Roger Spencer had a sheriff’s badge. It was perhaps his most treasured possession. He had it with him always, even when he died last Thursday at the nursing home in Guilderland Center. He was 65.

He was a familiar figure in downtown Voorheesville, a big, bearded man who wore cowboy boots — even with shorts in the summer — and a cowboy hat. He worked sweeping up the laundry there and lived in an apartment nearby.

He couldn’t read or write but he had a way of reading your mind. He had a high-pitched voice and sometimes it was hard to decipher what he was saying, but his exuberance was always clear.

We’re calling him Roger here — eschewing our usual Mr. Spencer style — because that’s what he called himself; that’s how people knew him.

“Everybody knew him,” said his landlady, Debbie Fuglein. “He used to sit on the porch of the apartment and say hello to everyone.”

Roger liked to say he knew the real sheriff and that’s where he got his badge.  We thought it was one of his flights of fancy until we talked to Albany County Sheriff Craig Apple this week.

“He’s had that badge for a long time,” said the sheriff, who’s been with the force for more than a quarter of a century. “Before I was in the office all the time, I used to stop and talk to him. I’d get him a coffee every now and then; we’d shoot the breeze.”

Sheriff Apple went on, “I’d see him every year at the Altamont Fair, wearing his sheriff’s badge...He was a good guy. I never saw him angry; nothing bad came out of his mouth. He always had his smile — and his cowboy hat.”

Maybe because of the badge, Roger took his duties of patrolling seriously. At the coin-operated laundry, he’d tell you if your load was finished washing. He’d point the way to empty dryers, too.

Sitting on the bench outside the laundry or in a white plastic chair on the porch next door, he’d watch the scene in the village’s Main Street.

“He was always watching out for kids, to make sure they weren’t getting bullied,” said Ms. Fuglein. She added softly, sadly, “I think kids picked on him when he was little.”

“He was the neighborhood watchdog,” said Becky Letko, his friend of 30 years who first met him when she was a customer in the laundry.  “If he saw a stranger come to your home, he’d tell you what color car they drove and what they looked like.”

Even in the nursing home, said Ms. Letko, Roger would take up a post in the hallway while the others were eating dinner to be sure no one went into the empty rooms to take belongings.

“He felt it was his duty to police the hallways,” she said. “He was his own law-enforcement agency.”

He liked to help others. “He’d mow the lawn and take out people’s garbage,” said Ms. Fuglein. “He never said a bad word about anybody. He was always positive...He was a gentle, kind soul.”

In some ways, he was completely alone. “He had no family,” said Ms. Fuglein.

Ms. Letko said that both of his parents died when he was young and his aunt, Leona Willsey, took him in. Ms. Letko’s husband, Bill, remembered Roger as a kid, riding his bike in his full cowboy regalia, complete with cap guns on his hips.

“He always rode his bicycle when he was young,” agreed Ms. Fuglein, “and he went to Sunday school at the Dutch Reformed Church in New Salem when he was a child.”

Ms. Letko regularly took him grocery shopping and understood his rituals, like the need to call her on certain days.

Roger was very proud of his Harley chain wallet and his pocket watch, because it was like a cowboy’s, she recalled. “Even in the hospital, he pinned it to his gown,” she said.

After he had fallen a few times, his landlady tried to get him to go to the doctor. The county got involved, Ms. Letko said; Roger was supposed to go to the hospital. He wouldn’t go until the sheriff’s deputies came and “took him off the porch where he sat and put him in the ambulance,” she said. “He always loved the Albany County Sheriff’s who gave him an honorary badge. He claimed Craig Apple personally knows him.”

He was assessed and “they found him incompetent,” she said. “In the hospital, they told him he’d never live independently again. He cried and so did I,” Ms. Letko said. He chose not to have his tumors treated, she said, and was moved to the nursing home in November.

“He could daydream like a child,” said Ms. Letko. “He would rewrite the story in a positive way so he could move on. He said, ‘I don’t care what they say; I’ll go home.’ He had that hope until the very end.”

He loved animals of all kinds. “Every year in the spring, he said his friend would come visit him,” recalled Ms. Letko. “He was referring to a robin. I saw it happen. I know it couldn’t possibly be the same robin for 30 years, but still — ” she said, her voice trailing off. “Animals did respond to him.”

Although he couldn’t read, Roger enjoyed looking at The Altamont Enterprise every week and would interpret the meaning of the pictures. He liked best of all the Altamont Fair editions, which were chock full of photos of farm animals.

Twice a year, Ms. Letko would take Roger to the Double M tent sales in Ballston Spa. “He’d buy cowboy boots and shirts there. He felt it was authentic if it came from the Double M,” she said, adding, “He saved every plastic bag from the Double M. He was a bit of a hoarder.”

Roger also saved the cards he got. He’d let his friends know when his birthday was — June 17, 1949. Roger had with him in the nursing home cards from a dog signed “Cruise Lee Bowers and Mom.”

“Pictures of animals made him smile,” said Ms. Letko, noting he also had a large collection of stuffed animals. At the nursing home, he had with him pictures of two cats, with the message: “I love you. Fluffy and Scribbles.”

Roger also made cards to give to his friends, in colorful crayon. “They always had a rainbow in them, sometimes a house or an animal,” said Ms. Letko.

All his life, people helped Roger — not because it was their job but just because they liked to.  The New Salem Volunteer Fire Department made him an honorary member, said Ms. Fuglein whose husband belongs.

Steve Magrum helped Roger, too, teaching him how to count change and tell time. “He was a little rough around the edges,” said Ms. Letko of the late Mr. Magrum, “a hard-core biker dude. He always said he’d get into heaven because of his work with Roger.”

One of the visitors Roger had in the nursing home was his neighbor, Chris, and his huge bullmastiff, named Cocoa. “Roger always called the mastiff ‘Mama,’” said Ms. Letko. “When Chris brought the dog to the home, it was a big day for Roger and Mama.”

Roger had the impetuousness and enthusiasm of a child. Ms. Letko described how, when she was doing laundry, Roger helped her match up her husband’s many socks and, in return, rewarded him with whatever change had fallen out of his pockets in the wash. One time, they found a 20-dollar bill.

“You can’t tell Billy or he’ll start emptying out his pockets,” Ms. Letko instructed Roger.

Then, the first time after that, when he saw Mr. Letko, Ms. Letko reported, “He started giggling and told him right off. He couldn’t keep it in.”

Roger also had a sweetness about him and an ability to suspend reality for fantasy. “As an adult living on Main Street, he woke up one Christmas Eve night and he saw Santa on Main Street,” said Ms. Letko, surmising it might have been a costumed father. “He continued to believe in Santa Claus his whole life.”

He had so many friends to shower him with gifts at Christmas time that one Christmas, when Ms. Letko couldn’t make the time he had named for her to come by with gifts, her husband went by later and “saw shifts of people,” she said.

Roger gave as much as he received, or more. “One of the biggest things I learned from Roger,” said Ms. Letko, “is, when somebody doesn’t seem to have that much and is needy, you can feel like you’re always giving. Then, he’d give back and you’d be humbled. You’d realize he was taking care of you, too.”

She started crying as she reached into her handbag and pulled out her keys. “He noticed I was always digging around for my keys,” she said. Ms. Letko easily retrieved her keys, which were hanging from an orange carabiner. “He gave me this clip so I’d always be able to find them,” she said. “He’s solving your problems, too.”

Roger had no family — no living blood relatives to help him. And yet he was cared for because he was caring. A rough biker dude, a sheriff, a neighbor, a landlady, a customer at the laundry all looked after him — even at the very end.

“He was larger than life,” said Ms. Letko, “and also like a child, so innocent. He kept saying he didn’t want to die alone. He didn’t want to die in the dark.”

A nurse named Donna and an aid named Tammy, who had known him from Voorheesville and worked at the nursing home, were with him when he died, said Ms. Letko.

She had heard the nurse tell him, “Roger, you’re not alone. We all love you.”

That, to us, is the sign of a life well lived.

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A celebration of Roger Spencer's life will be held on Saturday, Feb. 28, at the Reilly & Son Funeral Home at 9 Voorheesville Ave. in Voorheesville with calling hours from 3 to 6 p.m. There will be pictures, stories, and displays to share. Pastor Holly Cameron will give a blessing at the end, but all are welcome to come and anyone inspired to speak is welcome.

Memorial contributions may be made to the Mohawk Hudson Humane Society, 3 Oakland Ave., Menands, NY 12204.

— Melissa Hale-Spencer