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From the Editor

"Starvin" Marvin to me

by Judi McLeod

June 29, 2004

Canadian boxing champ George Chuvalo’s former chauffeur, Marvin Elkind is a kind of character that will long outlast actor Judd Hirsch’s portrayal of him in a recent television movie.

The movie was inspired by a National Post story, written by adrian Humphreys when Elkind was dragged out of obscurity to be identified in newspaper headlines as the "peanut butter hitman".

The hitman was hired by an elderly Jewish grandfather to secretly off his allergic son-in-law with peanut butter. The victim never got whacked and Elkind’s story found headlines because he was bushwhacked by a sometimes ridiculous series of errors.

In a front page January 2001 story, Elkind had this to say for himself: "That’s my problem. People only come to me when they want somebody killed or hurt. Nobody comes to me and says, `Give me a scientific answer to this’, or `What do you think of this mathematical problem?’ They never ask me that."

In the underground world of the fixer, Marvin Elkind was known as "The Weasel."

To me, he’ll always be "Starvin’ Marvin."

Back in the days when Chuvalo was writing a column for Toronto Free Press, our offices were filled with Damon Runyan like characters, not the least of whom was Marvin. He earned the nickname "Starvin’ Marvin" for the justice he did to the buffet table during office parties.

Elkind, back in those days, chauffeured Chuvalo around town. Known for his great girth, he didn’t need livery. He came into my life at the time of the death of Chuvalo’s wife, Lynn.

Knowing that Chuvalo was hurting financially and had only recently buried son George Jr. when Lynn died, I woke up in the middle of the night wondering how he was ever going to come up with the money for Lynn’s funeral. at 3 a.m., I called Elkind, who had once given me his card. "Good question," he answered me in his trademark laconic style. The following morning Toronto Sun columnist Peter Worthington and I began hitting the phones trying to raise money for Lynn’s funeral.

Elkind may have been known as The Weasel to those looking for duties that could only be conducted by a fixer, but around our office he was a gentleman of the old-fashioned kind. always quick with a joke and a graduate with honours in the mysteries of human nature, he tried to keep Chuvalo up during the grief following Lynn’s death. Elkind would ferry the world-renowned boxer around in a boat of a Cadillac, often waiting parked outside on Elizabeth Street when Chuvalo was in my office.

Chuvalo has sparkling humour and once used Elkind to lighten the mood of deep sadness at the funeral of his son, Steven. after the services, I had gingerly gone to offer personal condolences to the grieving father, with then city Councilor Steve Ellis in tow. Steve and I were both emotionally shaken and were not quite sure what to say.

"It’s getting time to leave. Have you seen Marvin?" Chuvalo asked me.

Looking about, I answered that I couldn’t see him.

"Then for sure he’s completely disappeared," quipped Chuvalo, underlining the notion that the corpulent Elkind would be impossible to miss.

It was because of Elkind that I got an inspirational glimpse into the unique kindness of George Chuvalo. Only weeks after the death of his wife, the champ paid me one of his visits. as he was leaving, he asked me to go out onto the street with him to say hello to Elkind, who was waiting across the street in his signature black Cadillac.

as we were crossing the street, careening around the corner came a car with three teenage occupants. One jumped out of the car, yelling back to the others, "It really is George Chuvalo. It was Christmas time and the teen had just bought a sports-related book for his father. He asked Chuvalo to sign the book.

"What’s your dad’s name, kid?" Chuvalo asked.

"Michael," the teen answered.

"Dear Michael, you have the most wonderful son," the champ wrote on the book’s flyleaf.

The teenager, who had teared up, thanked Chuvalo profusely.

Even in profound grief, Chuvalo was thoughtful to others, particularly to young people.

at the end of this little scene on Elizabeth Street, Elkind whose girth made it difficult for him to easily move about, got out of the Cadillac, crossed over to the passenger side and held the door open for a man he regarded as king.

Until the funeral of Steven, that was the last sight I had of Chuvalo, being carried away by his loyal chauffeur.

That’s why Marvin Elkind will forever be "Starvin’ Marvin to me.

Canada Free Press founding editor Most recent by Judi McLeod is an award-winning journalist with 30 years experience in the print media. Her work has appeared on Newsmax.com, Drudge Report, Foxnews.com, Glenn Beck. Judi can be reached at: judi@canadafreepress.com


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