Andy died last week. Noone knew his last name, or if he had a family to grieve for him, but still the folk around Jacksons Landing at Pyrmont knew the homeless man well. And they grieve for him.

A gentle and handsome man in his late 30s, he had a perpetual half-smile but talked little . . . just as he had impeccable manners, but avoided eye-contact. In many ways he was the glue that made the community just that, the one man everyone knew in their busy lives. A loner, he clearly liked them, too, as he'd been there for a decade. During the day he stuck to his particular park bench, retiring for the evening to sleep on the footpath under an awning outside the real estate agent's office. Over the years some residents had tried to get him housing, but he always declined. Jacksons Landing felt like home to him, and in many ways he was almost a favourite son.

Illustration: Reg Lynch.

Every day, a local worker brought him lunch. Another resident and his housekeeper provided the other meals and drinks, starting with a freshly brewed hot coffee every morning. At Christmas, Andy's bench and footpath were overloaded with watermelon, cherries and mangos. But last week, he fell crook with an ailment unknown.

Instantly the community swung into action, providing extra warm blankets, and a brand new swag, while those with medical expertise offered their assistance. The real estate agent sat with him in the evenings, providing a thermos of hot tea. Andy appreciated the kindness, and actually spoke more than he had in years, but resisted all attempts to get him to hospital.