Paul Newman & Romantic Tales By Bob Sanders

Paul Newman’s recent passing and the memorable observations of people who knew him in his various lives told us much about him. It appears that people like Newman, Warren Buffett and Bill Gates are leading a charge suggesting that those fortunate enough to have amassed wealth are finding ways increasingly to give back huge parts of their good luck.

I played high school basketball against Newman or at least was told that by college pals while attending Ohio University following World War II. My buddies had attended high school in Shaker Heights with Newman while I had gone to Lakewood High, a suburb immediately west of Cleveland. Lakewood and east side Shaker Heights then were in the Lake Erie League Conference.

I have no memory of competing against Newman, a senior during the 1942-43 season when I was a junior. If it did happen, one thing is certain. We must have been the shortest players on the floor. I was 5’4” (eventually growing five inches in the service) while Newman was probably less than his eventual height of 5’8”. The future actor briefly attended Ohio University in the V-12 program and was allegedly kicked out for crashing a keg of beer into the president’s car before becoming a Navy radioman and gunner in the Pacific Theater. 

I enjoyed Paul Newman’s casual reaction to fame. Possessor of perhaps the world’s most famous baby-blue eyes, the actor once commented: “If my eyes should ever turn brown, my career is shot to hell.” Newman also observed: “I was always a character actor. I just looked like Little Red Riding Hood.”

Then, there’s the thoroughly charming tale of a 45-year-old married woman going into an ice cream parlor in Westport, Connecticut where Newman and wife Joanne Woodward lived between films. The woman, a fervid Newman fan, entered the establishment in search of a double-dip chocolate ice cream cone. The only other customer, seated at the counter having a doughnut and coffee, was Newman. 

The woman’s eyes locked momentarily with Newman’s, her heart began impressive palpitations, and the actor nodded graciously. The clerk filled her order and she took the ice cream cone in one hand and her change in the other. The woman then left avoiding a glance in Newman’s direction. Reaching her car, she realized that she had a handful of change but her other hand was empty. The woman was stunned. Where was her ice cream cone? Did she leave it in the store? Back she went expecting to see the cone still in the clerk’s hand or somewhere in the store. The ice cream cone was not in sight.

Glancing at Newman, the woman was greeted by the actor’s familiar warm and friendly grin and the words: “You put it in your purse.”

One of my favorite romantic stories involving actors concerns a bag of peanuts, actress Helen Hayes and playwright Charles MacArthur. Shortly after their marriage in 1928, they shared a New York City Central Park bench and, as was often the case, communicated their hopes and dreams that eventually came to exceptional fruition. MacArthur offered his wife the bag of peanuts commenting: “I wish they were diamonds.”

Many years later, the two sat on the same bench. A lot had happened in the interim. His writing successes included The Front Page (written with Ben Hecht) and she had become the leading actress of the American stage with successful forays into motion pictures. MacArthur handed his wife a peanut bag containing diamonds. “I wish they were peanuts” was his touching observation.

My daughter Diane, who also lives in Bellingham, called the other day with a tale of romance set in motion by the computer. The story covered more than 40 years of marriage including some curious twists and turns of plot.

When Diane was a youngster, one of her best friends made more than one reference to her mother’s having been stood up at the altar. The girl’s mother had graduated from a highly-credited eastern university along with the guy who failed to show up at their wedding. Both eventually married other people.

Diane’s friend’s mother lost track of her once-upon-a-time intended and wed a fellow interested in little but golf; indeed, golf seemed the one passion of his life as he became father to three kids. The kids grew up and became non-golfing adults.

While many people past middle-age find the computer baffling at best, the woman learned how to use it. So did the guy who failed to show at the wedding that wasn’t and whose wife had recently died. Remembering his old flame, he tracked her down via the computer and the two began exchanging e-mails. After a couple of months, the guy escalated the relationship by mentioning an upcoming class reunion.

The golfer, aware of the wedding that never happened and the re-kindled interest made possible by the computer, made a dramatic and magnanimous offer. “Look. Go to the class reunion and get this guy out of your system.” She went and never came back. I suspect the golfer’s only passion is now approaching obsession.

It was while living on Chicago’s North Shore that I became aware of some rather blatant hanky-panky being practiced by the CEO of a Fortune 500 company and what Time magazine used to call “a great good friend.” The subject of the executive’s amour had become beneficiary of a sky-rocketing climb up the corporate ladder; the matter of her business skills was much bruited about by just about everyone at corporate headquarters.

One day I was chatting with a friend who co-authored a personality-driven Chicago Tribune column. One of the staples of the now-defunct column was the blind item. A journalistic oddity still in big city use, the blind item offers just enough information that a small percentage of readers can figure it out or at least think they can. The subject of corporate sexual shenanigans came up in the form of what I knew and I confirmed what she had heard.

Next day, a blind item appeared in the column. It read: “Which CEO of a Fortune 500 Company located on the North Shore is involved in a dalliance within the corporate body?” Note the reference to the North Shore. That was narrowing possibilities down more than a whit.

I checked in with the columnist and learned she had received three phone calls that day from North Shore corporate PR people. All wanted to know how she had found out about their boss’s indiscretion.  

  # # # #   

Comments

[Carly Quinn]

While reading the Sidebar about Paul Newman over a morning cup of tea, I found myself chuckling and even spilling the cup of tea in laughter. After reading the witty remarks of Bob Sanders, I have a optimistic outlook on the twists that life can throw at us when we least expect them. Cheers to a life well lived Mr. Newman. -Carly Q.

[Bob Sanders]

Thanks, Carly Quinn, for your appreciation of my take on Paul Newman and romantic stories. You're right about the tough pitches life can throw at us. Quite often, those sliders--thought to be knee-bucklers at the time--are fortuitous only we don't realize it, sometimes not until much later. Tough times (and we are heading into them) will make us a better people.
Again, thanks for your interest.
Bob Sanders