What do you think when you hear the word “Mallincrockt”? To the average
WashU student, it means Subway sandwiches, bookstore textbooks, and a convenient
stop for the campus shuttle. But for many across the nation, particularly residents of St.
Louis, Mallinckrodt PLC has a complicated legacy. From radioactive bombs to nuclear
waste, from overpriced medication to the national opioid crisis, Mallinckrodt has had its
fair share of dark moments.
Founded in 1867 by German immigrants Gustav, Otto, and Edward Mallinckrodt
as G. Mallinckrodt & Co., the St. Louis company has supplied pharmaceuticals for over
100 years. Their involvement in healthcare extends beyond medication, as the company
contributed significantly to the advancement of medical imaging through developing
radiographic agents. The Mallinckrodts have had a relationship with WashU for much of
that time, donating heavily to the university, particularly generously to the medical
school, which currently contains the Mallinckrodt Institute of Radiology named after
Edward Mallinckrodt Jr. in 1928. This close relationship led to one of Mallinckrodt’s
controversial moments: its involvement with the Manhattan Project. Although tested
primarily in New Mexico, the development of the atomic bomb took place across the
country, including St. Louis, through Mallinckrodt Chemical Works. In April of 1942,
Arthur Compton, head of the Metallurgical Laboratory and future chancellor of WashU,
secretly approached Edward Mallinckrodt to request that his company develop a
method for purifying large quantities of uranium. Mallinckrodt Chemical Works
achieved this feat in mere months, and the corporation would go on to process over
100,000 tons of purified uranium over the next two decades in St. Louis, even after the
bomb was developed.
Beyond the immediate, devastating impact the Manhattan Project had on
Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Mallinckrodt’s assistance in developing the atomic bomb also
had less obvious long-term consequences on St. Louis. The radioactive waste from the
uranium purifying process was unsafely stored in a 21.74-acre government property
near the Lambert airport, from where the toxic waste would leak its way into the nearby
Coldwater Creek. This tributary runs through Florissant, Hazelwood, Black Jack,
Spanish Lake, St. Ann, Berkeley, and Ferguson, and those who grew up near these areas
in the decades after the dumping would develop increased rates of cancer. Residents
began discussing the waste after a reunion at McCluer North in 1988, a high school in
Florissant, when people noticed many of their classmates developing cancer. In 2018,
The Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry, ATSDR, released a study
concluding that “residents who regularly played or lived along the creek for many years
in the past may have an increased risk of lung cancer, bone cancer, or leukemia.
Residents who lived along the creek more recently may have an increased risk of lung
cancer.” Although the study did not attempt to demonstrate whether the higher rates
concretely exist in the population, thousands in community organizations such as Just
Moms STL are convinced and have worked to raise awareness about the creek and its
potential danger. Considering the decades between the Mallinckrodt’s waste dumping
and government investigation where the residents’ health went ignored, distrust and
betrayal seem appropriate feelings for the residents to harbor against the government
and the large company. Acknowledgement of the potential danger of Coldwater Creek
does little to help those exposed to radiation decades earlier.
Residents living near Coldwater Creek are not the only people to report
consequences to their health from Mallinckrodt’s association with the Manhattan
Project. The effects were even also experienced by those who worked at factories that
processed uranium. In the 2015 documentary “The First Secret City,” industrial worker
Larry Burgan explained the tragic impact exposure to radiation had on him and his
family. Beginning in 1989, Burgan worked for over a decade at a factory in Venice,
Illinois previously owned by Dow Chemical. Dow processed over 3 million pounds of
uranium for Mallinckrodt in the 1950s and 1960s before selling the factory to a different
company. Although the factory no longer purified uranium, the radioactive residue was
left on the overhead beams until 2000, unknown to Burgan or the other employees.
Burgan now says that he suffers from health issues and cannot work, relying on social
security collections. He finds it ironic that the morphine he took for his pain was
distributed by Mallinckrodt.
Companies like Mallinckrodt contribute to dysfunction and inequality in healthcare by prioritizing profits over helping people.
This pharmaceutical business is the main focus of Mallinckrodt today, who left
their uranium processing and bomb-making interests behind decades ago. Mallinckrodt
is known for its primary drug, Acthar, which is an adrenocorticotropic hormone (ACTH)
drug that treats certain chronic inflammatory or autoimmune conditions by injection.
Originally intended to treat infant spasms, a small market, Mallinckrodt promoted the
drug to treat additional conditions like arthritis and psoriasis that afflict a wider range
of people. According to Dr. Bourdette, a neurology professor at Oregon Health & Science
University, these conditions can be treated by other medications that cost far less then
Acthar. The expense of the medication caused a lawsuit against Questcor, a Mallinckrodt
subsidiary, by the U.S. Federal Trade Commission: “Questcor took advantage of its
monopoly to repeatedly raise the price of Acthar, from $40 per vial in 2001 to more than
$34,000 per vial today – an 85,000 percent increase.” Mallinckrodt settled for $100
million in 2017, beginning years of financial difficulty for the company. The U.S.
Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) charged Mallinckrodt last November for
again overpricing Acthar, this time for overcharging state Medicaid programs for over
$500 million. The American medical system is notorious for high drug prices relative to
other wealthy countries, with a 2018 study finding prescription prices to be double that
of those in France or Britain. Companies like Mallinckrodt contribute to dysfunction
and inequality in healthcare by prioritizing profits over helping people. This can be seen
by their involvement in the opioid crisis, where they played a key role in oversupplying
medications.
From 2006 to 2012, the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) tracked every
opioid pill sold in the United States. SpecGx, a Mallinckrodt subsidiary, was discovered
to be the single largest manufacturer of oxycodone in America. Referred to by a DEA
representative as “the kingpin within the drug cartel,” Mallinckrodt “produced 28.9
billion pills during the years covered by the database — more than 80 for each person in
the country.” The Washington Post reported that Mallinckrodt and two other companies
had been warned by the DEA to decrease manufacturing, but they ignored this request.
Drug overdose is the leading cause of death among people aged 18-44 in Missouri, and
oxycodone is one of the most addictive opioids prescribed. Between 2000 and 2020,
270,000 people died of prescription opioid overdoses in the United States and
companies like Mallinckrodt faced several lawsuits for their role, accused of illegally
marketing and failing to properly oversee large shipments of their opioids. There have
been some measures to get justice for those affected. In Massachusetts, Mallinckrodt’s
pain pills were supplied to more than half of those who died of opioid-related overdoses
during the past 12 years: 9,673 people. Now, people in Massachusetts injured by
Mallinckrodt opioids can file personal injury claims to receive compensation until June 2025. Measures like these are important, but will never make up for the lives lost due to
Mallinckrodt’s careless over-supply of opioids. The company has serious financial
difficulties through its legal controversies, filing for bankruptcy in 2020, and is planning
to cut $1 billion of its previously pledged settlement for those victims of its opioid
distribution. Affected communities today are still owed money for their suffering at the
hands of the Mallinckrodt company.
As students at WashU, we are associated with the school, its people, and its brand. Learning the history of our surroundings at WashU informs us on how we are perceived as individuals and as a community.
Over its hundred-plus-year history, Mallinckrodt has faced numerous troubling
scandals. That said, a company is not only defined by its negative moments, and
Mallinckrodt has been involved in medical accomplishments and philanthropic work
towards WashU. The legacy of the company is quite paradoxical: it has the daily mission
of improving people’s lives through pharmaceutical work, yet has frequently acted in
ways that damaged or even cost the lives of people across America, especially in St.
Louis. What, then, should we think when we hear “Mallinckrodt”? It is not a name with
a uniquely complicated legacy, as this sort of question is currently being asked about
many figures associated with WashU. This year, the University’s Board of Trustees has
created a Naming Review Board for members of the WashU community to submit
reports for campus features to be considered for re-commemoration or
contextualization. Controversies about the schools’ founding figures like William
Greenleaf Eliot and Wayman Crow and their associations with slavery inspired this
move, and there are discussions about renaming buildings that bear their names.
Should the name Mallinckrodt be reconsidered as well? The word Mallinckrodt carries
associations to radioactive waste and oxycodone deaths as much as it does to Subway
and the WashU Bookstore. Yet Edward Mallinckrodt Jr. had nothing to do with the
company’s recent involvement in the opioid crisis, just as those in positions of power at
Mallinckrodt today are not responsible for the dumping of toxic waste. But the company
carries the weight of its past actions, and WashU has an association by name. As
students at WashU, we are associated with the school, its people, and its brand.
Learning the history of our surroundings at WashU informs us about how we are
perceived as individuals and as a community, which is important to do regardless of
whether we retain certain names.
Irene Herrmann ‘27 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. She can be reached at
herrmann@wustl.edu.