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CHAPTER 20
Richard Pillsbury was getting comfortable with his new life. Comfortably numb, as they say in that Pink Floyd song his wife was fond of, the condition described in the song being one he was appreciating more lately since the death of his battleaxe mother and the resultant inheritance of both wealth and responsibility. No longer would he have to seek Goosy Lucy’s seal of approval for his business proposals and ideas. Or anything else, for that matter.
Believing that the pharmaceutical industry was poised at the onset of a great period of growth, Better living through chemistry, a concept that had infiltrated and seduced the masses, Richard was preparing to reap the rewards. He was currently conferencing with a number of small-to-medium-sized midwestern pharmaceutical interests that shared his desire for larger markets and increased profits. Richard believed that a combined effort—perhaps a loose and unofficial conglomerate based on mutual goals—could influence physicians into prescribing the hot new products on the market. The demand was there and someone needed to fill it. Advertising, as well as salting the wire services with press releases singing the praises of new drugs—like Xanax for instance, the new tranquilizer on the market that would likely supplant Valium and Librium at the top of the sales totem pole—could have a tremendous impact on the industry. If you were generous with the samples and sent representatives around with brochures as well as allowing them to provide financial incentives to doctors when necessary, you could corner a lucrative piece of the market.
But his favorite trick in the bag was a new and innovative concept. A concept, he believed was invented by an ambitious young pharmacist in Minneapolis. A concept, which would allow the smaller companies to get in on the manufacture and wholesaling of drugs after the existing exclusivity clauses expired. The Twin Cities pharmacist had begun bottling no-name aspirin in the basement of his home and selling the products to the local chain stores at a price far below what the big firms offered, and now the man was raking it in.
Generic drugs.
Yes, sir, generic drugs were going to be big. What consumer wouldn’t want to save a little money and still take the edge off of modern living? And modern living could be sharp-edged and occasionally dreary, couldn’t it.
But as much as Richard loved matching wits with the sharks and hustlers of his industry, it took its toll on him. As a child he was high-strung, had tendencies toward nervousness, and experienced the occasional anxiety attack. These were traits he had successfully hidden from his mother in his adult years by the surreptitious use of mood-altering samples from his pharmacy. But now he could see that in the days before he met Judy—his new bride, praise be—he was just a blind man groping in the dark. Judy’s experience as a nurse and caregiver, and perhaps her unfortunate fall into street life, had taught her many things about the successful management of today’s powerful pharmacopoeia. Judy could mix up a cocktail of drugs that made him feel like he was at the top of the world looking down at creation, to steal a line from one of his favorites songs.
Karen Carpenter—now there was a performer of substance.
Admittedly, he had felt a bit uneasy when Jude injected him intravenously for the first time. But the resultant release proved unlike anything he had previously experienced, and, in truth, was certainly more in keeping with medical procedure. Now he found himself looking forward to these cocktails throughout his day, especially if the day was one of stress and strain. But not to worry, Judy assured him she knew what she was doing. And he had to confess he was intrigued by what his bride would come up with next. There seemed to be a never-ending flow of new products on the market promising comfort in an uncomfortable world. Better living through chemistry, indeed.
And if he was perhaps a skosh sluggish in the morning after an evening of deep relaxation and sexual pleasure, there was another miracle substance to take care of that.
And he had it all under control.
Richard believed he and his new bride would soon be a “power couple.” People would look up to them. Their deeds would be remembered for eternity. Why someday he might even donate a few million to a university, have a building named after him and put the name Pillsbury in the public eye for something other than baked goods and a cartoon creature made of dough.
(End of Chapter 20)
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