This morning, the phone rang early. It was Mark Heiberg calling to tell me that Elvin had died, quietly and peacefully, earlier this morning, in his sleep.

Recently, Elvin had had a very trying few years healthwise. For the past few months, at his request, he had been in hospice care. His death was not unanticipated, therefore, but the loss looms large.

The Heiberg family has published his obituary today; a service is scheduled for Wednesday, June 15, 2022 at St. John’s Lutheran Church in Northfield. What follows is a personal remembrance posted with Mark’s permission.

As all who knew Elvin and his late wife, Corrine, are aware, they were both dedicated to Northfield and were also enthusiastic travelers. They met one summer in Glacier Park, and always enjoyed planning, taking, and reliving trips in the U.S., Europe, and to such far-flung places as New Zealand. Elvin, in particular, was fond of train travel–he even read train timetables for pleasure! After Corrine died, Elvin and I took a number of car rides around the Northfield area and spent many companionable hours as armchair travelers. Elvin had a large collection of travel slides (conveniently translated into DVDs by his sons) and it was great fun to hear about these trips. I began to be able to tell which images were taken by Elvin (panoramic vistas) and which by Corrine (close-ups of flowers and people.)

In planning for what turned out to be our last visit together, in February 2022, Elvin alerted me to be certain to look up when I arrived at the lobby of Orchards of Minnetonka where he was living. Why? Elvin was an enthusiastic vexillologist. He had lent some of his collection of flags to be displayed on the balcony in honor of the Winter Olympic Games.

Once I arrived at his assisted living apartment, we looked at slides of Norway and New Zealand, those mountainous landscapes that Elvin told me he loved the most. He wanted to continue on with one more country, but I could tell he was tiring even if he didn’t want to admit it. Always gracious, when I took my leave of him, he said, “We’ll meet again and talk of Switzerland.” When I got to my car, his words were echoing in my mind. I realized the line was a gift of perfect iambic pentameter. Before I turned the key in the ignition, I took out pen and paper and I wrote it down.

I am so very grateful to have known Corrine and Elvin Heiberg. They were kindness itself in welcoming Tim and me, and later Julia, to our neighborhood in Northfield. None of us will ever forget the many, many ways that they made us feel loved, made us feel at home. We are so thankful our lives intersected with their own.

Below are two poems that Elvin inspired this year.

LESLIE

Neighbors


Each morning, for months now,
I write a card and send it to Elvin
my old neighbor, now no longer
in Northfield. We talk on the phone, too.
Yesterday, he told me 
the Parkinson’s had advanced.
He awoke paralyzed, his heart
in his throat, afraid to swallow.

I send him image after image
of the old neighborhood
in fall glory. It is all
I can do, these semaphores
of affection, like hanging
bright cloths on the line
of days, hoping
never to reach the end.


Leslie Schultz

On Going


We’ll meet again and talk of Switzerland,
of trains and clear lakes and snowy mountains.

Twenty years neighbors, thirty years friends,
we’ve shared our stories. Now we join our hands.

You made a pleasant life with prudent plans.
You are ready for whatever Heaven sends—

to join your golden bride, Corrine, to stand
with her, in perfect memory again,

and walk without stumbling, fear, or pain
away from earth, into a higher plane:

this is our common journey’s charted end.
My train comes later, but we’ll meet again.


Leslie Schultz