by Lynne Huntting

This is the most difficult column I've written. Paul L Newman died at home in Westport, Connecticut on Friday, from cancer. With him were his wife of fifty years, Joanne Woodward, family and friends. Newman was 83.

The world will remember him as a great actor, humanitarian and motorsports enthusiast. Much will be written about his many roles and all the good works that he did, and his racing exploits. I could not begin to adequately chronicle his life. Rather, I'm sharing my personal memories and experiences with the man known as PLN.

When I met Newman, it was at the SCCA National Runoffs at Road Atlanta. Back in the day, he was a competitive C Production driver, and I was a corner worker. He would walk down to Turn Eleven watch the cars coming down off the hill into the last corner before the start-finish straight. He would quietly just hang out and watch.

He got a young Tom Cruise into racing. Cruise raced the Runoffs and Newman sent him a huge bouquet of flowers, which stood on the roof of Cruise's Datsun. Newman didn't want to detract from Cruise's moment, so he remained in the background.

In 1980, I planned to leave right after the Sunday of the fall Laguna Seca Can-Am race weekend to work the Runoffs. In those days, Laguna Seca held two major races each year, spring and fall. I was working as communicator at the old Turn Two station, and planned to head to SFO right after the race for a redeye flight as the Runoffs started Monday. Newman, meanwhile, had been flying back and forth between Laguna and Road Atlanta for the Datsun test day which took place the same weekend as Can-Am.

On the Saturday night of the Laguna weekend, another communicator, Nora Daly, and I were walking around the paddock at day's end, checking out the cars. We were in the area adjacent to what was then called the Newman Building, which was 'owned' by PLN. We ran into him and chit-chatted about the cars, races and so on. I asked if he was taking the redeye back to Atlanta.

Newman said no because there had been problems in the Atlanta airport with the trains, so he was flying his own 'plane, and asked if I wanted to go along. I was dumbstruck, and Daly had to speak up for me to accept and get the details of where I would meet him at the Monterey Airport.

On Sunday, immediately after the race, I climbed over the fence and was driven by my flagger friend, Arlen Lee, to the airport. I used the password Newman had given me, and went into the area where the private 'planes were. Newman had a small jet, which was quite something in those days, and there were five of us in the four-seater - two pilots, another man and myself. Newman was the last to arrive, so I made conversation with the blonde man in civilian clothes. I asked if he was in racing. He said his name was Al Holbert. It was yet another time when words escaped me, as I was embarrassed that I didn't recognise him outside his racing suit.

Newman invited me to go up and spend time with the pilots and see how it looked in the cockpit. There was no real bathroom, so he also recommended I drink judiciously on the flight. The cooler was stocked with Budweiser - what else? He said that's all he ever drank and also saw to it that he used it in his movies.