CAMDEN — There are many definitions of icons, and the recent death of David Conary, a Camden native who later in his life took to living rough on the streets and became one of our icons, a “moving landmark,” has the community contemplating several things.

Did we do enough to help him, and others like him? Was it right to let him “live the way he wanted” even though that way was so self-destructive, and must have been, at times, so physically and mentally painful? Why did he choose life on the streets, or in dilapidated houses or vacant sheds? Didn’t he have options?

If one were to choose to “live rough,” Conary was wise to choose what is often called Maine’s “prettiest coastal town.” But it’s where he grew up. He knew the people and the neighborhoods, and the locals, many of them his schoolmates, knew him. Why go anywhere else?

Since the news that Conary was found deceased, alone, but in a familiar place many of us knew he haunted, we have learned through conversation and social media that he loved clementines, that he could be friendly and had a genuine smile when enticed into conversation. He often hitchhiked places, and many of his former classmates offered him rides and talked about simple things, like when the ice was going to leave Megunticook Lake. These are the conversations we all have with each other, only Conary was one of our homeless people.

Conary is being described as smart and intelligent by people who knew him and took the time to talk to him, he was probably just a little broken, a little lost. He could be friendly, but his appearance was off-putting, dressed in layers upon layers of dirty clothes across the seasons. But it made sense, he was homeless.

He often carried a rucksack that appeared to be very heavy, but sometimes he must have had it stashed somewhere, because he could be seen hanging around downtown without it, smoking butts and people watching. He didn’t sit on the benches, preferring the sidewalks and alcove stairs, places tucked away, but not altogether in the shadows, come to think of it

Conary got into his share of trouble. Often times it was because he had shoplifted a bottle of vanilla or bitters, or stronger stuff, or he had been suspected of pilfering change from parked, unlocked cars. He didn’t always deny what he did, he told the cops he needed some money and so he took it.

Sometimes, he engaged in angry shouting matches with people on the sidewalks for no obvious reason. But during one of those encounters, when the police showed up, it was apparent why he was so angry. Someone said something, or he heard something, and he snapped. “I have nothing, I have no food,” he yelled at the top of his lungs to the officer, who ushered him away from the people he had been verbally accosting and then walked with him down the street.

The following day, at least one person who overheard the exchange saw Conary walking up Washington Street, past the fire station. That person, me, made a loop back to French & Brawn, bought a couple of sandwiches, some juice and a few of their really big chocolate chip cookies and went back to find Conary.

He was hitchhiking, looking for a ride out of town.

I pulled my car over, rolled down the window, apologized for not actually stopping to pick him up, and handed him the grocery bag with the food. He said “thank you very much,” clear as can be and with conviction, and accepted the food. Then he continued walking up Washington Street, away from downtown.

I know I am not the only one who did a tiny good deed for David Conary, there are plenty of others, some who have made it known and some who have kept it to themselves. But if you did not get a chance to do so before he died earlier this week, or you find yourself inspired because of what has happened this week, it’s not too late. There are plenty of others in need out there, if you open your eyes and your heart.