Editor’s note: The contents of this column are intended for satirical and entertainment purposes and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the IDS or its staffers.
Toppers is dead. There is no doubt about that, though at the time of publishing, the Toppers website still lists the Bloomington location as open for business and ready to take orders. It even directs me to place my order there. But Toppers is dead. I am sure of it. When I select the location, a big “Whoops!” appears on my screen, certainly informing me this store is closed.
I know the silence of a cold-kitchened restaurant with no ovens fired will be the reply if I call. This grieves me; over the past year, I grew quite close to the deceased. It was during welcome week when we were first introduced by some mutual friends. As a freshman living what felt like a million miles from home, Toppers was there for me with a warm meal any time for a generous price. So, thank you, Toppers. You were a steadfast friend.
The cause of death remains unknown.
It was “probably the deals,” Andrew Miller, co-editor-in-chief of the Indiana Daily Student, told me. My roommate said the same. And maybe that’s true. If so, Toppers died a hero’s death. It gave — and gave freely — until it couldn’t keep giving. I think there is no greater love.
But my suspicion was foul play.
After all, Toppers is survived by rivals Pizza X and Aver’s, beside their mother, Bear.
But what is known is that Toppers will be remembered by many as a friend and hero.
In my sophomore fall, the IDS’ top brass made me an editor. Unripe, so gutsy yet naive, I decided one day to take the back route to the newsroom. So, I descended into the dimly-lit underbelly of Franklin Hall and wound my way through the gray-walled maze as it closed in around me. I feared I might never find the way in — or out.
Yet when I rounded the corner, seated atop a trash can, a Toppers box was there to guide me to safety. I followed the greasy trail traced from one empty Toppers box to another. Then, like a dozen North Stars, a heap of them laid outside of the newsroom’s door to mark my destination.
The website’s tricky misspeak is a shimmer of false hope that’s difficult to face, but I’ll chalk it up to denial by a fellow mourner.
Other mourners shared similar memories of companionship and care.
“Toppers was offering for one to two weeks — I don’t remember how long — a $3.99 pizza,” Mateo Fuentes-Rohwer, an IDS reporter, said. “That’s really where I first fell in love.”
Fuentes-Rohwer said he, too, met Toppers through a mutual friend. Last January, he found it while he was searching for low-priced pizza. Immediately, the two warmed up to each other.
“Sometimes it was just one (pizza) for myself,” Fuentes-Rohwer said. “Sometimes it was five for the newsroom. Sometimes you could eat half the medium pizza and then share it. Sometimes if you got a large you could, you know, split that into four separate lunches.”
Fuentes-Rohwer said it still hurts to see his old hangout with Toppers boarded up.
“I kind of just want to see it gone,” he told me. “Out of sight, out of mind.”
Toppers set up shop in Bloomington in April 2023. I don’t know what brought it to town. I never got the chance to ask. Maybe it was just to sling dough and guide the lost. While it lived, it did both without asking for much in return.
Like Fuentes-Rohwer, Benjamin LeGrand, an enterprise reporter at the IDS, was a friend of the late pizzeria.
“Last year, (Toppers) had a really good deal, so we would get it probably at least twice a day for a week or two,” LeGrand said. “It was actually a very legit pizza spot.”
LeGrand, who remembers Toppers with a box framed and displayed on a wall in his house, told me he often got a half-onion, half-sausage medium pizza.
“You know, you can’t mess around with that,” LeGrand said.
And Toppers never did mess around.
Rest in peace, my friend and hero.
Eric Cannon (he/him) is a sophomore studying philosophy and political science and currently serves as a member of IU Student Government.
