Paul Newman: 1925-2008
Paul Newman once saved my life.
I was 19 and driving my first car, an old brown Saab 99. I was crossing the Throgs Neck Bridge, on my way upstate for my sophomore year at college. Like most teenagers, I was a dumb, unsafe driver and rarely wore my safety belt; sometimes I put one on, sometimes I didn’t. It all depended on my mood.
But that morning, a public service announcement featuring Newman came on WNEW-FM, and the actor said that he always wore a seatbelt, whether he was driving a race car or his family car.
Newman was one of my favorite actors. He starred in “Slap Shot,” a movie I could and can still quote verbatim. The teacher in my driver’s ed class probably told everyone at least 50 times about the importance of wearing one—but his urging had little effect. But when Paul Newman said I should wear a safety belt, I listened. While waiting in line at the toll plaza I attached the shoulder harness.
One winter afternoon, about a year and half later, I was driving on an icy road near Dryden, NY, and I fell asleep for perhaps five seconds. I woke up and found myself in the wrong lane of the two-lane highway, with an approaching car about 100 feet in front of me. I swung the steering wheel right, heading back into my lane, missing the oncoming car but skidding off the icy road and hitting a stone wall head on. The front of my car was almost totaled. Because I had my belt on, I was able to walk away, shaken but no worse for the wear. Had I not been wearing my safety belt, there is no doubt my head would have gone through the front windshield.
Since that day on the Throgs Neck, I have never been behind the wheel without my belt, not even for 10 seconds.
Newman, of course, died Friday at his home in Connecticut, not too far from where I heard his public service announcement. I never cared for his salad dressing, but I’m grateful for the advice he gave.
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