Three years later, in connection with another donation, Arthur negotiated an even more unusual arrangement. Hoving said that the Met hoped that Arthur would eventually donate his collection to the museum, but over time Arthur grew disgruntled over a series of rankling slights. Jillian Sackler said it was Arthur who rejected the board seat, after repeated offers by the museum. Arthur's younger brothers, Mortimer and Raymond, looked so much alike that when they worked together at Creedmoor, they fooled the staff by pretending to be one another.
Their physical similarities did not extend to their personalities, however. In , he renounced his U. Like Arthur, Mortimer became a major museum donor and married three wives over the course of his life. Mortimer had his own feuds with the Met. On his seventieth birthday, in , the museum agreed to make the Temple of Dendur available to him for a party but refused to allow him to redecorate the ancient shrine: Together with other improvements, Mortimer and his interior designer, flown in from Europe, had hoped to spiff up the temple by adding extra pillars.
Kind and mild-mannered, he stayed with the same woman his entire life. Lutze concluded that Raymond owed his comparatively serene nature to having missed the worst years of the Depression. The Sacklers have been millionaires for decades, but their real money—the painkiller money—is of comparatively recent vintage.
In the years before it swooped into the pain-management business, Purdue had been a small industry player, specializing in over-the-counter remedies like ear-wax remover and laxatives. Its most successful product, acquired in , was Betadine, a powerful antiseptic purchased in industrial quantities by the U.
The turning point, according to company lore, came in , when a London doctor working for Cicely Saunders, the Florence Nightingale of the modern hospice movement, approached Napp with the idea of creating a timed-release morphine pill. A long-acting morphine pill, the doctor reasoned, would allow dying cancer patients to sleep through the night without an IV. At the time, treatment with opioids was stigmatized in the United States, owing in part to a heroin epidemic fueled by returning Vietnam veterans.
In , Napp introduced a timed-release morphine pill in the UK; six years later, Purdue brought the same drug to market in the U. MS Contin quickly became the gold standard for pain relief in cancer care. At the same time, a number of clinicians associated with the burgeoning chronic-pain movement started advocating the use of powerful opioids for noncancer conditions like back pain and neuropathic pain, afflictions that at their worst could be debilitating.
In , two doctors from Memorial Sloan Kettering hospital in New York published a fateful article in a medical journal that purported to show, based on a study of thirty-eight patients, that long-term opioid treatment was safe and effective so long as patients had no history of drug abuse. Soon enough, opioid advocates dredged up a letter to the editor published in The New England Journal of Medicine in that suggested, based on a highly unrepresentative cohort, that the risk of addiction from long-term opioid use was less than 1 percent.
Though ultimately disavowed by its author, the letter ended up getting cited in medical journals more than six hundred times. In the tradition of his uncle Arthur, Richard was also fascinated by sales messaging. From public records and conversations with former employees, though, a rough portrait emerges of a testy eccentric with ardent, relentless ambitions. The few publicly available pictures of him are generic and sphinxlike—a white guy with a receding hairline.
He is one of the few Sacklers to consistently smile for the camera. In a photo on what appears to be his Facebook profile, Richard is wearing a tan suit and a pink tie, his right hand casually scrunched into his pocket, projecting a jaunty charm. His ex-wife, Beth Sackler, has given almost exclusively to Democrats. In , he wrote a letter to the editor of The Wall Street Journal denouncing Muslim support for suicide bombing, a concern that seems to persist: Since , his charitable organization, the Richard and Beth Sackler Foundation, has donated to several anti-Muslim groups, including three organizations classified as hate groups by the Southern Poverty Law Center.
Former employees describe Richard as a man with an unnerving intelligence, alternately detached and pouncing. In meetings, his face was often glued to his laptop. Whether it was on the weekend or a holiday or a Christmas party, you could always expect the unexpected. Richard also had an appetite for micromanagement. Richard really wanted Purdue to be big—I mean really big. To effectively capitalize on the chronic-pain movement, Purdue knew it needed to move beyond MS Contin. When it came to branding, oxycodone had a key advantage: Although it was 50 percent stronger than morphine, many doctors believed—wrongly—that it was substantially less powerful.
They were deceived about its potency in part because oxycodone was widely known as one of the active ingredients in Percocet, a relatively weak opioid- acetaminophen combination that doctors often prescribed for painful injuries. A common malapropism led to further advantage for Purdue. Purdue did not merely neglect to clear up confusion about the strength of OxyContin. As the company later admitted, it misleadingly promoted OxyContin as less addictive than older opioids on the market. The theory was that addicts would shy away from timed-released drugs, preferring an immediate rush. In practice, OxyContin, which crammed a huge amount of pure narcotic into a single pill, became a lusted-after target for addicts, who quickly discovered that the timed-release mechanism in OxyContin was easy to circumvent—you could simply crush a pill and snort it to get most of the narcotic payload in a single inhalation.
MS Contin had contended with similar vulnerabilities, and as a result commanded a hefty premium on the street. It was removed from OxyContin in and would never be approved again for any other opioid. After a stint at another pharmaceutical company, he began working for Purdue. That was not something generated by Purdue—that was not a secret plan, that was not a plot, that was not a clever marketing ploy. Chronic pain is horrible. In the right circumstances, opioid therapy is nothing short of miraculous; you give people their lives back. Purdue did not invent the chronic-pain movement, but it used that movement to engineer a crucial shift.
Wright is correct that in the nineties patients suffering from chronic pain often received inadequate treatment. But the call for clinical reforms also became a flexible alibi for overly aggressive prescribing practices. By the end of the decade, clinical proponents of opioid treatment, supported by millions in funding from Purdue and other pharmaceutical companies, had organized themselves into advocacy groups with names like the American Pain Society and the American Academy of Pain Medicine.
Purdue also launched its own group, called Partners Against Pain. Many women at Amazon attribute its gender gap — unlike Facebook, Google or Walmart, it does not currently have a single woman on its top leadership team — to its competition-and-elimination system.
Several former high-level female executives, and other women participating in a recent internal Amazon online discussion that was shared with The New York Times, said they believed that some of the leadership principles worked to their disadvantage. Being too forceful, they said, can be particularly hazardous for women in the workplace.
Motherhood can also be a liability. Ladue, who confirmed her account, said that Ms. Williamson had been directly competing with younger colleagues with fewer commitments, so he suggested she find a less demanding job at Amazon. Both he and Ms. Williamson left the company. He added that he usually worked 85 or more hours a week and rarely took a vacation.
Molly Jay, an early member of the Kindle team, said she received high ratings for years. But when she began traveling to care for her father, who was suffering from cancer, and cut back working on nights and weekends, her status changed. A woman who had thyroid cancer was given a low performance rating after she returned from treatment. She says her manager explained that while she was out, her peers were accomplishing a great deal.
Another employee who miscarried twins left for a business trip the day after she had surgery. Their accounts echoed others from workers who had suffered health crises and felt they had also been judged harshly instead of being given time to recover.
A former human resources executive said she was required to put a woman who had recently returned after undergoing serious surgery, and another who had just had a stillborn child, on performance improvement plans, accounts that were corroborated by a co-worker still at Amazon. The mother of the stillborn child soon left Amazon. But that is not a basis for a suit by itself, he said. Without clear evidence of discrimination, it is difficult to win a suit based on a negative evaluation, she said.
Logistics, facilitation and especially how you split the group into the numbers of team members per team are factors which have a big effect on how the exercises work and the experience for all. Give a time limit minutes depending on complexity of the work and the magnification level you specify. Remember your tape measure, and practice the activity yourself to try to come up with an ideal solution for when they ask at the review. His ex-wife, Beth Sackler, has given almost exclusively to Democrats. We will encourage technology transfer, entrepreneurship, and small business creation throughout the country and in all types of innovation sectors. So wouldn't it make a refreshing change for once if the bosses served the staff? Democrats will fight for increased investments and coordination in public health to better address emerging threats as well as persistent needs across our country.
For all of the employees who are edged out, many others flee, exhausted or unwilling to further endure the hardships for the cause of delivering swim goggles and rolls of Scotch tape to customers just a little quicker. Jason Merkoski, 42, an engineer, worked on the team developing the first Kindle e-reader and served as a technology evangelist for Amazon, traveling the world to learn how people used the technology so it could be improved. He left Amazon in and then returned briefly in Amazon retains new workers in part by requiring them to repay a part of their signing bonus if they leave within a year, and a portion of their hefty relocation fees if they leave within two years.
Several fathers said they left or were considering quitting because of pressure from bosses or peers to spend less time with their families. Amazon, though, offers no paid paternity leave. In interviews, year-old men were convinced Amazon would replace them with year-olds who could put in more hours, and year-olds were sure that the company preferred to hire somethings who would outwork them. Shipley is Amazon insists its reputation for high attrition is misleading.
A survey by PayScale , a salary analysis firm, put the median employee tenure at one year, among the briefest in the Fortune Amazon officials insisted tenure was low because hiring was so robust, adding that only 15 percent of employees had been at the company more than five years. Turnover is consistent with others in the technology industry, they said, but declined to disclose any data.
Employees, human resources executives and recruiters describe a steady exodus. Those departures are not a failure of the system, many current and former employees say, but rather the logical conclusion: mass intake of new workers, who help the Amazon machine spin and then wear out, leaving the most committed Amazonians to survive. The employees who stream from the Amazon exits are highly desirable because of their work ethic, local recruiters say.
In recent years, companies like Facebook have opened large Seattle offices, and they benefit from the Amazon outflow. Recruiters, though, also say that other businesses are sometimes cautious about bringing in Amazon workers, because they have been trained to be so combative. Call them what you will, their ranks are rapidly increasing. Amazon is finishing a floor office tower near its South Lake Union campus and building another tower next to it.
It plans a third next to that and has space for two more high-rises. By the time the dust settles in three years, Amazon will have enough space for 50, employees or so, more than triple what it had as recently as Those new workers will strive to make Amazon the first trillion-dollar retailer, in the hope that just about everyone will be watching Amazon movies and playing Amazon games on Amazon tablets while they tell their Amazon Echo communications device that they need an Amazon-approved plumber and new lawn chairs, and throw in some Amazon potato chips as well.
Maybe it will happen.
Liz Pearce spent two years at Amazon, managing projects like its wedding registry. But just as Jeff Bezos was able to see the future of e-commerce before anyone else, she added, he was able to envision a new kind of workplace: fluid but tough, with employees staying only a short time and employers demanding the maximum.
Pearce, who now runs her own Seattle software company, which is well stocked with ex-Amazonians. The retailer is already showing some strain from its rapid growth. Some companies, faced with such an overwhelming need for new bodies, might scale back their ambitions or soften their message.
Not Amazon. There is no middle ground. An article on Sunday about the workplace culture at Amazon.
Facebook has done so, but LinkedIn has not. On a Wednesday evening, President and Mrs. Obama hosted a glamorous reception at the American Museum of Natural History. I sipped champagne, greeted foreign dignitaries, and mingled.
But I could not stop thinking about my year-old son, who had started eighth grade three weeks earlier and was already resuming what had become his pattern of skipping homework, disrupting classes, failing math, and tuning out any adult who tried to reach him. Over the summer, we had barely spoken to each other—or, more accurately, he had barely spoken to me. And the previous spring I had received several urgent phone calls—invariably on the day of an important meeting—that required me to take the first train from Washington, D.
My husband, who has always done everything possible to support my career, took care of him and his year-old brother during the week; outside of those midweek emergencies, I came home only on weekends. As the evening wore on, I ran into a colleague who held a senior position in the White House. I told her how difficult I was finding it to be away from my son when he clearly needed me.
She was horrified. By the end of the evening, she had talked me out of it, but for the remainder of my stint in Washington, I was increasingly aware that the feminist beliefs on which I had built my entire career were shifting under my feet. I had always assumed that if I could get a foreign-policy job in the State Department or the White House while my party was in power, I would stay the course as long as I had the opportunity to do work I loved.
But in January , when my two-year public-service leave from Princeton University was up, I hurried home as fast as I could. A rude epiphany hit me soon after I got there. I have not exactly left the ranks of full-time career women: I teach a full course load; write regular print and online columns on foreign policy; give 40 to 50 speeches a year; appear regularly on TV and radio; and am working on a new academic book. The first set of reactions, with the underlying assumption that my choice was somehow sad or unfortunate, was irksome enough. Suddenly, finally, the penny dropped. Last spring, I flew to Oxford to give a public lecture.
I concluded by saying that my time in office had convinced me that further government service would be very unlikely while my sons were still at home. The audience was rapt, and asked many thoughtful questions. But almost all assumed and accepted that they would have to make compromises that the men in their lives were far less likely to have to make.
The striking gap between the responses I heard from those young women and others like them and the responses I heard from my peers and associates prompted me to write this article. Women of my generation have clung to the feminist credo we were raised with, even as our ranks have been steadily thinned by unresolvable tensions between family and career, because we are determined not to drop the flag for the next generation. My experiences over the past three years have forced me to confront a number of uncomfortable facts that need to be widely acknowledged—and quickly changed.
Both were demanding jobs, but I had the ability to set my own schedule most of the time. I could be with my kids when I needed to be, and still get the work done. I had to travel frequently, but I found I could make up for that with an extended period at home or a family vacation. I knew that I was lucky in my career choice, but I had no idea how lucky until I spent two years in Washington within a rigid bureaucracy, even with bosses as understanding as Hillary Clinton and her chief of staff, Cheryl Mills.
My workweek started at on Monday morning, when I got up to get the train from Trenton to Washington. It ended late on Friday, with the train home. I was entitled to four hours of vacation per pay period, which came to one day of vacation a month. And I had it better than many of my peers in D. I realized what should have perhaps been obvious: having it all, at least for me, depended almost entirely on what type of job I had. The flip side is the harder truth: having it all was not possible in many types of jobs, including high government office—at least not for very long.
I am hardly alone in this realization. Karen Hughes left her position as the counselor to President George W. Bush after a year and a half in Washington to go home to Texas for the sake of her family. Yet the decision to step down from a position of power—to value family over professional advancement, even for a time—is directly at odds with the prevailing social pressures on career professionals in the United States. One phrase says it all about current attitudes toward work and family, particularly among elites.
This understanding is so ingrained that when Flournoy announced her resignation last December, The New York Times covered her decision as follows:. How could anyone voluntarily leave the circles of power for the responsibilities of parenthood? Regardless, this sentiment makes true work-life balance exceptionally difficult. But it cannot change unless top women speak out. Only recently have I begun to appreciate the extent to which many young professional women feel under assault by women my age and older.
After I gave a recent speech in New York, several women in their late 60s or early 70s came up to tell me how glad and proud they were to see me speaking as a foreign-policy expert. After the speech I gave in New York, I went to dinner with a group of somethings. I sat across from two vibrant women, one of whom worked at the UN and the other at a big New York law firm. As nearly always happens in these situations, they soon began asking me about work-life balance. Both were very clear that they did not want that life, but could not figure out how to combine professional success and satisfaction with a real commitment to family.
I realize that I am blessed to have been born in the late s instead of the early s, as my mother was, or the beginning of the 20th century, as my grandmothers were. My mother built a successful and rewarding career as a professional artist largely in the years after my brothers and I left home—and after being told in her 20s that she could not go to medical school, as her father had done and her brother would go on to do, because, of course, she was going to get married. I owe my own freedoms and opportunities to the pioneering generation of women ahead of me—the women now in their 60s, 70s, and 80s who faced overt sexism of a kind I see only when watching Mad Men , and who knew that the only way to make it as a woman was to act exactly like a man.
To admit to, much less act on, maternal longings would have been fatal to their careers. But precisely thanks to their progress, a different kind of conversation is now possible. I am well aware that the majority of American women face problems far greater than any discussed in this article.
I am writing for my demographic—highly educated, well-off women who are privileged enough to have choices in the first place. We may not have choices about whether to do paid work, as dual incomes have become indispensable. But we have choices about the type and tempo of the work we do.
We are the women who could be leading, and who should be equally represented in the leadership ranks. Millions of other working women face much more difficult life circumstances. Some are single mothers; many struggle to find any job; others support husbands who cannot find jobs. Many cope with a work life in which good day care is either unavailable or very expensive; school schedules do not match work schedules; and schools themselves are failing to educate their children. Many of these women are worrying not about having it all, but rather about holding on to what they do have.
And although women as a group have made substantial gains in wages, educational attainment, and prestige over the past three decades, the economists Justin Wolfers and Betsey Stevenson have shown that women are less happy today than their predecessors were in , both in absolute terms and relative to men. Only when women wield power in sufficient numbers will we create a society that genuinely works for all women. That will be a society that works for everyone. We must clear them out of the way to make room for a more honest and productive discussion about real solutions to the problems faced by professional women.
That is precisely the sentiment behind the dismay so many older career women feel about the younger generation. They are not committed enough , we say, to make the trade-offs and sacrifices that the women ahead of them made. Yet instead of chiding, perhaps we should face some basic facts. Very few women reach leadership positions. The pool of female candidates for any top job is small, and will only grow smaller if the women who come after us decide to take time out, or drop out of professional competition altogether, to raise children.
That is exactly what has Sheryl Sandberg so upset, and rightly so. A hundred and ninety heads of state; nine are women. Of all the people in parliament in the world, 13 percent are women. In the corporate sector, [the share of] women at the top—C-level jobs, board seats—tops out at 15, 16 percent. A simple measure is how many women in top positions have children compared with their male colleagues.
Every male Supreme Court justice has a family. Two of the three female justices are single with no children. And the third, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, began her career as a judge only when her younger child was almost grown. The pattern is the same at the National Security Council: Condoleezza Rice, the first and only woman national-security adviser, is also the only national-security adviser since the s not to have a family.
To be sure, the women who do make it to the top are highly committed to their profession. On closer examination, however, it turns out that most of them have something else in common: they are genuine superwomen. These women cannot possibly be the standard against which even very talented professional women should measure themselves. Such a standard sets up most women for a sense of failure. The line of high-level women appointees in the Obama administration is one woman deep. Virtually all of us who have stepped down have been succeeded by men; searches for women to succeed men in similar positions come up empty.
Just about every woman who could plausibly be tapped is already in government. The rest of the foreign-policy world is not much better; Micah Zenko, a fellow at the Council on Foreign Relations, recently surveyed the best data he could find across the government, the military, the academy, and think tanks, and found that women hold fewer than 30 percent of the senior foreign-policy positions in each of these institutions.
These numbers are all the more striking when we look back to the s, when women now in their late 40s and 50s were coming out of graduate school, and remember that our classes were nearly men and women. We were sure then that by now, we would be living in a world. Something derailed that dream. I am all for encouraging young women to reach for the stars. But I fear that the obstacles that keep women from reaching the top are rather more prosaic than the scope of their ambition.
But changing these policies requires much more than speeches. It means fighting the mundane battles—every day, every year—in individual workplaces, in legislatures, and in the media. Andy has spent more time with our sons than I have, not only on homework, but also on baseball, music lessons, photography, card games, and more. Still, the proposition that women can have high-powered careers as long as their husbands or partners are willing to share the parenting load equally or disproportionately assumes that most women will feel as comfortable as men do about being away from their children, as long as their partner is home with them.
In my experience, that is simply not the case. Here I step onto treacherous ground, mined with stereotypes. I do not believe fathers love their children any less than mothers do, but men do seem more likely to choose their job at a cost to their family, while women seem more likely to choose their family at a cost to their job. Many factors determine this choice, of course. Men are still socialized to believe that their primary family obligation is to be the breadwinner; women, to believe that their primary family obligation is to be the caregiver.
But it may be more than that. Men and women also seem to frame the choice differently.