the biotech corporate cultures I have seen, given how much energy was wasted in conflict and political maneuvering.
I won’t mention any names, either of people or companies, and I won’t get too specific in details of old showdowns, but suffice it to say that my Peyton McKean mysteries almost always involve the kind of in-fighting I personally experienced years ago while simply trying to do my job as a scientist and get on with the business of scientific discovery. Here are a couple examples of personality types who made my job a lot more difficult than it had to be:
The sycophant. This is a classic corporate type and I can recall several from my early years in biotech. This is the guy (or gal) who always sees it the boss’s way. You would think the boss would get wise, but instead I have seen such ass-kissers go from minor players to top lieutenants, and even on to become heads of major corporations as years roll by. But here’s the problem. Every time I would debate the boss’s cherished–and often wrong–concepts for how to tackle a problem, the sycophant would argue with me and add to the boss’s certainty. The end result was that new personnel would be assigned to join the ranks of the sycophant’s research group while mine languished. And here’s the rub. More often than not, the boss’s plan would fail and my approach would succeed, and yet the sycophant would continue on with the larger research group. A neat trick. Fail while using the boss’s plan and enhance your standing anyway. Never fear though, I am not giving you a showcase of defeatism. I would often pursue my own disdained approach and solve the problem despite my lack of help or the boss’s approval along the way. The end result was corporate success with the project and my name featured prominently on a company patent with few co-authors.
This sort of thing happened quite a few times. I ultimately was the leader of the smallest but most productive laboratories in several organizations. Here’s another interesting character type:
The cry baby. After my discoveries had made me prominent in one biotech company, I began to take a certain kind of flack. I would be called to the big boss’s office for a browbeating about how my remarks at one meeting or another had upset some of my colleagues. As often as not, the boss refused to tell me who had complained, insisting that I might subject the plaintiff to more upsetting conversation. Of course, all I wanted was to make a direct apology and try to establish some sense of camaraderie. Often, the criticism was not about what I had said–perhaps a new way to approach a problem–but rather about how I had said it. Not politely enough for some people’s tastes, I guess.
The toady. Here’s one more quick one. I recall a particular man who, when playing up to his boss, actually bent down so low in voicing his flattery and obeisances, as to take on the actual posture of a toad.
I’d better stop or I’ll have an unending cavalcade of ne’er-do-wells to tell you about. Perhaps I’ll blog again someday about some more of these types.
There’s one nice thing about recalling these characters from my real-life past. If I get tired of writing about their odious ways in my stories, I can always concoct a scene in which they die horribly or are reduced to an ignominious end. In The Neah Virus, I’m glad to say, that happens more than once.
