Al would often regale me with all the magical plans he had for 33 Flatbush and the upstate property to host and support artists and creatives. I loved his huge beautiful work-worn hands that felt like tough leather, and the way he would glean treasures wherever he could find them and then offer them up for anyone who needed them. He didn’t bat an eye when I was pregnant and turned up at 33 Flatbush on my due date having realized that I really had to move out before the baby came. He just helped me throw my many boxes of stuff in the back of his pickup and made space for my mum and I to squeeze in the front with him as he drove us home and regaled us with stories of his Brooklyn/Syrian heritage. He was a really special man.