Chapter 21: Paradigm shift.

We convoyed over to Memorial, and found Kat (Dick's wife) in the visitor's area, conferring with a doctor. We were all relieve to find out that the chest pain and shortness of breath that had convinced Dick to come in had resulted from a mild heartbeat irregularity, not a coronary. Dick was wheeled out an hour later, and walked out of the hospital under his own power, with warnings from his doctor to take it easy ringing in his ears.

I made my way home after we all saw Dick and Kat back to their place. Luckily for me, I lived across the street from them. After I kicked off my shoes in the foyer, I popped a CD into the Playstation, pressed a few buttons, and went to stand by the window. As the strains of Mariah Carey's 'Breakdown' filled my apartment, I stared unseeingly at the street ten floors below, the trees and shrubs just starting to green again with the advent of spring. It was a few minutes after the song ended that I came out of my trance and reached over to pick up the phone. Consulting a business card on the table, I punched in a number and waited.

"Hanken."

"Hi, Jerry. It's Jordan."

"Hey there. Got an answer for me?"

"I've decided to accept your firm's offer."

"Great! Glad to have you on board. When can you start?"

"How about the first of May? I can wrap up here and settle in there by then."

"Sounds good. I'll FedEx the check for moving expenses and your Hopkins contribution first thing tomorrow morning. Everything else is set, but call me if any problems pop up. See you in a few weeks!"

"You too."

I should probably explain what just happened.

Jerome "Call me Jerry" Hanken was the attorney I met on the plane from LA. A week after I returned to Baltimore, I got a call from him asking if I would be interested in interviewing for the new science consultant position in his firm. He was convinced that my style of simplifying difficult scientific concepts (to improve comprehension for laymen) would be more suitable than the complex jargon-laced explanations of the average stodgy academic. It seemed that my, oh, complete lack of experience and an advanced degree would somehow not be held against me.

What had I to lose? I knew I hadn't a snowball's chance in hell of getting the job, but in this case, it was definitely an honor just to be nominated. Still, I spent a nice chunk of the next week prepping for my interview, so as to not utterly embarrass myself. A science consultant position might not be a bad career choice if I really can't stand academia, and making a good impression now may get me some useful connections down the road.

I didn't tell anyone about it though, not even Morgan or Maddie. Why not, you ask? Because it was a pipe dream--yet, at the same time, I wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could pull this off. I was convinced that telling anyone--anyone at all--would jinx this thin thread of hope I held, deep down inside.

So, I went up to Boston the next weekend. Between the wining and dining (of which there was an inordinate amount), I met and talked with most of the junior partners. Jerry had told me earlier that I hadn't a shot at the position going through regular channels. However, he thought that if the partners had a chance to meet me, and understand what I had to offer, I could be placed on the short list that the senior partners would go over personally. Throughout the weekend, I crafted simple explanations of scientific concepts with down-to-earth analogies and day-to-day phrases. Apparently, I made a favorable impression, since Jerry called two days later to tell me the other junior partners all supported me being put on the short list--they were all sick of working with scientific experts who gave explanations more confusing than the original question.

My second interview was far more intense. Several of the search committee members, distinguished scientists all, took exception to my candidacy. After all, why were they even brought in to select the best candidates if a twenty-three-year old kid with neither a Ph.D. nor any publishing record to speak of could make the short list? (Incidentally, I had a peek at the other candidates. Well-established academics with resumes longer than my arm, the whole lot of them. Makes you wonder whom they were turning away.) After two hours of listening to me compare the latest developments in cancer treatment to a basketball game (and the committee going after each analogy), one of the senior partners finally had enough.

"Mr. Hentgen," he boomed, "Your analogies are certainly entertaining, but tell me, what use are they?"

"Mr. Knowles," I replied (mentally thanking my impulse to memorize the names and faces of all the senior partners), "Do you have a better understanding of recent advances in cancer treatment after today?"

He thought for a moment. "Yes," he admitted.

"If asked to explain the same advances to someone else, could you do so, sir?"

"I believe so."

"Would you use the conventional scientific terms to do so, or my analogies, sir?"

A smile tugged at his lips. "You got me there, Mr. Hentgen."

One of the other senior partners interjected, "I think that we've seen more than enough of Mr. Hentgen for today. But before we conclude, I have one question. In your basketball analogy, what would you equate to a spontaneous remission?"

For one second, I completely blanked. Then my brain started working again. "Mr. Garland, you attended North Carolina, didn't you?"

He looked surprised, but replied, "Why yes. Class of '68."

"Do you still follow UNC sports?"

"Certainly. Have for the last thirty-plus years."

"Then you'd understand me if I referred to the 1993 title game, when UNC played Michigan and its Fab Five. Chris Webber calling a timeout he didn't have is my analogy for spontaneous remission."