The concierges of the Omni Ambassador East Hotel in Chicago called me in regularly to give massages to their famous guests. I wouldn't know who the client was until I got there. One day in the 90s, I rolled my massage table into the lobby and the concierge who paged me looked like he was going to jump out of his seat. He wildly gestured me over. "It's Paul Newman!" He whispered. I don't think I moved for a few minutes. He handed me the slip with Mr. Newman's name on it, "Thanks for getting here so quickly. He's waiting for you. He hurt his back on the film he's working on. He's very kind."
I was a calm presence for their guests, but on the elevator ride up, my heart was pounding. By the time I got in front of THE Mr. Newman's room, I was sweating, and it was winter in Chicago. I paced in the hall for a minute, but since he was waiting for me in pain, I had to just knock, no time to waste.
Paul, erm, Mr. Newman, opened the door and reached for my table, like the gentleman he is. All my nervousness disappeared as I went into protective mode. "Put that down! It's my job to lift my table. What do you want to do, hurt your back worse and make me work harder?" He laughed, surprised and delighted I was so bold, funny, and direct. I shook his hand, introduced myself, and we were off to a beautiful friendship. The ice was melted.
Mr. Newman and I worked together several times a week though his whole shoot. We hit it off as though we'd known each other for lifetimes. We got to know each other's lives and routines. At over seventy, he ran the stairs in the hotel for his morning workout, then showered while I set up the table, and chatted sometimes to a friend named Bob Redford with whom he had a friendly rivalry like twelve year-old-boys at a slumber party. He told me all about his love for race cars. I told him about my early morning runs and yoga sessions on the lakefront, my love for running stairs too, and my acting and dating escapades. This man who'd been my childhood crush was now like a really cool grandfatherly friend.
We were good together, warm, natural, open, fun. He wanted me to work on his wife, Joanne, when she came to town, but somehow that never happened. We talked like friends, like ongoing massage clients and I do, after all there's an intimacy to being someone's massage therapist, especially when they are in pain. During the month I worked with him, I watched his films when I was home doing yoga in between my sessions. I'd watch The Long Hot Summer with my former heartthrob, and then get a call from the young actor, now matured, thirty-five years later. I had to bite my tongue to not comment on his blue eyes, which were extraordinary in person, because he hated that and it would have been completely inappropriate for him and out of character for me.
Some clients are quiet during massages. I made sure they had the space to be if they wanted to. Newman chatted with me all the time. He gushed about Joanne. He talked about how he thought he was a hotshot actor for about five minutes early in his career and then he came back to earth and became humble. I could feel the integrity and modesty in his soul, see it in his blue eyes that I would not comment on.
I was a theatre actress. He told me to enjoy acting, but not depend on it because it is a fickle, often cutthroat business. I had to pinch myself sometimes because I was working with Cool Hand Luke, or the grandfather version of. I grew to love Paul Newman, not the movie star. He was warm and comfortable in our sessions. His eyes twinkled when he felt safe and relaxed.
Ethan Hawke's mini-series about Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward is excellent. I got a real sense of the person I got to know that winter in Chicago, Newman the man, not the movie star and learned a lot about him and his wife. I love the way Ethan Hawke took this documentary about Paul and Joanne on as a passion project and got his daughter involved. They did a beautiful job with it. I enjoyed the actors who played a role of someone in the Newman-Woodward circle. I could feel awe emanate from the actors who cleary revere these two last movie stars. This mini-series was incredibly enjoyable to me. A great job by all.
I was a calm presence for their guests, but on the elevator ride up, my heart was pounding. By the time I got in front of THE Mr. Newman's room, I was sweating, and it was winter in Chicago. I paced in the hall for a minute, but since he was waiting for me in pain, I had to just knock, no time to waste.
Paul, erm, Mr. Newman, opened the door and reached for my table, like the gentleman he is. All my nervousness disappeared as I went into protective mode. "Put that down! It's my job to lift my table. What do you want to do, hurt your back worse and make me work harder?" He laughed, surprised and delighted I was so bold, funny, and direct. I shook his hand, introduced myself, and we were off to a beautiful friendship. The ice was melted.
Mr. Newman and I worked together several times a week though his whole shoot. We hit it off as though we'd known each other for lifetimes. We got to know each other's lives and routines. At over seventy, he ran the stairs in the hotel for his morning workout, then showered while I set up the table, and chatted sometimes to a friend named Bob Redford with whom he had a friendly rivalry like twelve year-old-boys at a slumber party. He told me all about his love for race cars. I told him about my early morning runs and yoga sessions on the lakefront, my love for running stairs too, and my acting and dating escapades. This man who'd been my childhood crush was now like a really cool grandfatherly friend.
We were good together, warm, natural, open, fun. He wanted me to work on his wife, Joanne, when she came to town, but somehow that never happened. We talked like friends, like ongoing massage clients and I do, after all there's an intimacy to being someone's massage therapist, especially when they are in pain. During the month I worked with him, I watched his films when I was home doing yoga in between my sessions. I'd watch The Long Hot Summer with my former heartthrob, and then get a call from the young actor, now matured, thirty-five years later. I had to bite my tongue to not comment on his blue eyes, which were extraordinary in person, because he hated that and it would have been completely inappropriate for him and out of character for me.
Some clients are quiet during massages. I made sure they had the space to be if they wanted to. Newman chatted with me all the time. He gushed about Joanne. He talked about how he thought he was a hotshot actor for about five minutes early in his career and then he came back to earth and became humble. I could feel the integrity and modesty in his soul, see it in his blue eyes that I would not comment on.
I was a theatre actress. He told me to enjoy acting, but not depend on it because it is a fickle, often cutthroat business. I had to pinch myself sometimes because I was working with Cool Hand Luke, or the grandfather version of. I grew to love Paul Newman, not the movie star. He was warm and comfortable in our sessions. His eyes twinkled when he felt safe and relaxed.
Ethan Hawke's mini-series about Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward is excellent. I got a real sense of the person I got to know that winter in Chicago, Newman the man, not the movie star and learned a lot about him and his wife. I love the way Ethan Hawke took this documentary about Paul and Joanne on as a passion project and got his daughter involved. They did a beautiful job with it. I enjoyed the actors who played a role of someone in the Newman-Woodward circle. I could feel awe emanate from the actors who cleary revere these two last movie stars. This mini-series was incredibly enjoyable to me. A great job by all.