David L. Camara

May 19, 1950 – October 26, 2026

“The juice is worth the squeeze.”

If you had the pleasure of knowing David Lawrence Camara, affectionately known as Dave, Coffee Dave, Dad, or simply “Boss,” chances are you have a story to tell, and chances are, it's a funny one.

Dave, 76, of Scituate, Massachusetts, formerly Norwell, passed away on October 26, 2026, leaving behind a family who adored him, friendships that spanned decades, a collection of unfinished projects, and a world that will never be quite as kind and colorful without him.

Born on May 19, 1950, in Morristown, New Jersey, to Fred and Helen Camara, Dave grew up alongside his older brother, Paul, developing the unmistakable Jersey accent, quick wit, and larger-than-life personality that would become his trademarks.

Dave was, in every sense of the word, an original.

He had the confidence of Ferris Bueller, the sunglasses of Tom Cruise, and an uncanny ability to make a friend absolutely anywhere. A quick errand could become a two-hour adventure because Dave inevitably knew someone, met someone, or found someone worth talking to. His nickname “Coffee Dave” was earned at the gym, where he was known to arrive with coffee in hand and spend considerably more time socializing than exercising. For Dave, the conversation was always the workout.

He was a lifelong Porsche enthusiast who appreciated a beautiful car, a good pair of Ray-Bans, and a great soundtrack. Whether it was Phil Collins, Huey Lewis, or Aerosmith playing, Dave was happiest with somewhere to go and a reason to get behind the wheel. His wardrobe was just as distinctive as his personality, with colorful prints, seasonal socks, and the occasional dachshund making an appearance. He had a swagger, a smile, and a way of walking into a room that made it clear he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Dave was also a natural entrepreneur. After building a successful career in hospital food-service sales and distribution, he started an engineering company specializing in fabricated metalwork for restaurants and hospitals throughout the Boston area. Never one to sit still for too long in retirement—at least when it came to business—he later established Main Street Real Estate, owning and managing rental properties across Massachusetts' South Shore.

At home, however, Dave operated on his own very special timeline.

A request to hang a curtain or fix something around the house might begin with the best of intentions, only to be interrupted by an episode of Burn Notice, a sandwich, and a beer at two in the afternoon. Somewhere on his workbench, a dollhouse or toy barn promised to his daughters decades earlier may still be waiting for its grand restoration. But mention a tractor, a trip to Home Depot, a meatball sub from Maria's, or an excuse to take the Porsche out, and Dave was ready before anyone else had their shoes on.

And then there was Roberta (aka Robin)

Their love story began in seventh-grade homeroom in Bernardsville NJ, where a young Dave sat beside a girl named Roberta and made it his mission to get her attention. When she began working at a local movie theater in high school, Dave became a remarkably dedicated moviegoer, happily watching the same films again and again for another opportunity to talk to her.

When the time came to propose, Dave chose the top of the Empire State Building. It was a romantic plan worthy of the movies they loved so much, with just one small complication: they stopped for milkshakes along the way, and Roberta discovered the ring before he could pop the question. Even their engagement came with a story to tell.

They would go on to watch every James Bond film together, build a life together, raise two daughters, and celebrate 55 years of marriage.

They were best friends, partners, and occasionally each other's greatest test of patience. Opposites in many ways, they shared the same values and an unwavering commitment to one another. Whatever life brought, they faced it together. If something wasn't working, they made a plan, and somewhere along the way, they even began dressing alike. Their love wasn't simply measured in years, but in a lifetime of choosing each other.

Of all the titles Dave carried, none made him prouder than being a girl dad.

To his daughters, Kelly and Brett, he was everything a father should be: their hero, protector, biggest supporter, and safest place in the world. He was involved in their lives in every possible way, from sports and relationships to life's smallest problems and greatest accomplishments. Nothing was too insignificant for his attention, and there was nothing he wouldn't do for “his girls.”

For Kelly, that meant embracing the world of figure skating, including the annual trips to the Bay State Games, which somehow always seemed to fall during the coldest part of the year. While most people might have preferred to be somewhere warm, Dave could be found spending hours in a freezing ice rink, proudly supporting his daughter. For Brett, it meant 23 years traveling across the country, hauling horses and trailers from one competition to the next. He proudly embraced his role as a “Horse Show Dad,” and his unmistakable voice shouting “Kick it out!” can still be heard in nearly every barrel-racing video.

Whether he was bundled up beside an ice rink or cheering from the sidelines of a rodeo arena, Dave was never just a spectator. He was part of the team, and he wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else.

When his grandson, Atlas, arrived, Dave discovered an entirely new kind of joy. Delighted to finally have a little boy in the family, he soon found that Atlas was, in many ways, a miniature version of himself. They shared a love of anything with wheels, Patriots football on Sundays, and the simple pleasure of sitting together under a blanket watching television. Some of life's most beautiful moments were also its quietest.

Family adventures were another of Dave's greatest joys, especially the time spent together in Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, where the family created a second home and countless memories. Whether he was sharing a favorite destination, introducing someone to a great restaurant, or simply enjoying the company of the people he loved, Dave understood that the best parts of life were meant to be shared.

For the last 12 years, Dave faced cancer with extraordinary determination, supported by his family and the dedicated team at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. His journey required tremendous sacrifice, but his motivation was always simply more time. More birthdays, more holidays, more ordinary afternoons, more memories with the people he loved. His illness was part of his story, but it was never the definition of the man.

Dave was predeceased by his parents, Fred and Helen Camara, and his brother, Paul Camara. He is survived by his beloved wife of 55 years, Roberta Camara; his daughters, Kelly Camara and Brett Camara Preziosi; his son-in-law, Anthony Preziosi, who affectionately called him “Boss”; and his cherished grandson, Atlas Camara Preziosi, all of Scituate, Massachusetts.

Dave had a saying he loved so much that he shared it during his speech at Brett's wedding: “The juice is worth the squeeze.”

It was more than a clever phrase. It was how he lived: Love deeply. Laugh often. Make the friend. Take the drive. Enjoy the sandwich. Buy the Porsche. And when life gets hard, remember what makes the struggle worthwhile.

He also had kinder advice for the moments when life felt overwhelming: “Take it one moment, one second, one day at a time.”

For those who loved him, those words will carry new meaning now.

There are people whose absence changes the shape of a family forever. Dave was one of them. His family will miss his kindness, his laughter, his stories, his distinctive Jersey pronunciations, his larger-than-life presence, and the comforting certainty that, as long as he was there, everything would somehow be okay.

He gave them a lifetime of love, and they would gladly endure the heartbreak of missing him for the privilege of having been loved by him.

And if Dave taught them anything, it was that every beautiful, messy, funny, extraordinary moment was worth it.

The juice was always worth the squeeze.