If you live anywhere near Yonge and St. Clair, chances are you’ve bumped into Glenn Olsheskie.

Always armed with newspapers for sale and dog treats, Olsheskie, who friends say died recently of diabetes-related complications at age 72, parked outside the Shoppers Drug Mart on Yonge St. and St. Clair Ave. nearly every day, rain, snow, or shine. As of Friday, a small memorial was set up in a planter next to the black fold-up chair he once occupied.

“There’s no one really who can fill Glenn’s boots,” says Tony Haines, a barista at the Starbucks frequented by Olsheskie. Twice a day, Olsheskie, a hefty man who sported a grey moustache and slightly oversized sunglasses, would ride into the coffee shop on his motorized scooter and order a “tall bold” poured into his reusable Starbucks thermos. He was quick to disparage any employee who forgot to apply his cup discount.

“He was very gruff,” says Haines. “He’s a bit of an acquired taste at first. But we soon realized what a harmless and gentle character he was.”

Olsheskie had been selling street newspapers since 1993, first the Outreach Connection then Toronto Street Connection Magazine, according to Leith Squires, publisher of the latter. Sales from the papers support their low-income vendors.

Hawking about 300 copies a week earned Olsheskie $60-$75. But the job was about more than just money for the senior, who lived in a housing project near Moss Park.

“He wanted a sense of belonging. He hated the idea of panhandling or being a bum,” says Squires from Olsheskie’s usual spot.

As they take in the memorial, dozens of passersby stop in disbelief.

“Everybody talked to him,” murmurs one, another proclaiming, “He was so popular.” Some express regret at not having made a bigger effort to befriend the neighbourhood fixture. A photo of the memorial posted online had garnered almost 7,000 views by Saturday.

Not much is known about Olsheskie’s life; Squires says his family is from Poland but doesn’t live here. He held odd jobs and would often reminisce about a “more free and easy lifestyle” in the ’50s and ’60s.

“He used to drive all over the place . . . He’d save his money and travel, meet people.”

Once he met someone, he could win them over — charming strangers seemed to be one of his great skills.

“I find it difficult talking to most people asking for things on the street,” says area resident Colin Heilbut. “Glenn was customer-focused. He wasn’t in your face, he was nonconfrontational, non-aggressive . . . Unless you had a dog, in which case, he might initiate a conversation.” (Olsheskie often served as a de facto dog sitter, watching over pets as their owners shopped.)

Acquaintances say Olsheskie, who was confined to his scooter or a chair, showed visible signs of illness in recent months, including a hacking cough and swollen foot.

But Squires says he stubbornly refused advice to stay out of the cold weather, covering up with just a raincoat.

“He lived life the way he wanted to live it.”

A group of teenage boys, hats on backwards, skateboards tucked under their arms, put down a bouquet of flowers, asking Squires if there’s anything they can do.

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“If you see a guy with a homeless paper, buy it,” he replies. “It helps them earn a living.”

Next up, Squires faces the task of finding a vendor to take over for Olsheskie. But it’s clear from the tributes pouring in, he’ll never be replaced.