by Michael Waldholz
For months, Kamb and Myriad’s research director, Mark Skolnick, had been chasing after a gene that when inherited in a mutated form put people at high risk of developing melanoma, an especially dangerous form of skin cancer. When Kamb had identified a large stretch of DNA that was shared by the melanoma families, he scanned a large gene data bank to see if the DNA material matched any genes previously identified in animals or humans. To his surprise, the gene was identical to one, called p16, already cloned by David Beach, a biologist at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory. However, it wasn’t clear that Beach knew of the gene’s cancer-causing role. As a for-profit business Myriad needed to claim ownership of the gene’s cancer link; Kamb and Skolnick were worried that Beach would soon make the connection.
(Above introduction furnished by the author. The material that follows is excerpted directly from his book, “Curing Cancer,” published by Simon & Schuster, Inc.)
Skolnick then remembered something. Weeks before he had thought about a public forum to present his finding to the scientific community and the press. He finally decided to present the findings at Cold Spring Harbor in June. But prior to that, he had considered giving a talk at a major cancer symposium in mid-April sponsored by the American Association of Cancer Research, a conference that generally received attention from the scientific and lay press. He now recalled that in browsing through the meeting’s printed agenda he had seen that Beach was scheduled to make a formal presentation of his latest cell cycle findings at the meeting. He checked the AACR schedule again. There it was, still another coincidence. Beach’s talk was scheduled for Wednesday, April 13, just two days before the Science publication date.
On Monday afternoon, April 11, Kamb drove to the Salt Lake City airport for a flight to San Francisco. Before he left, Skolnick went over his instructions. Make certain you listen to Beach’s talk. Visit the pressroom at the AACR meeting. See if Beach is hanging around, talking to reporters. We don’t want Beach to take the credit, Skolnick hammered over and over. We need the credit; it’s our work, and we’ve earned it.
Eighteen months earlier, Skolnick had learned a painful lesson about pressrooms at scientific meetings attended by the national media. He had had the good fortune of having the publication of important research coincide with a high-profile scientific meeting. That episode occurred at the annual meeting of the American Society of Human Genetics. Skolnick reported the mapping of the melanoma gene to chromosome 9, which he expected to publish soon. Among the authors of the forthcoming paper was Jane Fountain, a young molecular biologist at MIT. Worried the Utah researchers wouldn’t give her contribution its proper credit, Fountain visited the pressroom the day before the gene mapping paper was to be released, telling reporters that her lab had provided Utah with DNA markers that made the Utah finding possible. Several news reports the next day made highly complimentary references to Fountain, much to Skolnick’s chagrin. “She staked out the room and basically told reporters that the mapping was her work, and that our contribution was minor,” Skolnick recalled later. “It was amazing.”
At 7:30 Wednesday morning, April 13, Patricia Molino, a veteran public relations specialist, was preparing to leave her hotel room in San Francisco when she received an unexpected phone call from her assistant, Barbara Goldberg. Molino and Goldberg were running the pressroom at the AACR. Their job was to keep the journalists covering the meeting happy, making certain they had all the free food they needed, free phone lines, and copies of research papers being presented at the five-day scientific conference.
Molino’s staff had spent weeks prior to the meeting wading through the hundreds of scientific presentations for choice morsels of science to feed the reporters in attendance. On the day a research paper of potential interest was presented, the publicists worked the pressroom, talking up the science, pointing out the small hill of press releases on a centrally located table, arranging interviews with researchers and often setting up press briefings—miniature press conferences in which a group of scientists discussed related bits of scientific advances and made themselves available to questions from the press. It wasn’t easy work. Much of the research was esoteric, often even beyond the grasp of Molino and her associates. When Molino could help turn science into understandable nuggets of news the press, the researchers, and the public all benefited. But, as the events of that day were to reveal, the cancer gene research story had now become headline news, and everyone who could benefit from the story was seeking a piece of the action.
For Wednesday, the last day of meeting, Molino’s team had little left to pitch. She was pleased to hear Goldberg on the phone and what she had to say. “I think there could be a lot of interest in David Beach’s presentation this morning,” Goldberg said, after exchanging the briefest of morning pleasantries. Goldberg was already at the second-floor pressroom of the Moscone Convention Center and had been advised that Beach “had some very interesting work to discuss.” According to rumors quickly spreading among the scientists at the meeting, Beach’s gene was a new tumor suppressor, Goldberg said. Should we schedule a briefing for the reporters in the early afternoon? she asked her boss.
Molino knew Beach slightly as a leading explorer in an especially complicated area of cell biology. Would reporters really be interested in the intricate interplay between cyclin D and cyclin-dependent kinase inhibitors? Molino wondered. Her skepticism faded when she stepped into the pressroom a little while later. There was an unmistakable buzz of breaking news. Up on a bulletin board where the AACR press staff posted the day’s schedule there now hung a note alerting reporters that a press briefing at 12 noon featuring David Beach was being inserted into the day’s lineup. To experienced reporters it was a tip-off that something was up. To make certain no reporter missed out, Molino’s crew decided not to be subtle: the announced press conference included the words, “hot new data,” a phrase that Molino’s staff hadn’t used all week.
Distributing copies of Science’s news article had an unintentional but unmistakable effect. Anyone entering the pressroom that morning could now read about the momentous discovery, even though it was supposed to be kept confidential for two more days. A piece of highly privileged science news, which Kamb and Skolnick had worked so hard to control, had just been released for all the world to see. It looked as if Skolnick’s paranoia was justified.
The news story, written by Jean Marx, Science’s chief molecular biology reporter, was a red flag for reporters at the meeting looking for news. Reporters who cover biomedicine regularly monitor what Marx is writing each week to gauge what the editors at Science believe is the week’s most important research article in the red-hot field of genetics.
And in case there was any doubt about the validity or value of the research from an otherwise unknown investigator in Utah, Marx described Kamb’s discovery as “a major new addition to the list of tumor suppressors.” In a quote that jumped off the page, Bert Vogelstein hailed the Kamb find as being of “phenomenal importance.” Marx also made very clear that the gene had been first isolated by Beach. And, in what certainly caught the eye of reporters at the meeting who saw the article, Marx reported that Beach, and collaborators at the National Cancer Institute, “confirm that they, too, have similar results” to Kamb’s. Marx added, however, in a phrase once more certain to raise the competitive interest of science journalists, that Beach and the NCI researchers “are not yet willing to discuss their work in detail because it is still unpublished.”
Several reporters in the pressroom guessed Beach might use his previously scheduled talk or the ad hoc press briefing at noon to discuss his own unpublished experiments showing that the p16 gene was a new tumor suppressor of note. Indeed, several reporters, increasingly cynical in the face of growing competition among scientists, were certain Beach was behind the unexpected press briefing. “It was an ideal forum for him to scoop the Utah folks,” said one reporter. “No one would criticize him for releasing unpublished data at a meeting where scientists are encouraged to do that.” The reporters in the newsroom figured that if Beach allowed just enough to slip out about his “similar results,” they could use it as a hook for a major news story, thereby beating Science into print by one day and scooping unwitting medical reporters back home who were unaware of what was taking place.
Beach was oblivious to the press activity, but he did know, by the time he was about to give his talk, that Kamb’s research was coming out in a few days in Science. He knew because Jean Marx had called him to help prepare her article, and because several news reporters had also phoned him before he left the East Coast, asking him to comment for news reports they were preparing to file on Friday, when the Science embargo lifted.
Despite telling Marx in general terms that his lab had accomplished the same thing as Kamb, Beach and Harris decided that Beach should discuss only the Cold Spring Harbor lab’s work picking apart the interplay of proteins in the cell cycle. Nonetheless, just before he went up the podium to give his talk, one of Molino’s associates asked him to come to the scheduled press briefing because “some reporters wanted to chat with him abut his research.” Beach wasn’t certain what the press’s interest was, but he decided he had better find out.
Meanwhile, as Skolnick had advised, Kamb was nosing around the pressroom, as he had been since late Monday, poking his head inside, or checking out the table where press releases and research papers were piled up. On Wednesday morning before walking over to listen to Beach’s formal presentation, Kamb dropped by the pressroom one more time.
When Kamb saw the press briefing announcement he became concerned. Kamb walked over to Molino and introduced himself as the author of the embargoed Science paper. “I’m worried this is going to compromise my position,” he told her. “I want to come to the press conference. I want to hear what Beach says. I really think I ought to be there.”
Molino thought Kamb was pleasant enough; a young and sincere scientist. But she thought his concern was misguided, perhaps paranoid. She told Kamb only journalists or presenting scientists were invited. Kamb insisted he should be present and Molino, worried by his insistent tone that he might cause a problem if barred from the briefing, said she would look into it.
Satisfied he’d made his point, Kamb went off to hear Beach’s formal talk. During the 20-minute presentation, Beach spoke at length about p16 and p21, and their roles in the cell cycle. Only in passing did he mention there was some evidence the p16 gene might be mutated in cancer tumors. But he steered away from the breaking news. Kamb was confused. Maybe, he thought, Beach already has a paper in press and doesn’t want to jeopardize it by releasing details that are embargoed in another journal. But then, how did he explain the phrase “hot news” being touted to reporters in the pressroom?
Less than two hours later, Kamb was shaking Beach’s hand; it was their only friendly moment of the day. Molino had agreed to Kamb’s request and even suggested she introduce the two men prior to the briefing. Beach assured Kamb he had no intention of saying anything jeopardizing the embargo. Kamb then settled into a seat at the back of the press briefing room. Beach was uncertain exactly what was the proper thing to do. He hadn’t read Marx’s article and he didn’t know it had been widely distributed among the press waiting for him. In fact, most reporters were interested in talking to Beach only because of what they had read in Science. They already knew his lab deserved credit for unearthing the gene and that it had performed the same experiments being reported in Friday’s Science. Entering the pressroom, Beach wondered how he could make certain reporters at the briefing knew his contribution was the foundation upon which Kamb and Skolnick had merely added a few extra rooms, and how he could do this without breaking the embargo.
Prior to the press briefing Beach called Curt Harris, his collaborator at NCI. Tall, thick-chested, with wide shoulders and a trim white beard, the 50-year-old Kansas native was widely respected by his peers. His habit of speaking slowly and in a deeply resonant voice added to his stature. Harris, like Beach, was distressed when he heard Kamb had beaten them. Harris’s lab had run full-tilt for weeks, scouring tumor cell samples for mutations in p16. Like Beach, Harris believed the p16 gene’s importance had yet to be seen by other labs. News of Kamb’s report, passed along to him only days before by Marx and then again by other reporters, had stunned him.
The briefing room was packed; there were klieg lights and television cameras. The press urged him to confirm details contained in the Marx article. Thus goaded, Beach reluctantly began talking about Kamb’s work. Kamb then jumped up from his seat, introduced himself, and told the gathering, “Listen, this is my work. If you have questions about it, ask me.” At which point, several reporters, surprised and excited by Kamb’s unexpected appearance, shouted that he should come up to the podium. Beach sat down.
Watching all this unfold, one reporter recalls thinking that to adhere to the embargo was like trying to defy gravity. It wasn’t going to happen. Even Kamb realized that. Up at the microphone he answered detailed questions about the importance of the new cancer-causing gene. He reiterated that he thought it might be mutated in many cancers, since his lab had found alterations in the gene in almost half of all tumor cell lines they sampled. A reporter asked if speaking out in public didn’t break the embargo. Can’t we report now what you’ve been saying? Kamb conceded he thought the embargo was now a “farce.” He told the reporters he needed to make a phone call and he’d let them know shortly, through Molino, if the embargo was no longer in effect. Sitting nearby, Molino was stupefied. Never had she seen someone actually succeed in organizing his own impromptu press conference in the middle of one set up for someone else.
Kamb then called Daniel Koshland, the editor of Science, who wasn’t surprised to hear from him. It wasn’t the first time the two men had spoken. Several days prior to leaving for San Francisco, Kamb and Koshland talked about what they should do if Beach discussed the Utah finding during his formal presentation. Koshland, himself a molecular biologist with a lab at the University of California, Berkeley, liked the younger scientist. Kamb had worked in the laboratory of one of Koshland’s close colleagues; Koshland even had recommended Kamb for a job. He was impressed by Kamb and wanted to help him succeed. Science had been getting calls all day from reporters wondering whether the embargo was terminated. “I was trying my best to protect a promising young scientist,” Koshland recalls thinking. “I thought [what was going on in San Francisco] was absolutely outrageous.” The two men agreed to formally end the embargo.
In almost all the stories, Myriad Genetics was mentioned prominently. But Skolnick was miffed because every story gave almost equal credit to Beach, something Skolnick was certain was a result of Beach’s active presence in San Francisco. Moreover, several stories, including Cole’s AP story, made it seem the discovery was being released at the AACR meeting in San Francisco, and not in Myriad’s research paper in Science.
But then, four days later, Time magazine ran a cover story on cancer genes in which Skolnick, Kamb, and Myriad played a central role. Time’s science correspondent had been working on a story about cancer gene research, and the Science paper was the news hook needed to get the article published. On the article’s third page, following a huge picture of a malignant cell, was a black and white photograph of Kamb sitting next to his lab bench. Under the photo, Time’s editors said, “the multiple tumor suppressor gene that Alexander Kamb and his colleagues discovered may explain why ... melanoma cells went astray.” Time downplayed Beach’s role, noting only that his lab had previously discovered the protein produced by MTS1, and adding, “last week [in San Francisco] it became clear that p16 and MTS1 are one and the same.”
Kamb, of course, was pleased. His family telephoned with congratulations. Even his grandfather, Linus Pauling, called with warm wishes. “That really made me feel proud.” Sasha told his friends, noting that to date he didn’t think his grandfather had thought much of what he was doing. Vogelstein sent a congratulatory telegram, praising the discovery as “the most important of the year.” And then, topping things off, the following week, in Science’s chief competitor, the British journal Nature, researchers at the University of California, San Diego, reported exactly the same thing. Not only did the Nature article confirm their findings, but it convinced Kamb and Skolnick they were right to rush the results into print. “We were very lucky, very, very lucky,” Skolnick recalls.
From CURING CANCER by Michael Waldholz. Copyright (c) 1997 by Michael Waldholz. Reprinted by permission of Simon & Schuster, Inc.