Memory suggests that the George Fournier's garage was cavernous. In 1982 fate decreed that I would be lucky enough to visit it repeatedly and meet the magician who dwelled within.

The story actually begins approximately two years before in Leadville, Colorado. My old VW station wagon had wheezed its way up it's final mountain and I was definitely in the market for a "man's" car. You know something with a real engine in it. One day I spied this banana yellow International Harvester Scout, circa late 70s. My friends warned me about the dealer, called "Black Bart" by all who had dealt with him. Alas, I was in the early days of my counseling career and believed that all men and women were basically good. Shortly after purchasing the vehicle I learned that ole Bart might actually be an exception to my theory.

Months and a considerable pile of money later the vehicle was actually running pretty well. It continued to have, however, one rather strange and vexing problem. Evening forays around Leadville had revealed that when one turned left the lights would brighten considerably, the radio would begin to play louder and the heater motor would run faster. As soon as you straightened the wheels the problem would disappear. A right hand turn would not evoke the symptoms, only the mysterious left turn could bring it on.

I most certainly did not take the vehicle back to Bart, I'd already assured that his retirement would be comfortable. I did visit pretty much all the garages in the Leadville area but try as they might, no mechanic could discern the source of the problem.

In 1982, home-made trailer in tow, I moved East to Van Buren, Maine. At least the Maine mechanics were honest, they would take no money for a problem that they could not fix. Finally one mechanic suggested I take the vehicle to "Mr. Fournier," a gentleman who was reputed by the locals to be able to fix any car.

The garage was right on the way during my daily walks to the High School where I worked. My first visit happened to take place at a moment when he was standing outside the shop with friends, admiring his new Honda Goldwing motorcycle. At age 70 George and his wife had just taken up motorcycling. The mutual love of things two-wheeled quickly cemented our new friendship

When you entered the shop you were immediately struck by the size and nature of things that dwelled therein. A small amount of window light filtered through murky windows. The major light source was a single bulb, encased in a fixture that looked like it had once resided over a table in some gambling hall. Against the walls, row after row of tools gleamed in the shadows while the sorcerer stood under the light, gazing at some seriously ill automobile.

The shop had but one visible electronic test machine. All the diagnostic equipment necessary was locked within this man's brain. He was not a mechanic who simply pulled parts of your car out till he discovered the errant one. He stood, sometimes motionless for minutes, listening to the sounds each vehicle made. On occasion he would reach out and pick up a large screwdriver. That screwdriver was a mechanic's stethoscope. By placing the blade at various points on the engine, with ear against the handgrip he could hear the various whirs, clicks and hums within. Finally he would stand up, smile and beckon me to come listen. If cars have souls, George Fournier could touch them.

My schedule now included daily stops by his garage yet I had never asked him to work on my haunted Scout. One afternoon I arrived in the Scout and proceeded to tell him the story. Would he work on it I asked and was shocked when he looked at me and said, "No."

"Bill, you like this stuff so I will not fix your car." "But I will tell you things and we will see if you can put it all together to fix it yourself." Over the following weeks George would occasionally dangle a piece of the puzzle in front of me. One lecture was on how cars were built. He talked about the various historical techniques used to form engine, frame and body into a working unit. He spoke to topics such as how metals age and the causes and effects of corrosion. A final topic was on automobile electrical systems: voltages, current, grounds, fuses and the like.

Slowly a thought began to form. "George, could it be that as this vehicle aged the electrical ground went bad as the connections between engine, frame and cab corroded?" "What I see when I turn left is a good ground, not a problem?" The sorcerer smiled, "Do you know what to do about it?" A visit to the local auto parts store and less than $5 provided me with wire and connectors. The key was simply to provide a new and better ground for current to flow. A short piece of wire connected engine to frame, another frame to a point on the body. That night I had my answer as the headlights were brighter, the radio needed to be turned down and the heater motor could run just fine on a lower setting.

The magician standing under that light in that barn-like shop knew at the moment I spoke what the answer would be. He could have fixed the problem and I would have learned nothing. In choosing to make me struggle towards the answer he allowed me to apprentice, if for a brief time, in his world.