Being a clown was also something for life, she says. When Rlickman was found last month, he was still dressed in his suit, make-up and shoes.

“He wanted to die as a clown,” she says. “We had talked about that. And he did.”

In the nine months that he stayed in Barbara Lamb’s basement, the landlord grew close to Rlickman and his “Louisiana charm.”

There were a few inconveniences to living with a clown. The powder from his makeup kit blew all around the house, and he sometimes used the tub to take off his clown face.

But there were advantages, too, and Lamb once invited Perri the Hobo to perform at her son-in-law’s birthday party.

Rlickman grew close to the six other residents of the two-family house in Allston. He played with the dog and four cats. He told stories at the cookouts they held in front of the house.

He had “lovable sweetness,” Lamb says. “He was family. I felt very much a part of him.”

This past winter, when he lived with Lamb, was the first that Rlickman had ever stayed in the north for the cold season rather than migrating to New Orleans.

This year, when October came and it was too cold for him to blow up balloons, he asked Mary Ann Cross if he could have a job.

At the time, Cross was general manager of the Au Bon Pain in Brattle Square. Three years ago, when she and her husband were visiting relatives near Provincetown, she ran into a clown named Perri the Hobo who whistled and attracted big crowds. One time he gave her a balloon.

Then two summers ago, back at Au Bon Pain, she heard the same whistling. Running outside, she discovered that it was the clown from Provincetown. The two became friends, and she stored his drawstring bag of balloons behind the counter so he could replenish his supply during the day.

So when Rlickman asked for a job last fall, Cross gave him one.

He scrubbed dishes, made sandwiches and worked the register. When female employees had to take out the trash, he grabbed the bags for them. When company managers came to inspect the store, Rlickman would make them try to blow up one of his balloons—but puff as they might, they could never get one started.

And at Christmas time, when the store’s crew donated pastries and coffee to the Salvation Army shelter in Central Square, Perri the Hobo came along to tie balloons for the children.

He worked at Au Bon Pain until about a week before he died. With the weather warming up, he was itching to start performing again. On some days before he quit, he asked if it was a busy day and whether he was really needed.