No one remembers when David Testawich showed up. Best guess is 15 years ago. He appeared one morning and began selling a newspaper outside a Northwest Portland store.

Testawich hawked Street Roots at Trader Joe's in the 2100 block of Glisan Street. The weekly is a way for those in need to make money. Customers pay $1 and the vendor keeps the profit.

Testawich was there every day.

And then he wasn't.

In early August, he suffered a stroke and later died from a brain hemorrhage. His daughter texted a couple of Trader Joe's employees she had met to let them know her 71-year-old father was gone.

Store workers set up a memorial -- a card table at his spot with a sign explaining what had happened along with a notebook for those who wanted to share a thought.

How we touch another life has less to do with power and wealth. It comes down to simple acts of humanity. Within days of Testawich's death, hundreds of people left tributes to a man they didn't really know but who had quietly eased his way into their lives.

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"Such a beautiful soul. We will miss you. You have lit up so many days for us."

"Your presence in the life of the community is heartfeltly appreciated and deeply missed."

"Your sweet energy and generous heart will be missed by all of us who come here regularly."

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Testawich had picked that spot on the sidewalk because he believed the grocery store customers, even those who never bought a paper, were a community.

And that filled a deep need within the man.

"My dad was born on an Indian reservation," said Angel Spear. "He was orphaned at a young age. He grew up in an orphanage and was taken in by a foster family as a teen.

"He had a really rough life growing up," Spear said. "If there ever was a person that had a reason to hold a grudge against the world, it could be him. But he knew the importance of helping others and letting them know you care."

Testawich was married for nearly 50 years and the couple had three daughters. A heavy equipment operator, he suffered a serious work injury in 2000 and was forced to retire. He and his wife, Adrienne, lived in Gresham, just blocks away from Spear's place. Another daughter, Lorelei Schooler, lived in Vancouver, but was over frequently.

Selling the newspaper, Spear said, allowed her father to supplement his Social Security check and tackle enormous medical costs incurred by his wife, who had end-stage renal failure. She died three years ago. Another daughter, Kim, died four years ago.

"He had an amazing work ethic," Spear said. "He'd be selling that paper outside rain or shine, 100 or 30 degrees, six to seven days a week."

The pain of his childhood made her father a soft touch, Spear said. In the lives of those struggling, he saw his ghost. He'd give people money for a meal or groceries, pay for transportation and medical needs.

"He had the least to give," Spear said. "But he gave so much because he knew that little things can sometimes make the most difference."

Art Garcia, a former Street Roots vendor hooked him up with the organization. He once asked Testawich why he drove all the way from Gresham to sell in Northwest Portland.

He liked the people.

"He had a big heart and never had a bad word for anyone," Garcia said. "He'd give money to people and loan it to people who never paid him back. I'd tell him to stop it. He refused. He told me people need help and it was his responsibility to do what he could."

When Testawich arrived at his spot, he'd talk with anyone and considered all who passed by part of a grand family, said Kayt Brandon, a Trader Joe's employee.

"David was genuine," she said. "It's so strange to not see him out there."

Heather Mills, another employee, said Testawich would be in and out of the store during the day to buy something to eat and was known by all the workers.

"People connected with him," Mills said. "I can honestly say I loved him."

When Testawich died, his daughter learned he was an organ donor.

Even in the end, the man who had so little wanted to help strangers.

"It was the perfect ending to his life," Spear said. "He always told us that yesterdays don't define tomorrows."

--Tom Hallman Jr.

thallman@oregonian.com; 503 221-8224

@thallmanjr