I went to Palmyra in July of 1995. It was brutally desert hot—off the scale. I was obsessed by the idea of finding treasure, frowned upon obviously. All afternoon I scuffed around in the dirt from one temple complex to another searching for one solitary Roman kopeck without success. There was no one else around because it was so freaking hot except this one older guy who I kept seeing from place to place. After a few hours seeing him for like the 5th time he asked me what I was doing and I just replied honestly: treasure hunting, I said, I’m a Canadian kid and I want a piece of ancient history, a coin. He replied with a sage-like expression that I should look at my feet. What did I see? Rocks, I said. But what kind of rocks? Look closer. What happens when you got to temple to make sacrifices to the gods? Do you just walk in the front door then proceed to the shrine, make a wish and leave? No, priests are not stupid. That’s not how they run their business. You leave your sacrifice at the front door, the priest gives you a token, and you leave that on the altar. Everybody wins. No cheating. The rocks on the ground were hundreds of thousands of tokens, basically discs of rock flaked into roughly the size of a nickel. He picked one up, put it in my shirt pocket, patted it and said, that one you can take home, don’t tell anyone. That was Khalid el Assad. I’d guess he was in his 60s at the time. He was out there in the brutal summer sun just checking on his ruins so far as I can tell. It was very memorable. I didn’t learn his name until I heard of isis massacring him. He was a great man. A real hero, frankly. RIP.