Paul Newman, a true movie star, left us all feeling lucky

I was 6 when my parents took my brother and me to see “Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid,” not exactly a kiddie flick, but that’s another story. I loved it. Paul Newman was at the top of his game, so was Robert Redford. Katharine Ross was radiant.

Could that really have been almost 40 years ago?

It seems like yesterday when Butch and Sundance were cowering on a cliff, over a raging river, dozens of lawmen closing in. Butch decides the only option left is to jump in the river a hundred feet below. Sundance is hesitant. Butch prods. “I can’t swim!” shouts Sundance. Butch laughs, that hearty rich laugh, “Aw hell, the fall will kill ya!’ ” This is what passes for good news. They jump, they live, the audience squeals with delight.

When Butch Cassidy was made in 1969 Paul Newman was 44, the same age I am now. I am not old, but I am old enough that the heroes of my childhood are dying of old age. Paul Newman was a hero in every sense of the word. In an age of bravado and bluster and exhibitionism, we almost forget concepts like class, humility and grace. Newman lived these qualities. Once in an interview when asked to explain his phenomenal success, Newman said, “I was lucky.”

Lucky? He was tremendously handsome and a gifted actor. A man with Matthew McConaughey’s looks and Robert DeNiro’s acting skills. There is simply nobody in films today who can compare to Paul Newman. Brad Pitt? Will Smith? Please. Newman was not a sitcom actor who went to movies. Paul Newman was among the last of a dying breed. A movie star.

Other scenes flood the senses: “Cool Hand Luke,” when Luke learns his mother has died and he grabs his banjo and sits on his cot and sings, “I don’t care if it rains or freezes, long as I got my plastic Jesus, sittin’ on the dashboard of my car…” a tear rolling down his cheek… Luke getting locked in “the box” by a guard, who says, “I’m just doin’ my job Luke,” and Luke says, “That don’t make it right!… sayin’ it’s your job don’t make it right!”… the scene when Newman, playing Fast Eddie, showed up drunk to finish his game with Jackie Gleason in “The Hustler,” and Gleason explained that he didn’t have to find a way to beat Fast Eddie, because Fast Eddie would find a way to beat himself. Newman’s soft spot for the underdog created the wonderful contradiction of a great winner portraying beautiful losers.

There was the unlikely, yet spot on, portrayal of middleweight boxing champion Rocky Graziano in “Somebody Up There Likes Me.” A great underdog boxing story 20 years before Sylvester Stallone’s epic, “Rocky.”

And then, there is one of the great oddball comedies of all time, “Slapshot,” in which Newman plays Reggie Dunlop, player coach of a minor league hockey team in small-town America. Newman showed that he was masterful at doing the hardest thing in acting, being funny.

Paul Newman did not sign autographs, he never starred in a reality show. He was married to Joanne Woodward for 50 years. He had children, he buried a son who died of a drug overdose and he gave $175 million to charities for kids with terminal illnesses. He said he was lucky.

Butch and Sundance are huddled in a barn in Bolivia, both with multiple gunshot wounds, hopelessly outnumbered, soldiers surround them, rifles drawn. “Australia,” Butch says.

“What?” says Sundance.

“If we get out of here, let’s go to Australia,” Butch says. “The banks are easy.”

Butch and Sundance burst out the door, side-by-side, guns blazing, the frame freezes, we hear volleys of rifle fire… “Fuera!… Fuera!… Fuera!” We never see them die. Sometimes, it’s better that way.

Phil Perrier, an Atlanta native, is a comedian and writes for the Jay Leno show in Los Angeles.