0465015689-all.qxd:0465015662-Davis.qxd 12/23/08 2:02 PM Page i the secret history of the war on cancer 0465015689-all.qxd:0465015662-Davis.qxd 12/23/08 2:02 PM Page ii also by devra davis When Smoke Ran LikeWater: Tales of Environmental Deception and the Battle Against Pollution 0465015689-all.qxd:0465015662-Davis.qxd 12/23/08 2:02 PM Page iii t he s ec r e t h i s tory of the war on c anc e r Devra Davis A Member of the Perseus Books Group new york 0465015689-all.qxd:0465015662-Davis.qxd 12/23/08 2:02 PM Page iv Copyright © 2007 by Devra Davis Hardcover edition published in 2007 by Basic Books A Member of the Perseus Books Group Paperback edition first published in 2009 by Basic Books All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address Basic Books, 387 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10016-8810. Books published by Basic Books are available at special discounts for bulk purchases in the United States by corporations, institutions, and other organizations. For more information, please contact the Special Markets Department at the Perseus Books Group, 2300 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, PA 19103, or call (800) 810-4145, ext. 5000, or e-mail [email protected]. design by jane raese Text set in 13-point Perpetua A CIP catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Hardcover ISBN: 978-0-465-01566-5 Paperback ISBN: 978-0-465-01568-9 2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1 0465015689-all.qxd:0465015662-Davis.qxd 12/23/08 2:02 PM Page v For Richard Cowardice asks the question, “Is it safe?” Expediency asks the question, “Is it politic?” AndVanity comes along and asks the question, “Is it popular?” But Conscience asks the question, “Is it right?” And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must do it because Conscience tells him it is right. —martin luther king, jr. 0465015689-all.qxd:0465015662-Davis.qxd 12/23/08 2:02 PM Page vi This page intentionally left blank 0465015689-all.qxd:0465015662-Davis.qxd 12/23/08 2:02 PM Page vii Contents Preface ix 1 The Secret History 3 2 Natural and Other Experiments 17 3 A Broad Enough Principle 45 4 Phantom Collaborators 73 5 Fear Sells 107 6 Making Goods out of Bads 141 7 Saving Cigarettes 169 8 The Good War 199 9 Cancer Doctoring 223 10 Deconstructing Cancer Statistics 245 11 Doctoring Evidence 267 12 The Harshest of Schoolmasters 297 13 No Safe Place 329 14 Chasing Tales 363 15 Presumed Innocent 391 Epilogue Mother’s Last 437 Afterword: Bad Dreams 455 Notes 479 Acknowledgments 503 Index 513 0465015689-all.qxd:0465015662-Davis.qxd 12/23/08 2:02 PM Page viii This page intentionally left blank 0465015689-all.qxd:0465015662-Davis.qxd 12/23/08 2:02 PM Page ix Preface Writing has to do with darkness, and a desire, perhaps a compulsion, to enter it, and, with luck, to illuminate it, and bring something back out to the light.1 —margaret atwood My mother always said that G-d watches over little children be- cause parents can’t be everywhere all the time. I come from a long line of well-watched children. When she was five, my great-grandmother Molly once spent an entire day hiding under a stack of hay on a horse- drawn cart until her mother could whisk her away from pogroms in Transcarpathia. Molly grew up to be a very patient woman. Sometimes survival traits that work in desperate circumstances can lead to problems in other environments. As a boy of nine during the First World War, Molly’s son, my great-uncle Paul, roamed through the woods of Hungary, eating as much as he could whenever he could. About the ability to binge, he once said, “By the time the fat ones were thin, the thin ones were dead.”2This could explain why Central European peasants who survive famine tend to be stout but able to run like hell. It was a good thing for me that Molly’s daughter, my grandmother, Bubbe Fanne, came from that stock. In the winter of 1924, a fiery ex- plosion rocked the basement dry-cleaning factory below my grandpar- ents’ small wooden home in Monongahela. Bubbe Fanne raced through the flames to grab her two toddlers, one of whom, Harry, would become my dad less than twenty years later. Only years after she died did I learn how Bubbe Fanne got the thick red scars that ran down her arms and across her shoulders and chest. Long after his mother had pulled him from a blazing building, my father eluded death another time. As a drill sergeant, he snatched a live grenade from the