BoomerGirl Diary

It was 1976, our country's bicentennial summer. I was working the morning shift in the dining room of Grand View Lodge resort in Nisswa, Minnesota, when the maitre'd came up to me and whispered in my ear, "God help me, you are the best waitress I've got this morning. I've decided to seat Paul Newman at your station."

My knees instantly went weak as my boss continued, "But no funny business, no pictures or autographs. Treat him like anybody elese but DON'T SCREW THIS UP!!"

Minutes later, he walked through the door and sat at the reserved table in the corner, accompanied by his pit crew. (He was racing that weekend at the Brainerd International Speedway.) At first, I was taken aback by his slight 5"8" ish frame and his impossibly knobby knees (yes, ladies, he was wearing shorts). But those eyes!! Just as blue as advertised, if not bluer. If my math is accurate, he was 51, maybe 52 years old at the time - my age today. God, he was gorgeous.

He ordered two poached eggs on dry rye toast. (I had the chef save me his egg shells which I preserved in a baggie for the rest of the summer.) He smiled at me while I poured his coffee, my hand shaking while gripping his cup and saucer. He was kind and funny and a little flirtatious with all of the waitresses during the course of the weekend (but always within bounds - darn it!) Ah, and those eyes. Those blue, blue eyes...

Thirty-two years later, news comes that Paul Newman has lung cancer. I wish only the best for the man who has led an exemplary life - his longterm "Hollywood" marriage to Joanne Woodward and enormous charitable contributions to children with cancer, for example - and who provided a 20-year-old girl the thrill of her life in the summer of '76.