Harry Bayne brought me back to life after an often-published, well-promoted doctor blew up my brain with medication I was allergic to, and then had no idea how to fix me.
Word-of-mouth led me to Harry, an alternative healer, who was well-off the beaten track.
Harry's home office was in a three-room apartment - home to Harry, his wife, and three children. The space was so compact, the bathtub was in the kitchen. A drop-down counter covered the tub to create cooking space during the day.
The stairwell to Harry's 5th floor walk-up in NYC was shabby, but when I walked through his front door, the energy in that tiny space oozed peace and healing.
I came to Harry broken. One doctor I consulted gave me only a slim chance of even surviving the allergic destruction.
Not Harry. He knew his stuff, and if I had the patience, he had the expertise to put Humpty Dumpty back together. And he did.
In my world, there should've been a gigantic screen in Times Square telling the world about Harry Bayne. But Harry didn't even have a website. Doing one himself would take away from his research and healing practice, and hiring someone would mean passing the cost on to clients. He didn't want to steal time from his practice or increase fees. And while he could have written more than one book, Harry preferred not spending his days at a computer. There were people to heal.
Harry taught me two things: not every expert comes brilliantly optimized on the Internet and never judge someone's expertise as lacking because it doesn't come swaddled inside a book jacket.
Consequently, my life has been enriched immeasurably by experts who travel the path of least-promotion. (300 words)
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