Here’s something I posted on Facebook about a week after Al passed. Found a nice clip of the birds chirping up at Al’s pond upstate but I can’t upload it here (but it’s there on my Facebook if you want to go there)
We recently lost a friend dear to local entrepreneurs, Brooklyn and the planet. Al Attara was a fixture within and supporter of many around his buildings at 33 Flatbush Ave and 139 Atlantic Ave, and other communities from Bay Ridge to Dutchess County.
He was iconic to me not for his values and passions- support for the arts and local business, the stories and beautiful things of the past, nature and protecting earth for future generations – but for his rare character that gave seemingly every waking minute towards these values and allowed so many others to make a go of their passion, many of them turning out to be quite successful thanks to his support.
He couldn’t let go of many physical relics from the past – the streets, buildings and things he kept close to his heart in Brooklyn. He never stopped moving, rearranging his buildings full of furniture, tools, trinkets, antiques, junk, who knows what. But he kept it all, because somebody else might need it in the future, for the good of a community. The noble packrat. A performance may need this odd painted panel for a set. A startup business may need this old desk, a monster piece of kitchen equipment, this storefront or this “office” space.. A community meal may need these thousands of plates, forks and cups. Somebody may need a place to sleep. And all that happened. So many of his resources helped me and many others at some point or another. His spaces were (and are) full of people passionate about sustainability. building communities, starting businesses or just somebody looking for some help or some favor that Al was happy to provide.
In 33 Flatbush (on a strip that long felt like a crummy traffic extension of the Manhattan Bridge, now surrounded by highrises, an Apple Store and Whole Foods), Al allowed what seemed like anybody to do anything. He really trusted people. I started my business there (a coffee business, using 33 for storage, office and a launch pad to and from flea markets), and countless others used it for wholesale baking, a media studio, writers workshops, nonprofit organizing, sustainable architecture, or a CSA from an upstate farm. Companies like mine, or Madecasse Chocolate, Sea to Table and Gimlet Media spent their early years here. Others were builders, architects, filmmakers, beekeepers and scientists.
Many of us paid rent, but many others didn’t, or came to whatever arrangement Al thought could suffice. This was the early and mid 2000s, before WeWork shared office spaces and before sustainability became the thing.
Al always said he wanted to leave a legacy that supported the natural environment and the arts. He bought a large property in Dutchess County and soon it filled up with artists and others painting in barns, designing high tech tree-houses or growing their own food (outdoors, and hydroponic in the old house!). I was lucky enough to visit several times and, although I didn’t live through the free-love 60s and 70s, I felt like this was not far from it.
The upstate property seemed to be his attempt to feel the earth that he had tried so hard to preserve and get closer to in Brooklyn, where he grew up, and lived most of his life. Beautiful antique wood furniture, indoor plants, healthy cooking, an attempt at a rooftop oasis, folks working in NGOs supporting arts and the environment – these were all fixtures of his spaces in Brooklyn. But these were also big properties, full of tax bills, city sewer problems, leaky roofs, and tenants with needs. He had to do most of this himself, because he never seemed to have a staff to help, apart from someone in to make repairs now and then (this may have changed in the years since I was there). Of course this led to the frustrations that many must have had with him – for example, lacking heat after the utility company cuts the gas over an aging warehouse infrastructure, or maybe an argument over rent that was never put in writing in the first place. Those were the few prickly byproducts of the unstructured life he led, a life which otherwise he devoted so passionately to helping others.
Even in the busiest of times he always found time to stop and care. He cared for his ailing mother in Bay Ridge even when he was battling his own health issues. I think he drove through Brooklyn traffic every morning and evening to be with her. He stopped in often to see how my business was going, or he stopped during a busy day to just chat with a neighbor on his Atlantic Ave stoop. Running into him walking his dog Fifi around Brooklyn Heights or Ft. Greene was always a refreshing, grounding moment for me and my family. Once, he paused another day of hectic “moving stuff” at his upstate property to show my 3 year old twin daughters how to collect eggs from a chicken coop and securely latch the gate behind.
A little over 10 years ago I sat in his beat up old truck as we drove from his Atlantic Ave building back to 33 Flatbush. He pointed out the old marine merchant shops of Atlantic Ave where his father worked and he played as a kid. I asked how he was doing and, although he sure acted his happy old self with the big Santa Claus beard, he said he was worried. He knew his health and, generally, how many years he had in him. I remember it so clearly because of the closeness inside a truck cab, and how rarely somebody speaks to you about their own death. I listened but didn’t really know how to respond. He was worried about how he was going to leave his legacy and his properties to others that could continue on his path to a better, more fulfilling and sustainable planet. He said he really didn’t want the property sold to a developer. He wanted it to support creativity and protect the earth.
I don’t know what will come of all the items and places Al Attara left behind. But the countless wonderful people and memories he left in his wake should leave him no doubt that his life was one worth living.
