Alan J. Silverman

Alan Silverman loved his family, skipping stones, and avoiding formal clothing in any way that he could. He could be found most often in his flip flops, baseball cap, and leather jacket, looking up at the sky or down at the ground until he noticed something cool to tell you about. He was the sort of man who would get up early to warm the car for his family on a cold morning and fix their coffee up just the way they like it.

He spent every night of his daughter’s childhood reading her bedtime stories and giving in to reading “just one more chapter.” He would bring homemade eggnog ice cream to the sledding hill on a snowy day and would spend hours (and many tokens) at the bottle toss game until he won the big unicorn. Even in his daughter’s twenties, he insisted on giving her a ride anywhere she needed to go.

He loved to take a drive with his wife when the weather was nice and loved to share a Del’s with her in the front seat at Conimicut Point. He scoured TCM for black-and-white movies for them to watch and saved an expansive library for later. While she read, He loved watching the Yankee’s game, pre-recorded, so that he could fast-forward through the commercials. He loved falling asleep next to her, remote in hand, to the glow and sound of the TV.

Alan was the sort of man who would pull a pogo stick from the trunk of the car and shrug affably when his phone screen shattered as a result of his pogo-ing, knowing that the mess was worth it for a few good jumps. He loved to comb the aisles of a supermarket like he combed the beach for cool shells, and he loved to find a great deal on a good treat. He loved the first pilgrimage to Aunt Carrie’s each year for clam cakes and chowder. He was a tornado in the kitchen but a great cook, and he always asked if he could make you anything. He made a mean weenie sauce.

He was always curious, and he was always happy to turn the car around for just a chance of a good photo. He always kept a cool looking stone on his dash or tucked into the door of his car. He would always pick up a sparkly something on his path and find a nice perch for it. He wielded his camera phone like it was an extension of his arm, joyfully capturing the faces of family and friends as well as any interesting thing that was going on in the backyard. He always had a funny video to send or show you. He loved to collect things that reminded him of the places and people he loved.

Alan was an innovator. Just last week he invented a burrito filled with leftover nachos.

Alan was a visionary, shrugging with an earnest “sure, why not?” in response to just about any idea. Alan was an engineer who could pack a storage unit with the skill of someone who clearly spent seven decades honing his Tetris skills to practical levels beyond most others. Alan was a fearless explorer, climbing the tallest trees to collect chestnuts for conkers, and peeking into every tide pool, curious about what he might find.

Alan was the type of man who always showed up at least 10 minutes early. He was caring, kind, and honest. He was the first person to lend a hand and the last person to call it quits. He was a kid at heart, but he had a profound and uncomplicated way of knowing the world, knowing right from wrong, and standing up for what he knew was right. He made the world a kinder, more flavorful, more fun, and more beautiful place, and he will be deeply missed by his wife, daughter, family, and all who had the honor of knowing him.

His funeral will be held on Tuesday, June 16th from the Nardolillo Funeral Home & Crematory, 1278 Park Ave., Cranston with visiting hours from 9:30 a.m. to 11 a.m., followed by burial at St. Ann Cemetery, Cranston. In Lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made to Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.