Those Winking Blue Eyes

My mother held a crush on Paul Newman. Even in black-and-white non-Technicolor days before she could swoon over those trickster deep blue eyes, mother venerated Paul. She carried the torch not so much that he was a cinematic god, as he was our cinematic god — a lansman, one of the tribe, a Jewish Cary Grant when most Jewish actors resembled Fyvush Finkel. Oy, so Paul’s lineage proved only half-a-Yid, he played Ari Ben Canaan in Exodus. He fought for our cause and we adopted him. He became “mishpocha.”

Here came an actor with Jewish roots, handsome enough to get the girl instead of Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy (well, at least in the bicycle scene). A Jewish actor who could play a momzer and still be a mensch; a Jewish protagonist who could take the punch and not fall down. Newman served as the standard to which all my future dates could never match — blond, blue-eyed, rugged and (at least partially) Jewish.

I doubt Newman adhered much to his Jewishness anymore than he acquiesced to Hollywood. Newman dressed in the black tie trappings, regularly walked the red-carpeted gauntlet of paparazzi, and acknowledged his Faustian obligations to fans. Yet, Newman seemed much more comfortable in his cable cardigan, a baseball cap or a NASCAR  Indy Racing firesuit than Armani. The green of Connecticut not the beaches of Malibu became his home. He fell in love with a starlit, Joanne Woodward, for more than fifty years. He made Nixon’s enemies list long before today’s trendy Hollywood-Washington fornication.

Newman was the anti-Brangelina. He eschewed the society page to make salad dressing in his garage. Although he called his Newman’s Own product empire “a joke that got out of control” he served as an innovative entrepreneur who promoted all-natural (and often vegan) foods, environmentally friendly packaging and recycling long before being green was easy kitsch. With the mission statement “Shameless Exploitation in Pursuit of the Common Good,” Newman’s company gives all profits to charity, at least $250 million to date. 

One of his favorite recipients was “The Hole in the Wall” Camps, now an international group of respites for children with life-threatening illnesses, including the cancer that took his own life. Newman much preferred to hobnob with the kiddos at camp, named after the real Butch Cassidy’s rat pack, than the snobs on the Walk of Fame.

Newman should be remembered as a humanitarian not an philanthropist. Humanitarians envision a world greater than their own Brentwood (or River Oaks) boundaries. Humanitarians symbolize the quality of being humane. Humanitarians give of the abundance of their own humanity, not the affluence of their wealth. He did so quietly, humbly and unselfishly. He exploited his celebrity to promote true philanthropy rather than exploiting philanthropy to promote celebrity.

Buddhist believe that when we die we reincarnate into a different form based on the karma we merited in past lives. Those who acted with greed and gluttony may find themselves returned as “hungry ghosts” reborn with such tiny mouths and grotesque stomaches they can never savor all gourmet succulence that surrounds them. Others who earned merit through benevolent works may evolve as bodhisattvas, enlightened beings who return to Earth to aid others find Nirvana (or eternal happiness). 

Often, when a great Buddhist teacher or bodhisattva dies, rainbows, shooting stars or other strange phenomena appear in the heavens. I don’t know if Paul Newman believed in Heaven (Buddhists really don’t). But I have to admit, today the sky gleamed with an extraordinary deep shade of blue.

© 2008 by winkingbuddha.com