While attending the funeral of my beloved godmother, Topsy Agius—a powerhouse of a woman and a Petaluma legend—I found myself reflecting on how much alike birth and death seem to be—indeed, as the writer Isabelle Allende noted, they are made of the same fabric.
A lot of that reflection was Topsy’s doing.
Her funeral was held at St. Vincent’s Catholic Church, where, on the same date 75 years before, she wed Jim Agius, the childhood best friend of my father, Robert Sheehy (he is the tall fellow standing third from the right in Jim and Topsy’s wedding photo above). Topsy was 18 at the time, having recently graduated from Petaluma High.
Eight years later, in that same church, I was baptized in the loving arms of Jim and Topsy as my godparents.
A few months later, Jim and Topsy went into business with Jim’s brother Frank and Frank’s wife Chick, taking over Mickelsen’s Grocery on the corner of Bodega and Eucalyptus avenues in the country, with an adjoining beer and wine tavern, and a pair of gas pumps out front. Jim and Frank operated the grocery, while Topsy and Chick oversaw the bar.
The gas pumps were handled by Jimmy Terribilini, a short, colorful man who wore bib overalls with a pocket full of pens and pencils in the top pocket. Fondly known as “The Sheriff,” Terribilini lived in a small room at the back of the store.
Blessed with the gift of gab, Topsy helped to make the mom-and-pop store a friendly crossroads for the ranching families between Petaluma and Two Rock, engaging with people stopping in to pick up a quart of milk or loaf of bread, or maybe stop off for a beer and catch up on news of the area.
The store was also a popular stop for people headed to and from Tomales Bay, Dillon’s Beach, or Bodega Bay on the Sonoma Coast. The two Agius couples operated the store until they all retired in 1992.
A week before Topsy died, I received an envelope from her in the mail. There was no note inside, merely an old newspaper clipping of a column written by Petaluma’s illustrious three-dot journalist, Bill Soberanes, who had attended St. Vincent’s High School with my father and Jim.
In the first part of the clipping, Soberanes describes himself wandering around town on a Tuesday morning between 1 and 2 a.m., in search of news for his column the next day. Among the sources he meets is Jim Agius, who advises him to “Have a glass of champagne”—a veiled reference to a large champagne party that had been underway for a good seven hours.
The second part of the clipping is what Soberanes used to fill his column the next day: an announcement of my birth at Petaluma General Hospital, and the all-night champagne celebration party that followed.
This clipping was the last communication I received from Topsy. A few days later, she slipped and fell, and within two days was gone.
I am toasting the sad passing of this wonderful woman at 93 in the same manner she toasted my joyous arrival so many years ago—with a glass of champagne. RIP.