* * *
“My name is Marvin Jackson.”
“But most people know you by a different name, don't they?”
“Yeah, most people know me as ‘Marvin, The Master.’”
“The basketball star.”
Jackson smiled. “I had a few good years on the court.”
That had been obvious the moment Marvin, The Master, had walked into the courtroom. His six-foot-nine frame still seemed in perfect condition, as if he could put on a uniform today and score twenty-plus against the best of them. With all his good looks and his charm, Messick had been surprised his TV show never worked.
“Mr. Jackson, the drug company called GlaxoSmithKline, known previously as Glaxo Wellcome, and before that as Burroughs Wellcome – one of the defendants in this case – has paid you fairly large sums of money over the years for doing commercials for them, haven't they?”
“Yes, they have.”
“So you're naturally reluctant to be a witness and say anything that might jeopardize that relationship, aren't you?”
“Just a minute ago I swore I'd tell the truth, Mr. Messick. And I will.”
I’m counting on that, Mr. Jackson.
“And I appreciate that. But you came here based on a subpoena, and not on your own free will, didn't you?”
“Yes, I did.”
This man deserves a lot of respect, regardless.
“Well, Mr. Jackson, I want to make it as easy as I can for you, recognizing that you have to testify or you'll be in contempt of court. I will try to ask you very straightforward questions that you can say Yes or No to, for the most part, and GlaxoSmithKline will have to recognize that you had no choice but to answer me honestly. I’ll even ask the Judge to designate you as a hostile witness, if you would prefer.”
“Let’s see how it goes, Mr. Messick.”
“All right, Mr. Jackson.” He looks at his yellow pad full of questions. “In November of 1991, something almost ruined your basketball career, didn't it? Please tell the court what that was.”
“I went to get a marriage license and the blood test came back saying I was HIV-positive.”
“Were you sick at all at that time?”
“No.”
“In fact, you were beginning another season of playing professional basketball, weren't you?”
“Yes.”
“I imagine it would be very difficult to play professional basketball if you were sick with AIDS.”
“Is that a question, Mr. Messick?”
“No. But this is: What did you do when you found out you were HIV-positive?”
“I asked a few people in the medical profession what to do.”
Messick looks at his notes again. “Isn't it true that you asked none other than…,” reading from his pad, “…Dr. Anthony Fauci, who was the director of the National Institutes of Allergic and Infectious Diseases for the National Institutes of Health, and David Ho, now director of the Aaron Diamond AIDS Research Center in New York, along with your personal physician?”
“I am very fortunate to have access to some of the best minds in the country, yes.”
“And their collective wisdom recommended that you do what?”
“To take AZT to treat my HIV.”
“And did you listen to them and start taking AZT?”
“Yes, I did.”
I hope the jury can keep all these dates straight.
“Just so we keep our dates straight, Mr. Jackson, that would have been in November or December of 1991, is that correct?”
“If you say so.”
“And how long did you take AZT, Mr. Jackson?”
“I don't remember exactly.”
“Well, are you taking it now?”
“No.”
“Did you take it for, let's say, five years?”
“No.”
“Did you take it for even one year?”
“No.”
“As a matter of fact, it was common knowledge that you did start taking AZT, but you have never wanted to say publicly whether you ever stopped taking it, or exactly how long you took it, have you?”
“It's not anybody's business, really.”
Wait a minute…has GlaxoSmithKline been paying Jackson not to talk about when and why he stopped taking AZT? Have they been paying for his silence? I know he’s gotten a lot of money from them, and I’ve never seen all the commercials that money would have paid to make…but I can’t go there, since I don’t know what answers I’ll get to those questions. Things are going far too well to take that kind of a risk now. Better stick to the game plan.
“Mr. Jackson, isn’t it true that as soon as you started taking AZT in November of 1991, you got sick?”
“Maybe. I can’t remember.”
“Well, I can refresh your memory if you like, Mr. Jackson. You were diagnosed HIV-positive in November of 1991, and by that December the press was already writing, and I quote, ‘The Master Reeling as Worst Nightmare Comes True – He's Getting Sicker,’ unquote. So it took less than a month for you to get sick after starting to take AZT, Mr. Jackson?”
“Apparently.”
“You were also quoted as saying you had ‘lost your appetite’ and ‘suffered from bouts of nausea and fatigue,’ and quote, ‘I feel like vomiting almost every day,’ unquote. Was this true?”
“Yes, I remember that now.”
“All within one month of starting to take AZT?”
“Objection. Asked and answered.”
“Sustained.”
“I'll ask a question that you didn't answer before, Mr. Jackson: I imagine it would be very difficult playing professional basketball feeling this way, wouldn't it?”
“Yes.”
“In fact, did you have to stop playing basketball for a while in December because of the sickness that started after you began taking AZT?”
“Yes.”
Messick walks back to the lectern that he had vacated a few minutes earlier to spend some time closer to the jury. He flips through a few yellow pieces of paper, reads something, and then continues.
“But, Mr. Jackson, it says here…,” pointing to his note pad, “… that you played in the NBA All-Star game in February of 1992, just six weeks after you had described yourself as very sick; and not only did you play, but you were awarded the Most Valuable Player of that game. Have I got that right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, here's what I don't understand, Mr. Jackson,” and he delivers the next few lines looking at the jury rather than at Jackson, “you were too sick to play basketball in December of 1991, and you had just started taking AZT less than a month earlier. In February, you're back on the court, playing at the top of your game again. If you were still taking AZT at the time of the All-Star game, it means that AZT had worked wonders for you. This should have been the very best advertising that Burroughs Wellcome could have dreamed of. Imagine...a basketball star of your stature, diagnosed with HIV, took AZT, and now look at him, folks. He's MVP of the NBA All-Stars! Don't you think that would have tripled the sales of AZT overnight?” He whirls around again to look at Jackson. “Did Burroughs Wellcome ask you to make a commercial like that, Mr. Jackson?”
“No, they didn't.”
Messick’s back at the lectern, reading. “Well, how about six months later? You played on the 1992 U.S. Olympic Basketball team and won a gold medal. Did they ask you to make a commercial for them then?”
“No, they didn't.”
“They didn't want you to just stand there, holding your gold medal, while they talked about what AZT can do for all the other HIV-positives in the world?”
“No.”
“I would have. But let's jump ahead to the 1995-96 basketball season. You came out of retirement to play professional basketball again, didn't you?”
“Yes, I did.”
Messick reads some more notes. “In fact, you almost got a triple-double, and even ended the season with some pretty impressive stats. You must not have been sick then. W
ere you sick then, Mr. Jackson?”
“No, I wasn't.”
“When you came back out of retirement to play again in 1995, did Burroughs Wellcome finally come to you then, asking you to make a commercial for AZT, as the MVP of the 1992 All-Star game, the Gold Medal Winner in the 1992 Olympics, and now healthy enough to play professional basketball again?”
“No.”
“No?” Messick seems incredulous. “Do you know why they didn't?”
“No, I don't.”
Messick drops his voice. There’s no need to role-play now, no reason for feigned surprise. Jackson is trapped in the corner with nowhere to throw the ball.
“I think you do, Mr. Jackson. I think it was because you stopped taking AZT sometime between December of 1991 and the All-Star game in February of 1992, just two months later, and as soon as you stopped taking AZT, your health came back almost immediately and you were able to play again with no problems. That would have made it a little hard for you to make a commercial singing the praises of AZT, wouldn't it, Mr. Jackson?”
“No comment.”
“In fact, Mr. Jackson, the joke going around the NBA in early 1992, was quote, ‘there’s no magic in AZT, and there’s no AZT in The Master.’”
There's some laughter in the courtroom, which the Judge gavels silent.
“Thank you, Mr. Jackson. I have nothing further.” And out of old habit, “Your witness, Mr. Crawley.”
Everyone is surprised to see Crawley get up from his chair.
“Mr. Jackson, I don't have any questions. I just wanted to tell you what a pleasure it was to watch you play basketball.”
Crawley sits down again as the Judge looks at him very strangely.
“Carry on, Mr. Messick.”
Sarah knows she can’t hold it back any longer. She excuses herself as she walks down the row in front of all the other reporters from the Tribune and makes her way out of the courtroom to the ladies’ room. While she kneels on the floor, head in the toilet, vomiting uncontrollably, Messick tries a fast break.
“Your Honor, I am about to call a half-dozen witnesses – all of them family members of those who had developed AIDS and were symptomatic. They all had some sort of active opportunistic disease and were prescribed AZT as the treatment. And they all died in less than two years.”
Is there some possibility this might work?
“Then I am going to call about a dozen witnesses who will tell essentially the exact same story as Mrs. Adams a few moments ago, that a member of their family was diagnosed as HIV-positive, and although they were not sick – they had no symptoms of AIDS – they began taking AZT on the advice of their doctors and on recommendation from their friends and family. Within two to three years, they too were all dead.”
What a coup if Crawley goes for it…
“I will then call another dozen or so witnesses like Master Jackson, who themselves were diagnosed as HIV-positive, perhaps tried taking AZT for a very short time under pressure from their doctors and family, but for one reason or another stopped – or never started – taking AZT, and are alive today to tell us their story.”
Okay, let’s see what happens…
“Now, Mr. Crawley has been so intent on saving this court so much time, I thought perhaps we could skip all these witnesses if Mr. Crawley wanted to agree that the drug AZT actually creates the very disease it is supposed to treat – AIDS.”
Judge Watts is so impressed with Messick’s moxie that she goes along with him. “Mr. Crawley?”
Crawley whispers something in the ear of Dr. Gallo, sitting next to him, and Gallo whispers something back. Mr. Gladstone, the attorney for Burroughs Wellcome/GlaxoSmithKline, is beside himself. Crawley tries to calm him down as he pushes back his chair and stands.
“Your Honor, I would ask for a brief recess to confer with my clients.”
“How brief, Mr. Crawley?”
“15 minutes should be plenty, Your Honor.”
“Very well. Court is recessed for 15 minutes.”