The Skein of Ariadne

Abstract

It was UCLA’s spring quarter of 1970, and I was a graduate student in the crowded bibliography course taught by the eminent chairman of the Department of Germanic Languages and Literature—then the largest in America—and former dean of the Faculty of Arts, Professor Eli Sobel. And for all that anecdote’s informality, Sobel’s introductory lecture turned out to be one of the most important lessons of my entire eight-year university career. (Years later the short, quick-eyed professor with the old-fashioned bowtie was to become my own doctoral advisor and one of the closest confidants I have known. He died in 1987.)

There was this German fellow who just couldn’t get his Mercedes started. Maybe it was a Daimler. Whatever. Tried and tried, but all to no avail. Wasted hours. Finally had to have it towed to the garage, where the mechanic listened to what the owner had to say, then opened the hood, tinkered here and there, no more than thirty seconds. Then switched on the ignition. ran like a dream. The owner beamed. “Wunderbar! How much do I owe you?” he asked the mechanic. “Thirty marks.” “What?! For only thirty seconds’ work?” “Thirty years.” “What do you mean?” “Gewusst wo, ” replied the mechanic, tapping his nose, “… Known where. ”

In English we’d say “know-how. ” The mechanic knew just where to adjust the motor. The tennis champion knows just where to place the ball. And the scholar must know just where to go to find his information. It’s what training is all about.

“Gewusst wo…”