DEATH BY HEROIN DIMS AN HONEST LIFE

You wouldn't have known it to look at him, but Guy Biggins, who died
homeless in a borrowed van, was a former electrical contractor, husband and
father.

He spent his youth in the Haight-Ashbury handing out food to the homeless.

But life dealt Guy Biggins some blows, most notably the divorce from his
wife, who lives in the Northwest, said those who knew Biggins. At 43, he
had set up camp in Golden Gate Park.

Biggins had friends who shared kindnesses.

Among them was Anton Halteh, who owns Denhard's Market on 10th Avenue,
where Biggins was a regular customer who received free coffee and sandwiches.

Halteh liked Biggins so much for his honesty and warmth that last month he
recommended his homeless friend for a job as a laborer.

"He was a good man," said Halteh. "He said he did drugs a long time ago,
but that he quit."

Thomas Jovero, a handyman, hired him, knowing full well that Biggins drank
and smoked marijuana. Nobody thought of him as a heroin junkie, even after
his death from intravenous drug use.

But Biggins had been upset in recent days. Jovero said Biggins was angry
that police raided his campsite and "took his stuff" during Christmas week.

On Dec. 23, Jovero paid Biggins $200 and let him sleep in his burgundy
Plymouth Voyager.

Jovero went to pick up Biggins at the van on Monday morning, Dec. 28, and
found him face down in the van. His body was stiff.

At Denhard's, Halteh said he was stunned to learn about the overdose.

The last time he had seen his homeless friend was Dec. 17, the day before
Halteh and his wife left for Hawaii.

Biggins came in with a bottle of cognac for a neighborhood woman that he
liked. Halteh, Biggins and the woman shared a few drinks a couple of weeks
before and Biggins wanted to thank her for the good time with the cognac.

Halteh went to Hawaii and came back with an extra-large T-shirt for Biggins
with the Hawaiian islands on it. He never got the chance to give it to him.

Jovero came by instead, and told him their homeless friend had died. Now,
Halteh keeps the bottle of cognac on the counter as a memento of their
friendship.

"I cried," said Halteh. "I never cried for anybody."