“Amazing….Explores human courage under the most trying circumstances.” —New York Post “An inspirational story about business, medical science, and one father’s refusal to give up hope.” —Boston Globe The book that inspired the movie, Extraordinary Measures, starring Harrison Ford, Brendan Fraser, and Keri Russell, The Cure by Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Geeta Anand is the remarkable true story of one father’s determination to find a cure for his terminally sick children even if it meant he had to build a business from scratch to do so. At once a riveting story of the birth of an enterprise—ala Tracy Kidder’s The Soul of a New Machine—and a inspiring tale of the indomitable human spirit in the vein of Erin Brockovich and A Civil Action, The Cure is a testament to ingenuity, unflagging will, and unconquerable love.
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About the Author
Geeta Anand is a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative reporter and feature writer for the Wall Street Journal. Formerly a political reporter for the Boston Globe, she now specializes in health care, education, and environmental challenges in India. She lives in Mumbai with her husband and two daughters.
Read an Excerpt
How a Father Raised $100 Million--And Bucked the Medical Establishment--In a Quest to Save His Children
On a clear, brilliantly sunny afternoon in June 1997, John Crowley walked to the podium to deliver the Class Day address to his fellow Harvard Business School graduates. At five feet six inches tall, he stood ramrod straight in his navy suit, his dark hair closely cropped and his square face wreathed in a bright, eager expression. Eyes shining, he unleashed a crisp, white smile into the crowd.
John opened a folder containing his speech and paused, relishing the attention of nine hundred fellow graduates and a few thousand of their friends and family members. They filled the metal chairs arranged in hundreds of rows in front of him under a white tent. To his left stood Baker Library, and behind the audience the Charles River sparkled. Across the river, the green-topped cupola of Eliot House, a Harvard college dorm, poked out from behind the summer greenery.
The business school had developed a distinct, close-knit identity since moving in 1927 to its own campus of neo-Georgian buildings. Students spent many hours each day with one another in class, and many more hours together on group homework assignments at night. Friendships born here tended to live on as the students graduated to become a disproportionately large portion of the nation's business and political elite. Many who came here were the sons and daughters of heads of state, ambassadors, and company chief executives; those who didn't start off as part of the elite were likely tojoin it when they left. Of the nation's Fortune 500 companies, some 15 percent of their top three officers came through this business school.
John's family sat in the front few rows of the audience. His mother Barbara sat beside his stepfather Lou and half-brother Jason. In the next row, his six-month-old daughter Megan, a bottle in her mouth, looked up from the lap of his wife Aileen. Automatically, his eyes scanned the seats around her for their two-year-old son John Jr., before he remembered that they had decided to leave him at home with a baby-sitter. But the rest of his tight-knit family was there, including Aileen's parents, Marty and Kathy, and her Uncle Charles and Aunt Jane.
"It is my great privilege and honor to share with you today the many experiences of the past two years and the hopes for the future of what is now and should always be the greatest class in the history of the Harvard Business School," John began. "For those of you keeping count, that's my first attempt to pander to the crowd," he said, looking up and smiling as the audience laughed appreciatively.
"In the one and a half hours that I have to speak with you all today—scared you, didn't I?—okay, in the next twenty minutes, I'll do my best to capture what has been for so many of us such a powerful and moving experience both in learning and living."
John's mother nodded, thinking that in his opening, her son had expressed the awesomeness of the moment with enough humor to avoid being annoyingly grandiose. He had always exuded a boyish charm, and others had always seen him as the kind of guy who was almost too good to be true—but was true. It was a testament to the high esteem his classmates held him in that he'd been elected to be their Class Day speaker, their representative at this graduation event. He reminded her so much of his late father, a police officer, who had snared her with his wiseass sense of humor the night they'd been introduced by mutual friends at Oprandy's, a New Jersey bar, in February 1966. When the bar closed, he and his brother had sat in her car for another hour, laughing as they regaled her with joke after joke, until her father drove up and knocked on the window, demanding to know why she wasn't home. By April, they were engaged, and they rushed to marry in August because she was pregnant with John.1
As she did at every milestone in John's life, Barbara thought of how thrilled his father would have been. She remembered the early morning in January more than twenty years earlier when she'd sat John, then seven, and his younger brother Joseph, four, side by side on her bed to tell them their father had died. Sergeant John Francis Crowley—after whom John was named—had been found dead at the end of the night shift, apparently of carbon monoxide poisoning caused by a defect in his police cruiser.
She'd left Joe at home and taken John to the funeral at the towering stone St. Cecelia's Catholic Church in the town of Englewood, New Jersey, where she'd been married, her children had been baptized, and both sons would serve as altar boys. Thousands filled the twenty-five rows of dark wooden pews and spilled onto the street outside. Sergeant Crowley, the son of an Irish immigrant rubber factory worker, had grown up in the ground-floor apartment of a four-family brick house on Prospect Street, a few blocks from the church where he was being eulogized at age thirty-five. In stories in the local newspapers, friends and colleagues remembered him for his sense of humor and his pride in being a cop. Sergeant Crowley "was so proud to be a cop that nothing else was important to him," Police Chief Thomas Ryan told one newspaper.
Little John Crowley had listened intently in the front row as the priest addressed the homily to him, telling him there was no way he could understand why God had taken his father from him so young, but that now it was his responsibility to help take care of his mother and his family. After his father's coffin, draped in an American flag—Sergeant Crowley had also been a U.S. Marine—was carried down the twenty-two marble steps, John had instinctively saluted. Everyone assumed his mother had prompted him . . .The Cure
How a Father Raised $100 Million--And Bucked the Medical Establishment--In a Quest to Save His Children. Copyright © by Geeta Anand. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Table of Contents
Author's Note ix
1 Veritas 5
2 Trouble 13
3 Diagnosis 21
4 Hope 25
5 God Doesn't Give You More Than You Can Handle 39
6 The Road to Power and Influence 51
7 Megan 61
8 The Conference 75
9 The Marriage 83
10 Sharon 105
11 Betting On Research 115
12 "Let's Just Do It" 129
13 A Rocky Start 141
14 Failure is Not an Option 155
15 Cowboys 159
16 Losing Support 175
17 Novazyme Time 183
18 Making Memories 197
19 The Bluff 207
20 The Deal 221
21 Genzyme 231
22 Tough Choices 243
23 The Mother of All Experiments 255
24 The Sibling Study 267
25 Plan B 281
26 " You Can Tell Megan" 289
27 Ready To Run 295
Timeline of Major Events 322
What People are Saying About This
“Intensely moving, powerful...This gripping account will inspire and sustain hope for all parents whose children are stricken with disease.”
“Suspenseful, poignant…Anand’s The Cure is a wild rollercoaster ride at the edge of medicine.”
“Brilliantly written! This is the story of a marriage and family that survived despite incredible odds.”