My friend and colleague Al Heystek came into my life back in 1999. Hardly a wild party like Prince sang about, but an unforgettable candlelit men’s gathering that Charlie Donaldson and I hosted—bringing Paul Kivel from the Oakland Men’s Project to speak.
Earlier in the evening at Westminster’s Gathering Place, the electricity went out for a time. What began as a spirited, well-lit discussion became unexpectedly intimate as we shifted to candlelight until the power returned.
As we finally got candles lit and dispersed, a late-arriving man sat down and eventually grumbled, “I know we’re trying to get in touch with our softer side, but I can’t read the damn handouts by candlelight. Can we just turn on the lights?”
He quickly settled down once we explained our predicament.
Meeting Al Heystek
Later that evening, when Charlie introduced me to Al, my neck tilted up to meet his gaze, as his bent slightly down toward mine. While tall in stature, he had a calming presence that immediately captured my curiosity. He bent his knees and gave a little bounce. ….You know the bounce. I believe it’s his idiosyncratic way of trying to level our eye contact. I find the gesture playful and kind.
His wispy hair hinted at the witty meanderings to come … often feathering their way into complex and thoughtful ideas. His widened eyes foretold the expanse of his compassion and grace for others. And even then, he stood tall in his conviction that men needed sacred spaces to learn, share, and grow.
To say the least, I was impressed.
The Sacred Masculine
Two years later, in 2002, Al joined me at the Men’s Resource Center at Fountain Hill and moved into the office next to mine. If the second floor at Fountain Hill were the Seinfeld show, I was Jerry, and Al was our Kramer. He’d often burst into my office with wide eyes and a clap, “Hey Randy, you got a second? I think I’m onto something.”
And often… he was.
Al shaped so much of what the Men’s Resource Center became—from pioneering the Youthful Sex Offender Treatment Program (YSOTP), helping young men take accountability and redirect their lives, to creating our Men’s Ministry Consultation Program for faith communities, where he articulated what he called “the sacred masculine.”
“The Sacred Masculine is to practice compassion toward others and toward oneself, infusing our masculinity with interdependence, vulnerability, acceptance, and love. To humanize and heal the masculine spirit—that is the essence of the sacred masculine.” – Al Heystek
Al also served on the Domestic Violence Action Network, advocating for coordinated responses to intimate partner violence. Through the Concerned Clergy Collective, he partnered with faith leaders to advance justice and inclusion, particularly in immigration reform. And for over a decade, he led the Heartside Men’s Group, creating a steady and dignified space for men living on the margins to find connection, voice, and hope.
Lessons in Accountability
As a clinician, Al helped countless men in our Domestic Relationships and Transformations programs take accountability—not as punishment, but as a path to growth. He taught that there are three levels of accountability:
- The first: simply owning your part—not admitting to something you didn’t do, but taking responsibility for the harm you did cause.
- The second: developing deeper empathy for the people you’ve hurt—to see them not just as collateral damage, but as human beings impacted by your actions.
- And the third: learning to extend that same compassion toward yourself—to forgive and accept your own imperfections, and in doing so, become a more whole, relational human being.
Al often said, “Men don’t use anger, alcohol, sex, or violence because they’re bad—they use them to cover their vulnerabilities.”
Developing True Strength and Courage
Al embodied the wisdom of the German poet Goethe, who famously said, “If you treat an individual as he is, he will remain how he is. But if you treat him as if he were what he ought to be and could be, he will become what he ought to be and could be.”
Al’s work was about helping men connect to their inner life—to trade hiding for healing. He taught that unspoken pain doesn’t stay contained—it leaks out, often hurting those we love. He often quoted Detroit Lions player Alex Karras, “It takes more courage to reveal insecurities than to hide them, more strength to relate to people than to dominate them, more manhood to abide by thought-out principles rather than blind reflex. Toughness is in the soul and the spirit, not in muscles or an immature mind.” That kind of toughness defined Al’s work.
As a humble group leader, Al often said, “The best thing we have to offer male clients is the experience of other men.” He believed that while each man must walk his own path, he cannot walk it alone. In his circles, men learned to speak the language of emotion and vulnerability—what Al called “bilingualism.” He often said this was the key to connection. “Connection is what makes us happy campers,” he’d say.
Creating Circles of Care
Within our staff, Al offered more than clinical insight—he brought a macro, moral lens. His compassion for the least of these was a north star, reminding us that what we witness in therapy often echoes what remains broken in the world around us. He challenged us to remember that healing is both a personal and collective endeavor.
As our trauma and EMDR specialist, Al helped countless men work through pain and grief. He had a deep appreciation for the TV series Call the Midwife, and after some urging from him, Stephanie and I started watching it.
In one episode, the narrator says, “Invisible wounds are the hardest to heal… their closure depends on love, understanding, and the tender gift of time.” When I heard that line, it struck me—this is why Al loves this show.
Robert Bly once said, “Grief is the window into a man’s soul,” and Al deeply agreed. Not just grief from losing someone, but grief from what John Lee called “the half-lived life.” Al often said, “How men respond to grief can determine how they respond to the rest of their lives.” He believed—and demonstrated—that grief, when honored rather than avoided, could lead to healing, humility, and deeper connections.
Helping Men Find the Key to a Better Life
Al helped men grow in their capacity not only to share how they feel but to empathize with and care for the feelings of others. His presence called men back to their hearts—where the courage to feel became the path to healing and rediscovering shared humanity.
You all know the Eagles tune, “So oftentimes it happens that we live our lives in chains, and never even know we have the key.” Al, you helped so many men recognize those chains for what they really were—not signs of personal failure, but the inherited shackles of a narrow masculine script.
With your guidance, they found the key. You helped them unlock a different kind of manhood—one rooted in compassion, honesty, accountability, and emotional courage. The kind of masculinity that leads to liberation, not limitation. To connection, not isolation. To healing and growth, not shame.
Building a Strong Foundation
From that first candlelit night when we met, to decades of working side by side—challenging, learning, and building this mission together—your presence has been woven into the very fabric of the Men’s Resource Center. You’ve shaped not only the lives of our clients, but my life, too.
And though you’re retiring, your impact isn’t going anywhere. You now hold the title of Therapist Emeritus on our website. Your wisdom, spirit, and sacred way of doing men’s work will forever be part of who we are.
So, with abiding love, profound gratitude, and enduring respect—thank you, Al. May you step into retirement with the quiet courage of a man who has lived with purpose, the strength that comes from showing up again and again for others, and the unshakable knowing that your life’s work has mattered.
Your spirit has taken root in the hearts you’ve touched in the programs you helped shape, in the men—both here today and still to come—whose healing will lead to fuller, braver lives. And in us, who carry your lessons, your presence, into every room we enter.
Your legacy lives on. May it be so.
(Presentation by Randy Flood, June 17, 2025)
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