Family of Daniel Bernard SCHUFFMAN and Doris Margaret JOHNSON

On Monday we lost another member of what Brokaw called "the greatest generation any society has ever produced" when Columbia resident Dan Schuffman died at age 88 after complications from a fall late last

month. You might not have known Dan, but I bet you remember his distinctive hat from his days as a B-24 bomber pilot in the Pacific during World War II. About a decade ago, he pulled the cap out of a closet, not because he wanted to tout his service but because his head was cold. The Army Air Corps "thousand-hour crusher" made him look jaunty, and Dan found it to be a conversation starter. In 2007, he was included in a Tribune story on favorite things: When he started wearing the hat, emblazoned with a U.S. coat of arms insignia, a certain lady friend told him the hat made him look 10 years younger. He took to wearing it all the time. The original reason had nothing to do with patriotism,

Schuffman said. It was about ego. But then he started to notice younger men paid him certain deference. On trips for coffee, men would nod at him. When the Iraq war began, people started thanking him for his service. He likes that his hat is a reminder of the men and women serving in the military. When people comment on his hat, I give my little piece about the difference between my war, if I can call it that, and the current war, Schuffman said. Everyone was in it, my mother, my sister, my father, in one form or another.

Initially I got to know him through the arts. Dan was doing some public relations work for the Missouri Contemporary Ballet, and he also spent time as a director for Columbia Access Television. He was a valuable resource for the arts community given that after the war he worked as a writer and producer for ABC Television in Chicago. He also was a songwriter. I wrote about him in December when I learned he penned, among other tunes, a lovely song titled Christmas is Love.

I enjoyed a strong tie to Dan because of his service with the 5th Air Force, where he joined other crews in flying night missions against Japanese shipping. My father flew B-17 bombers out of England, but their stories are not dissimilar. My dad and Dan were once young men,

from ordinary backgrounds, who went on to do some extraordinary things.

Recently I joined Dan for a cheery brunch at Café Berlin, where we chatted about the arts, family and, of course, the media.

At another luncheon, he handed me a set of his silver pilotʼs wings, rendering me temporarily speechless by the honor of the gift.

Thanks, Dan ? for everything.