In second grade I loved my teacher, Mrs. Rhineheimer so much that I asked her what she wanted for Christmas. After all she didn’t rat me out to my mom when I were my jelly sandals to school in the middle of Detroit winter (this says two things: one, my mom obviously was a working woman and wasn’t around when I left for school and two, I have ALWAYS loved shoes). Mrs Rhineheimer responded, “Kid, if you can get me Paul Newman, I’d be a happy woman.”

There began my love for Paul Newman. Not in the “can you be my man in my head” way (though “Cat On A Hot Tin Roof” Newman would not be shut down), but in the humanitarian/artist way. Shortly after second grade, I was at home one Sunday on a nondescript Detroit Sunday morning. Back in those days, our five channels were interesting. Classic movies at 1pm, 3pm and 5pm, right before the Star Trek reruns or (if I got lucky), “In Search Of…” (which served as my horror movies - I wouldn’t drink Kool-Aid for years after that show featured Jim Jones and Guayana mass homicide). “Cool Hand Luke” came on. Now, normally my mom would watch football. But even that took a backseat to Paul Newman. Even in grade school I got it. Paul made that poor sap Luke a real life character for me. There was absolutely no “failure to communicate.” I was hooked after that. I’d watch anything Paul Newman did. Even before I decided I wanted to be a story teller, I was watching how HE told a story through his eyes, his mannerisms, his subtlties. He was in a good league in my head - Cary Grant, Ingrid Bergman, Ruby Dee, Abbey Lincoln, Ms. Carroll, Sidney Poitier…those were my artists friends before I really had any.

As I got older, my admiration grew for Paul Newman. Not because I got particularly wiser but because he did. His inability to take himself too seriously led to Newman’s Own - he made us philanthropists through popcorn, spaghetti sauce and salad dressing. All you had to do was look for his face and you were giving back to terminally ill kids - completely. He took no profits of his own.

Then you read about he and Joanne Woodward. Now, I came to her separately. “The Three Faces of Eve” came on one Detroit Sunday right after I just read “I Never Promised You a Rose Garden” and I was fascinated with multiple personality disorder. The first thing I remember about her was that she was no Marilyn Monroe or Earth Kitt but you couldn’t take your eyes off her. When she was the sexy Eve, she WAS sexy. Then “The Long Hot Summer” came on and I was absolutely convinced these two people HAD to be together (this was before the internet, kids). I was right. Art aside, their relationship has really been the wrapping paper deal I’ve been looking for all my life. They weren’t ostentatious with their love. There was no Enquirer business about them having a wedding, then not, then marrying other people (I still remember Bennifer - mostly because of those damn videos and that ENTIRE album that girl recorded about that guy - jeez). He adored her because she is smart. She’s part of that group with the 100 plus IQ business (jealous - but happily jealous). Their lives existed in Connecticut. Her career dimmed a little but not much because she did what she had to do at home and he never was unappreciative. That’s all we know aside from their decades long marriage (that was the second for each - probably the closest scandal you might get to) and that’s fine by me. That’s all I need to remember my own value in any relationship.

To further the Newman impact, I could go into each one of his movies but that’s not my deal That’s why there’s Netflix. I do remember “The Verdict” leaving me breathless and thinking the chemistry between Patricia Neal and Newman in “Hud” was sexier than any Playboy magazine out there. Now THAT was a cougar - Patricia Neal. And what nimrod would say they wouldn’t want to be the third wheel in any Newman/Redford movie. That was the Pitt/Clooney before there was even mention of Amalfi or multiple nanny payrolls.

I have to say that I kind of selected Sarah Lawrence because I knew the Newman/Woodward connection. That would be as close as I’d get, Mrs. Rhineheimer. Had I gotten the chance I would’ve told him what you said but remember the story about the lady who saw him in an ice cream shop and got so flustered that he had to tell her, “Lady, you just put your ice cream in your purse”, I don’t think I would’ve been the best rep for you.

Rest in peace, Terrier.