They mentioned Grateful Dead songs and lyrics.

They cited his rough-and-tumble past that reads like a fallen rock star’s life, emphasizing how he overcame substance abuse and homelessness for a brief period.

And they spoke of his gentle nature and his transformation, from reckless to selfless, the individual you’d want most in your corner when the walls were crumbling down.

That’s why the towns of Boscawen and nearby Penacook and lots of other places are crying these days, after the death of Bob Carey on April 13. He was 67.

Carey’s obituary did not include a cause of death, and family members were unavailable for comment last week. His family owned Carey’s Market at 63 North Main Street in Boscawen, opening in 1953.

The mini-mart stood as a meeting place of goodwill, until changing times forced Carey, by then the owner, to close his doors in 2007. Then he opened Grateful Lawn Service, featuring commercial and residential customers.

His angelic reputation was well-known in the area by then. Gary Avakian, a carpenter living in Salisbury, said Carey was his “best friend.”

Then, Avakian thought for a moment and said, “He made everyone feel like they were his best friend.”

Stories reflecting Carey’s kindness through his 33 years of sobriety rolled out as though on a conveyor belt. Avakian recalled the interest Carey showed to strangers, reflecting the words in a Dead Song named “Scarlet Begonias.”

“Once in a while, you get shown the light, in the strangest of places if you look at it right.”

Carey saw the light, in his early days of sobriety, circa 1990. Avakian mentioned his friend’s son, who was adjusting to life in a rehab center in Florida. Maybe Carey could speak to him. Maybe he could help.

“He would call him so he had a place to call when he got out of rehab,” Avakian said. “He’s calling this 23-year-old kid that he doesn’t even know and telling him that there is another way to live.”

Carey was on a different track in his youth. He graduated from Merrimack Valley High School in 1973, when his surname was widely known in the area because of the family’s market.

Tanya Belletete’s father, Steve Proctor, was close friends with Carey, traveling with him to see Dead shows. She doesn’t recall Carey’s drinking days. She does, however, remember that Carey had already given up alcohol by the time they grew close, and she and her father traveled with him to music festivals of all kinds.

She also stopped drinking herself three years ago, citing Carey as a motivating force. By then, Carey was on a mission, using a gentle voice to get his point across.

“It’s hard to say goodbye and know I won’t be able to go to his house and visit,” Belletete said. “My heart is so filled with love for him. He was a pillar of the community and an elder statesman. There’s so much that he left behind and it can be a way of honoring him and we’ll continue to live through the work he did for so long.”

Bob’s daughter, Cassie Carey, is an internationally known hair stylist living in New York City. She counts Lady Gaga as a client. She counts her father as a guide.

“I was little,” Cassie told the Monitor last summer. “My dad’s favorite story was he’d take me to AA meetings and he’d tell me this person is having a hard time, and I would draw an angel for them. Some of the members did not make it, but some still have them.”

Bob had slowed in recent years. He traveled with oxygen and a walker, yet he continued to attend live music featuring Dead cover bands.

The messages attached to his online obit speak to the pain Boscawen and surrounding areas feel. They recall his unselfish acts. They remember his M.O., which included tolerance, patience and, most of all, a keen awareness of your surroundings and the ability to appreciate them.

They recall his soft-spoken voice, the smile that he’d share with anyone and everyone, and his love for Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead.

Dead lyrics, about harmony and mischief and rough roads and hope, were sprinkled in under his obit and became part of the healing process.

Quoting a Dead song, a friend, Matthew Boucher, wrote:

“Fare thee well, Bob! We love you more than words can tell.”

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