Bennett wasn’t rebelling. It was more like he was oblivious to the whole concept. No, that wasn’t the right word either. Immune.
And if he could be immune to fads, did that mean they were caused by some kind of virus? I looked over at Gina’s table, where Elaine and Dr. Applegate were earnestly whispering to her about emphysema and the surgeon general’s warning. Was Bennett really immune to fads or just fashion-impaired, as Flip had said?
I opened my notebook and wrote, “They hired Flip’s new assistant,” and pushed it over in front of him.
He wrote back, “I know. I met her this morning. Her name’s Shirl.”
“Did you know she smokes?” I wrote and watched his expression when he read it. He looked neither surprised nor repelled.
“Flip told me,” he wrote. “She said Shirl was going to pollute the workplace. The pot calling the kettle black.”
I grinned.
“What does that i tattoo on Flip’s forehead stand for?” he wrote.
“It’s not a tattoo, it’s a brand,” I wrote back.
“Incompetent or impossible?”
“Initiative,” Management said, and we both looked up guiltily. “Which brings me to our third item of business. How many of you know what the Niebnitz Grant is?”
I did, and even though nobody else raised their hand, I was willing to bet everybody else did, too. It’s the largest research grant there is, even bigger than the MacArthur Grant, and with virtually no strings attached. The scientist gets the money and can apply it to any kind of research at all. Or retire to the Bahamas.
It’s also the most mysterious research grant there is. Nobody knows who gives it, what they give it for, or even when it’s given. There was one awarded last year, to Lawrence Chin, an artificial intelligence researcher, four the year before that, and none before that for over three years. The Niebnitz people (whoever they are) sweep down periodically like one of those Angels from Above on some unsuspecting scientist and make it so he never has to fill out another simplified funding allocation form.
There are no requirements, no application form, no particular field of study the grant favors. Of the four the year before last, one was a Nobel prize winner, one a graduate assistant, one a chemist at a French research institute, and one a part-time inventor. The only thing that’s known for sure is the amount, which Management had just written on his flipchart: $1,000,000.
“The winner of the Niebnitz Grant receives one million dollars, to be spent on research of the recipient’s choice.” Management turned over a page of the flipchart. “The Niebnitz Grant is awarded for scientific sensibility.” He wrote science on the flipchart. “Divergent thinking.” He wrote thought. “And circumstantial predisposition to significant scientific breakthrough.” He added breakthrough and then tapped all three words with his pointer. “Science. Thought. Breakthrough.”
“What does this have to do with us?” Bennett whispered.
“Two years ago the Institut de Paris won a Niebnitz Grant,” Management said.
“No, it didn’t,” I whispered. “A scientist working at the Institut won it.”
“And they were using old-fashioned management techniques,” Management said.
“Oh, no,” I murmured. “Management expects us to win a Niebnitz Grant.”
“How can they?” Bennett whispered. “Nobody even knows how they’re awarded.”
Management cast a cold eye in our direction. “The Niebnitz Grant Committee is looking for outstanding creative projects with the potential for significant scientific breakthroughs, which is what GRIM is all about. Now I’d like you to get in groups and write down five things you can do to win the Niebnitz Grant.”
“Pray,” Bennett said.
I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down:
1. Optimize potential.
2. Facilitate empowerment.
3. Implement visioning.
4. Strategize priorities.
5. Augment core structures.
“What is that?” Bennett said, looking at the list. “Those make no sense.”
“Neither does expecting us to win the Niebnitz Grant.” I handed it in.
“Now let’s get busy. You’ve got divergent thinking to do. Let’s see some significant scientific breakthroughs.”
Management marched out, his baton under his arm, but everyone just sat there, stunned, except Alicia Turnbull, who started taking rapid notes in her daybook, and Flip, who strolled in and started passing out pieces of paper.
“Projected Results: Significant Scientific Breakthrough,” I said, shaking my head. “Well, bobbed hair certainly isn’t it.”
“Don’t they know science doesn’t work like that? You can’t just order scientific breakthroughs. They happen when you look at something you’ve been working on for years and suddenly see a connection you never noticed before, or when you’re looking for something else altogether. Sometimes they even happen by accident. Don’t they know you can’t get a scientific breakthrough just because you want one?”
“These are the people who gave Flip a promotion, remember?” I frowned. “What is ‘circumstantial predisposition to significant scientific breakthrough’?”
“For Fleming it was looking at a contaminated culture and noticing the mold had killed the bacteria,” Ben said.
“And how does Management know the Niebnitz Grant Committee gives the grant for creative projects with potential? How do they know there’s a committee? For all we know, Niebnitz may be some old rich guy who gives money to projects that don’t show any potential at all.”
“In which case we’re a shoo-in,” Bennett said.
“For all we know, Niebnitz may give the grant to people whose names begin with C, or draw the names out of a hat.”
Flip slouched over and handed one of her papers to Bennett. “Is this the memo explaining the simplified funding form?” he asked.
“No-o-o-o,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s a petition. To make the cafeteria a one hundred percent smoke-free environment.” She sauntered away.
“I know what the i stands for,” I said. “Irritating.”
He shook his head. “Insufferable.”
Coonskin caps [May 1955–December 1955]
Children’s fad inspired by the Walt Disney television series Davy Crockett, about the Kentucky frontier hero who fought at the Alamo and “kilt a bar” at age three. Part of a larger merchandising fad that included bow-and-arrow sets, toy knives, toy rifles, fringed shirts, powder horns, lunchboxes, jigsaw puzzles, coloring books, pajamas, panties, and seventeen recorded versions of “The Ballad of Davy Crockett,” to which every child in America knew all the verses. As a result of the fad, a shortage of coonskins developed, and an earlier fad, the raccoon coat of the twenties, was ripped up to make caps. Some boys even got their hair cut in the shape of a coonskin cap. The fad collapsed right before Christmas of 1955, leaving merchandisers with hundreds of unwanted caps.
It occurred to me the next day while ransacking my lab for the clippings I’d given Flip to copy that Bennett’s remark about having already met her new assistant must mean she’d been assigned to Bio. But in the afternoon Gina, looking hunted, came in to say, “I don’t care what they say. I did the right thing hiring her. Shirl just printed out and collated twenty copies of an article I wrote. Correctly. I don’t care if I am breathing in second-secondhand smoke.”