Source: Excerpts from his obituary.

Memories of Uncle Marvin by his nephew Grant Anderson, 1-10-2016 ‏(Used by permission.)‏
Every family has a larger than life character amongst its ranks. Someone whose legendary exploits and stories are spoken about at every get together. A person whose character looms large in a collection of large characters.

My Uncle Marvin was one of those guys.

He left us yesterday, and as is often the case when someone of his stature moves on, the stories have come flooding back for those of us who knew him. For me, he was always the most physically strong and capable man I knew. The kind of Uncle you brag about to your friends. He was a true bragging trump card. His exploits put anything else the other kids had in their deck to shame.

One of his qualities that most stood out for me was his willingness to take you under wing and teach you something practical. Something important. One of those moments took place about 36 years ago on the shoulder of a dusty highway somewhere between Hemet, California and the middle of nowhere.

My family and I were flying down the road on a drive with Uncle Marvin, Kenny Rogers playing on his stereo, when all of a sudden the right rear tire blew. Not just some run-of-the-mill puncture, but a full-on, rubber spraying, monstrous boom, steel belts exploding everywhere kind of deal. I was ten years old at the time, and had never been in a blowout before. My heart was thumping and my eyes were as wide as saucers, but the the first thing I noticed when the chaos ensued was the total lack of panic from Uncle Marvin. No slamming on the brakes, no jerking of the wheel, just a calm removal of his foot from the gas, followed by a gradual slow down and pull over to the side of the road. In that moment any fear I had vanished. I saw the way he handled the situation, and I knew everything was going to be fine.

We hopped out of the car to take a look, and discovered the car sitting on the rim. Total blowout. Uncle Marvin looked over at me and said, "Guess we better change that tire." When I told him I had never changed a tire before, he smiled and said, "Well, this seems like a pretty good time to learn."

We unloaded the jack and spare from the trunk, and Uncle Marvin proceeded to efficiently change the tire, giving clear instruction the whole way. Took him about 5 minutes to do the job. But then he surprised me when after lowering the car off the jack he turned to me, smiled, handed me the lug wrench and said, "Okay, now you do it."

And so there, by the side of the road in the middle of the desert with Uncle Marvin looking over my shoulder I changed my first tire. He could have just hustled us back into the car to continue the journey, but instead he allowed what was a 5 minute job to become a 20 minute lesson for his ten year old nephew. He made me important. He took the time.

This is the Uncle Marvin that lives in my memory. This is the man I will always remember with great fondness.

Rest in Peace Uncle Marvin. You will be missed.