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Daniel Mark Silverman was born in Newark, New Jersey on March 28, 1953; he passed from this life on March 11, 2011. He was preceded in death by his father Robert M. Silverman and his mother Helene W. Silverman. On January 5, 2008, Dan and his wife Beth attended a hockey game in Denver. While walking to their car, they were both run down by a car in the parking lot. While Beth had broken bones, Dan suffered a massive traumatic brain injury. The last three years of Dan’s life were spent dealing with the results of this assault and his death was the direct result of this assault.
He is survived by his wife, Beth and step-sons, Chris Ellefson and Nick Ellefson. He had two daughters from a previous marriage, Amy and Marley, two brothers, Joel Silverman of Boulder and Al Silverman of San Francisco, several nieces and his nephew Max, Jack and Gerri Silverman, aunt and uncle , Susan and Lloyd Weinerman, aunt and uncle.
Beyond all else Dan was a brilliant and loving man. He found humor in every situation and loved nothing more than to come home and share stories of his day with his wife. Dan laughed every day and brought this joy to those around him. Dan and his wife were blessed to be able to travel together and always returned home with many stories of their adventures. Even In the darkest days of life, Dan always found a way to look for the positive. His wife Beth feels incredibly blessed to have been loved by Dan and is grateful for every day that they shared together. Dan’s friends have all experienced what it is like to be loved and cared for by Dan and they are all better people for having known Dan.
The last years of Dan’s life were difficult and challenging however, the presence and participation of all of his friends made these days richer and allowed Dan and Beth to understand and appreciate the wonder and goodness of the human spirit. This is a gift that will forever be appreciated. Each day of Dan’s life was lived with the knowledge that every day is a day of endless possibility.
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Robert Reichman
To all who loved Dan - Barb and I send you comfort and peace from New Jersey.
I didn't know Dan. I met a 3-year-old across the street in 1956 named Danny. Actually, until he and Les moved from Springfield late in the summer of '73, everyone we knew, except teachers and Rabbi Dresner, called him Dee, including his four grandparents! I don't know for certain when he morphed into "Dan" - I guess about the same time I became "Bob". We were best friends when we were barely getting through a dry day without diapers. He, Mark Spal and I spent most of our waking hours together. I felt right at home at the Silverman kitchen table at 30 Garden Oval and used the kitchen schmatah just like the rest of the family.
Dee's house was the center of our universe for almost 20 years. It was base camp for exploring the brook, the woods, and the railroad tracks...for playing with matches and smoking Helene's Kools, stolen from the drawer in the dining room breakfront....for slot-car racing in the basement with the lights out and the screaming cars lit on fire.....for year after year of band practices at unnecessary volume for which I daily pay the price of hearing impairment.
Danny was a gifted athlete and an exceptional musician. He was forever drumming a paradiddle on the table with his thumbs or playing a flute he could make by cupping his hands together and blowing just so. I know he became a sensitive guitarist later in life. He was a quiet leader and influenced without fanfare. Dee was the primary shaper for the course of events in our circle. He was often the voice of reason who restrained some suggested and seconded gang behavior and kept us all out of trouble. He could also be the coaxer, encouraging someone else to try some mischief he wouldn't. He laughed easily.
We stayed in close contact and visited through the 70's and into the 80's, but touch points became fewer in the 90's and faded away. I don't regret many things more in my life than losing that linchpin to our youth and what we shared that made us who we turned out to be.
I loved him, and I will sorely miss him.
Bobby Reichman