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The Incoming Intern

Dear Ms. Swift,

My name is Sabrina Malkin, and I’m a junior at SUNY Buffalo majoring in Urban Planning and minoring in absolutely anything that I thought would keep me as far away as possible from my family’s hotel in Albany.

Growing up, I watched my parents pour everything they had—energy, money, weekends, even holidays—into a modest independent hotel that rarely seemed to give back. I saw my dad fix leaking pipes at 3 a.m. and my mom smile through complaints about everything from towels to thermostats. To me, the hotel business looked like a thankless cycle of trying to please people who mostly didn’t want to be there in the first place. I told myself, I’ll do anything but that.

And then I read about Robert Hines.

I came across an article shared by a friend: a man who had bought a rundown motel in Casa Griago, Arizona, and transformed it—not just with paint and plumbing, but with patience, dignity, and juice boxes. At first, I was skeptical. A “Happy Family Hour” at a former no-questions-asked motel? It sounded too sentimental to be real.

But as I read more about Robert—how he counseled longtime guests without judgment, invested in local student entrepreneurs, sourced vegetables from the high school FFA, and baked peach pie for guests with nervous in-laws—I felt something shift. For the first time, I saw hospitality not as servitude, but as stewardship. Robert wasn’t trying to please everyone—he was trying to create a space where people could become better versions of themselves. He wasn’t just running a business. He was building a refuge.

I shared the article with my parents. My mom cried. My dad said, “Someone finally gets it.”

That night, I decided to reach out to Robert myself. We talked on the phone, then by Zoom. He was warm, insightful, and deeply humble. By the end of our second call, I’d asked him if he’d take me on as a summer intern. He said yes.

So this summer, I’ll be spending eight weeks at the Family Inn—learning from a man who turned around a building and, along the way, a whole community. I’m hoping to learn not just the operations, but the ethics of hospitality. I want to understand how a place can feel safe, welcoming, and meaningful—on purpose.

Robert is one of the reasons I’ve begun rethinking everything I thought I knew about my family’s work, and about what it means to serve. That’s why I hope you’ll consider writing a song about him. Because his story deserves to be sung. Because there are so many people like him—like my parents—who quietly give more than they take, even when no one’s clapping. And because sometimes one story can change someone else’s whole direction.

It certainly changed mine.

With sincere admiration, 

Sabrina Malkin 
Student, SUNY Buffalo
 Incoming Summer Intern, The Family Inn of Casa Griago 

P.S. When I first thought about writing to you, I kept hearing one line from “Invisible String” in my head: “Time, curious time, gave me no compasses, gave me no signs…” Except, in a way, Robert was a sign. Just not one I expected. Thank you for writing the kind of songs that help people figure out where they’re going—even if it turns out to be right back to where they started.

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