Petaluma’s Past: Playfully pranked by ‘Mister Petaluma’

Remembering a practical joke pulled off by the legendary Bill Soberanes|

When Petaluma’s Bill Soberanes passed away 18 years ago, on June 2, 2003, our community forever lost a one-of-a-kind personality.

My friend Bill was a popular columnist for the Argus-Courier for 49 years, and was interviewing and writing right up until the day of his death. Over the years, Bill touched thousands of people of all walks of life. In fact, he coined for himself the term “Peopleologist.” Argus Columnist Katie Watts dubbed him “Petaluma’s proudest son, and one of its most well-known.”

And, that he was.

Mister Petaluma, as many called him, would have been 100 this October.

Bill’s business card read, “Columnist Soberanes has been photographed with more famous, infamous, usual and unusual people in the world.”

Being a genuine character himself made it easy for Bill to mix with almost everyone and Bill roamed the streets of Petaluma, and the country, draped in cameras, puffing his brier pipe, taking photos and doing interviews. If Bill sniffed a story, the story was written.

And, he never missed a deadline.

Bill estimated he had interviewed over 45,000 people, from President Gerald Ford and Gov. Ronald Reagan to Frank Sinatra, Lowell Thomas, The Beatles, Mae West, Bob Hope and too many others to count. In fact, Bill’s last column, titled, “Thanks for the memories,” was about interviewing Bob Hope, upon that comedian’s 100th birthday.

“He was as good a singer as Bing Crosby,” Bill said of Hope. About Sinatra, Bill observed, “Although he was friendly, I did note that Sinatra was very cocky. He was known for doing things his way.”

Bill Soberanes knew his people and told it like he saw it. But Bill also enjoyed the likes of characters such as Herbie McDonald, who lived on the streets of San Francisco and, as Bill described, “drank cheap Muscat from the bottle. His clothes were tattered and torn and he was wearing no socks. When I asked him his age, he said, ‘Around 60, I think.’”

Acknowledging San Francisco as a fascinating city,“ Bill mused, “but I got a completely different look at it, sitting in the gutter with Herbie.”

Former Argus columnist Chip McAuley once said of Bill, “He brought the universe to Petaluma, gave himself to the world, loved his wife, Jane, and let us all share a life that was really fascinating. Bill’s column was truly a rite of passage — a sign that you had arrived into the vita Petaluma.”

Bill was a Petaluma native and he would often, to all who would listen, trace his lineage back to Gen. Mariano Vallejo and Petaluma pioneer cattleman Tom Caulfield. His family home on East Washington was built in 1850, eight years prior to our town’s incorporation. In Petaluma, Bill founded, co-founded and/or enthusiastically supported the local World Wrist-Wrestling Championship, the Ugly Dog Contest, the Whiskerino Contest, the annual Harry Houdini Seance and the Boost Petaluma Movement. Former Argus-Courier publishers, the Olmsted brothers, said upon Bill’s death, “He could get into places no one else could. We hired Bill way,-back-when, and we never regretted it.”

Petaluma Historian John Sheehy, in his fine book “On A River Winding Home” tells the 1954 story of restaurant owner “Diamond Mike Gilardi” with the “fast-talking and nervously energetic” Bill Soberanes, cooking-up a wrist-wrestling match between Petaluma’s Jack Homel and Oliver Kullberg at ‘Gilardi’s Corner.’ That match went-on for over 3 minutes, until the table collapsed under the two men and, it was called “a draw.”

Well, that started something big, and over the next three years, with the help of promoter Dave Devoto, the “World’s Wrist Wrestling Championship” was born. By 1968, it had reached new heights of recognition, when cartoonist Charles Schulz had Snoopy coming to Petaluma to compete in the spectacle — until the famous pup was disqualified for having “No thumb.” (Sadness all-around).

On the northeast corner of Petaluma Boulevard and Washington Street, a bronze statue by famed sculptor Rosa Estabanez, was erected by the city to commemorate Bill and said championship.

Bill was a writer and historian, a humorist and a prankster.

My first meeting with him was in 1975. I had been brought to Petaluma to restore the (then) 121-year-old Baylis-McNear Mill building (now the Great Petaluma Mill), and one day, this fast-talking reporter barged in and said he was going to be my “historian.”

I replied, “Well, okay — but I really don’t think I need a historian.”

He started talking about Petaluma: the town, the history, the people and the memories, as he cleverly dropped-in questions for me. And along the way, he suggested that I might like to join the Petaluma Press Club some time. Well, I had often been a guest at the ritzy San Francisco Press Club, and my visions went back to that four-story building with its roof-garden lounge, 75 guest rooms, an indoor swimming pool, a grand ball room, fancy long bar and highfalutin restaurant.

I unhesitatingly said, “Gee, Bill. That sounds good.”

Bill called me the next day and said he would be delighted to sponsor me for “The Club,” and asked me to pick him up and drive him there at 4 p.m. that day. I must admit, I was getting a shade sizzled about this idea, by then. So, I picked him up and he directed me to a garage lot on Washington and Liberty. I parked, and an attendant came running out to say, “Good to see you Mr. Soberanes. Is this gentleman your guest for ‘The Club’ today?” Bill said, “Yes Fred, and we’ll be over at ‘The Club’ for two or three hours. Please take good care of Mr. Sommer’s car.”

Uh huh. I had swallowed all that baloney, hook, line and (even big led) sinker.

As Bill and I walked east on Washington from the garage, I was trying to pick out a significant building that could possibly be the famous Petaluma Press Club, and then, Bill opened the door to Volpi’s Ristorante and Saloon, on the corner of Washington and Keller. He guided me into the tiny back room with a six-seat bar in it, and introduced me to the bartender as his “newly sponsored member of The Club.” He then pointed-out to me the 5 X 18 cardboard sign tacked over the cash register that said, “PRESS CLUB,” and he bought us both a drink.

Well, It actually became a bunch of drinks, and I learned then to appreciate the historic Petaluma experience called “Volpi’s.” So much so that, 46 years later, I still frequent Volpi’s, where to this day they still host a gathering of the “Press Club” (of 10 to 20 “members,” current or former staff of contributors to the Argus-Courier), once a month (with a few months off in the summer).

Now and then, when I’m there, I find my mind drifting back to hoisting a few with good ol’ “Mister Petaluma,” while watching, discussing and smiling over the town and the people that Bill always called his “Passing Parade.”

Skip Sommer is an honorary lifetime member of the Petaluma History Museum and Heritage Homes. You can reach Skip at skipsommer@hotmail.com.

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