Generous, self-motivated, and occasionally too witty for his own good—meet Myron Halvorson. Born on May 4, 1945, in the unforgiving tundra of Grand Forks, ND, he emerged from the womb fully formed as a lifelong Sioux hockey fan, complete with an innate ability to navigate the world of hard work (and a paper route the size of Texas). Raised by Lorraine and Bernard (Bud) Halvorson, Myron quickly learned that to achieve great things, one must shoveling newspapers like a lumberjack during a snowstorm.
Behold the legend of the paperboy! Myron, armed only with youthful tenacity and a younger sister to help, conquered the largest paper route in Grand Forks. Money? Ha! What a quaint concept! But lo and behold, after some light lifting and hearty hustle, Myron managed to buy his family their first television—an achievement worthy of putting on his résumé. His grocery career began at the Piggly Wiggly, where he developed a passion that would later have him slaying bargain bins alongside his daughter Adrie, like a knight on a quest for discount treasures.
Myron and Jill met at Moorhead Tech, where he took Business Law from “that guy” who also ran DECA. Lovebirds since their marriage on October 19, 1979 (the birthday of his first daughter, Stacy, because obviously), they became a dynamic duo in the fine art of crafting the perfect Rice Krispie Bars. Seriously, the culinary achievement of the decade! Together, they built a house in West Fargo that became the nexus for family gatherings while Myron transformed into a part-time carpentry wizard, creating masterpieces named “Projects Designed by Jill.”
Retirement? Not for a glorified tomato king! Summertime found Myron growing enough tomatoes to create a mini-Salsa economy. He vowed to challenge his daughter Shelby to see just how many cans of his harvest could be deciphered as ‘edible.’ Spoiler: it usually involved significant quantities of tomato sauce flung bee-like at unsuspecting friends and family members. In the world of family bonding, no trip was too far, especially on those classic road trips in the family motorhome—an experience Myron regarded as “freedom” and “a reason to argue over snacks.”
Once Myron received his golden ticket into retirement, he swiftly climbed the ranks of Carnival Cruise aficionados, sipping fruity drinks as he mastered travel planning. His daughters couldn’t appreciate his ability to grab the best prices and flights, nor his insistence on cramming every activity into vacay schedules tighter than a can of sardines. The family side-business “Another Chance Crafts” became the ultimate excuse for pseudo-business trips around the Midwest, all until Jill’s brave battle against PSP turned him into the full-time caregiver—as if he wasn’t already the most selfless being in existence.
Ah, but let’s not forget Myron’s true joy: his grandchildren. He devoured their myriad activities, from dancing to soccer, even enduring trap shooting (while turning away nervously). Summer days in East Bay Campground were punctuated with fishing trips that Myron eagerly anticipated, dragging along his son-in-laws and any grandsons brave enough to keep him company on what became a legendary ritual—catching nothing and managing to have a blast in the process.
Then came the April drama of 2025, as Myron faced pancreatic cancer with all the grace of a seasoned comedian. Why slow down when you can literally drive your grandkids to their activities while making gourmet pit stops for snacks? He’d pop in and out of Iowa like a stealthy ninja who had forgotten his shurikens—never overstaying his welcome, and always leaving potential relatives eagerly anticipating his next visit. His love for road trips continues with Leah, who clearly inherited his gift for transforming getting lost into an adventure.
On October 23, 2025, Heaven gained another hilarious angel. Myron left behind cherished family members who are still trying to decipher the witty wisdom he laid down—“Don’t lend more than you’re willing to lose.” or “If I knew I would live this long, I would’ve cared for myself better.” And of course, “Go Sioux!” Rest well, Myron, in a place where the tomatoes are always ripe, and the bargains never end.
