If David were writing this, he would no doubt open with a one-liner. Or, perhaps, a one-, two- or three-worder — the more random and nonsensical the better. Three lobsters. Pollution. Pieces of eight.

David was born in Toronto and raised in Oakville and Winnipeg, the son of Jack and Marnie Brumell and older brother of Ann. He attended Brantwood, Central and, briefly, Appleby College before the family moved to the 'Peg, where he attended Gordon Bell High. He worked for a time at Jack’s firm, Investors Syndicate (now IG Wealth Management), and lived with fellow travellers on Prince Arthur in Yorkville, then Heath and Jarvis Sts., frequenting the Plaza Room to see Peter Appleyard and the like. He would eventually enter the carpet business, working at Franco Belgian for years before starting his own company, David Brumell Carpet Ltd. His final professional stop was working with all the wonderful people at Whitehall Homes until his retirement at age 72.

His family spent summers on Georgian Bay, on the rocky peninsula near Snug Harbour known as Ukawabe, which Jack and Marnie bought to be close to their dear family friends the Pullens and Youngs. It was there that he met the love of his life, Deborah Buttenheim, who was up visiting from the U.S. and staying at the Chapin cottage up the way. Deb thought David was “the funniest person ever.” Thus began one of the most enduring and devoted partnerships ever consummated ‘on the Bay.’

Deb (a.k.a Biwi) and David (a.k.a. Dado) married in Sleepy Hollow, N.Y., in ‘67 and went on to build a happy, bustling family home in Oakville, complete with three kids — John David (Jody), Amanda (Missy), and Kate (Kato) — a dog, Brando, and a constant flow of friends coming and going from their house on Watson Ave. (and later at Treetops/Marlborough Ct. and Bronte). Laughter was like food in the Brumell household — essential, plentiful and sustaining.

Dado didn’t just march to his own drummer; he danced to his own big band — in tap shoes, no less. He was of another era — a time of guys and dolls, of smoky, velvet-seated jazz clubs and men wearing fedoras smoking wine-tipped Old Ports. He was mild-mannered, quick-witted, kind-hearted and small-throated (apparently the key to longevity). He had his own language — rhythmic, spare and to the point, even if the point was deliberately and hilariously abstract. Other common “Dadoisms” heard sprinkled into conversations include “Keep juicing,” “Now what?” and “Eenee eenee ooh nah nah.” (Translation: Don’t take yourself, or life, too seriously.)

He was a lifelong jazz lover, happiest when surrounded by family and friends, a jarred (with lid!) Screwdriver in hand, listening to the swirling sounds of Eddie Condon or Louis Armstrong or Fats Waller. He loved fire trucks and suntanning, played piano and ukelele and did a mean dock-start. He was sweet and soulful and reliably calm in an emergency, even when his hair was on fire. He was, quite simply, a great guy to have around.

Dado settled his tab and exited the club on the morning of April 26, with Deb, Kate and granddaughter/kindred-spirit Elle (Ellebow) by his side. Also left to mourn him are cherished grandson (Elle’s twin brother), Jack; Kate’s husband Ryan Faithfull; Amanda’s husband John Penford, and Jody’s wife, Jeannette Brumell — along with beloved granddogs Levon, Mabel and Flint.

The family is sad but full of gratitude. For them, and countless friends and admirers, Dado’s big heart beats on. Ta-da!

There will be no funeral service but a celebration of Life will be held at a later date.