In Memoriam--Paul Newman

Karen Gunn GAB

Ahoy folks! You’ve been warned and now here it officially is—my blog. I’ll tell you stuff and anecdotes of my life that lead up to becoming an agent and onto becoming a personal manager. I’ll also tell you what’s on my mind at certain times but you’ll get a bit of retro stuff that will explain some of my joy, wrath, lunacy and disappointments.

I was terribly saddened by the death of Paul Newman. I met him before the turn of this century when I was a teenager at the Berkshire Theatre Festival, Stockbridge, MA. His utterly divine and most gracious wife, Joanne Woodward was starring in “The Children’s Hour” and I worked as the Prop Mistress on the show. I was rather full of myself because only a select few of us were chosen to work on the show for the fact of her being a world renown star and they selected those with the most discretion and professionalism. My roommate was her dresser so she got the real juice on all the celebrities and family that came to visit her after performances.

There was this one particular performance which I think may have been a Saturday night and as I was gathering all the props left on the table after the performance to restore to their presets for the next day in wanders Paul Newman. I had my back to him and he came up to the table and asked me what something was and I remembering looking over and good golly there he was. He was tan and lovely, not in a “Boy From Ipanema” way but in a way in which you would swear that Tennessee Williams was put on this earth to write about him. He had on a white polo shirt, pristine white slacks and was carrying a can of Budweiser. Now, we’re talking the red and white can of full-throttle Budweiser King Of Beers and none of that piss water light beer mess. I remember explaining the purpose of whatever prop it was in some sort of cockamamie scientific term for a music box, but give me a break. It was Paul Newman and I was a teenager, for goodness sakes, and trying to be a professional and not a star-struck dope. But I failed. I didn’t have sense enough to introduce myself to him. He nodded and left to Joanne’s dressing room. He was a man of few words and such gravitas. And yes his eyes were bluuuuuueeeeeee.

Shortly thereafter, my routine included reporting to Joanne Woodward after every performance with personal items to return to here that she had opted to use in the show. So this time, I got to see Paul Newman again but here’s the kicker—Joanne Woodward took the time to introduce me to him most proper as in “Karen, this is my husband, Paul” proper. We shook hands and he had explained that he had previously spoken to me. It was so cool.

So I can attest that all the stories are true about them being down-to-earth people. Joanne Woodward was a great joy and inspiration to work with. I’ll just throw in that my birthday was during the run of the show and can you image being sung happy birthday to by Joanne Woodward, Shirley Knight, David Selby, Carmen Mathews and a whole heap of young actresses including the late Roy Scheider’s daughter, Max.

I’ve been in some wild places for my birthdays and have gotten serenaded by Oscar winners, Grammy winners, Tony winners—it’s been phenomenal. You’ll get the lowdown on that later.

Rest In Peace, Paul Newman.