Paul Newman is my role model. Although he is no longer with us, I frequently find myself asking the eternal question: What would Paul do?
I know that many people admire him for the great work he did to increase the variety and availability of salad dressings in the United States. I'm sort of an oil-and-vinegar kind of guy, though, and so his contributions to lettuce enhancement do not move me as much as they do others.
I took Paul as my role model on a brutally hot day in the summer of 1997. He and I were both trapped among a horde of auto racing fans in a small converted pasture somewhere near Columbus, Ohio. Temperatures were flirting with 100 degrees. The humidity was so high we could have used waders. More than 100,000 people were competing for the three portable toilets on the site and the ChampCar race was about to begin.
Paul, because of his spaghetti sauce empire, could afford to battle the crowds on a fifty c.c. motor scooter while the rest of us were on foot. As time for "Gentlemen, start your engines" approached, Paul struggled forward, patiently making his way through the throng of race fans, a solitary figure battling increasingly difficult terrain.
It was then I realized that Paul, with all the wealth and fame that accrues to a king of lettuce and pasta toppings, had a clear sense of what was important in life, what was to be fought for. Paul could have spent his time in any of the major fleshpots of the world. He had accumulated a fortune and a following in some aspect of the entertainment industry, I believe, before moving into jarred goods.
Paul Newman, now, was a principal in Newman/Haas Racing. This curiously eponymous team was fielding two drivers in the imminent race and Paul was struggling to get to the pits in time to wish his drivers well and be there as they took the green flag.
This man, this great man, who could boast of more than 70 years on Earth and a wealth of accomplishments, moving with grace through the crowd, demonstrated a wisdom and a sense of centered well-being that surpasses description. It was if he were talking to me, personally, telling me: If you had everything you could want, were applauded by the masses, loved by your wife and cushioned on a stream of financial assets, you would still need to set yourself a goal and strive to reach it.
Some years later, I was reminded of that blisteringly hot day as I watched an automobile race on television. I noticed an old man, a man then 75 years old, waiting to climb into a Porsche 911 that he was driving in the race. Paul Newman, with fire in his eyes, responded to an intrusive reporter's question about why Paul was at the track, still racing, by saying, "A fella's got to be somewhere."