Senator Chris Dodd (D-CT) today made the following statement on the floor of the Senate to honor his longtime friend and Connecticut resident Paul Newman: 

Mr. President, I rise to celebrate the life of a man who passed away this weekend.

An American icon for more than a half-century. A philanthropist. A loving husband and father. A daredevil…on-screen and off. 

In words that have added poignancy at this moment, Paul Newman once said, “We are such spendthrifts with our lives.  The trick of living is to slip on and off the planet with the least fuss you can muster. I’m not running for sainthood. I just happen to think that in life we need to be a little like the farmer, who puts back into the soil what he takes out.”

The New York Times concluded its obituary of Paul Newman with those words. 

But I would like them to begin my remarks, because I don’t think that will be the last thing people should consider when they remember Paul Newman – but the very first, Mr. President.

Where the charitable work of public figures today often seems motivated less by the public interest than by public relations, Paul Newman was a rarity:

An enormous celebrity whose commitment to making a difference meant far more to him than any box office, critical notice or award nomination.

A star, Mr. President, with genuine humility.

We are all, of course, familiar with the Newman’s Own brand, which raised nearly a quarter-billion dollars for charitable causes in a quarter-century.

But that was only part of the story.  Paul also founded the Hole In the Wall Gang camps for children with life-threatening diseases that began in Ashford, Connecticut and have since been opened on three continents. 

Those camps serve more than 15,000 annually, with all services provided free of charge. 

He also founded the Rowdy Ridge Gang Camp, for families recovering from drug addiction and survivors of spousal abuse. 

These were no vanity causes, Mr. President, to which he simply attached his name and face. 

Paul was intimately involved in their operations and success. 

Indeed, these examples remind us that every endeavor to which Paul Newman committed himself over his 83 years shared one fundamental quality:

They were the product of an enduring appreciation for the special, unique place he was afforded in our society. 

You could not spend any time with Paul without noticing that he had quite a remarkable life. 

A wife and family that were not there simply to support him, but to push and prod him. 

A career that afforded him opportunities and experiences many of the characters he played could not have imagined. 

And Paul knew it.

But as much as he recognized the good fortune behind his success, he also understood the obligations that came with it. 

This was never someone who pretended to be something he was not.  He did not rise from poverty or grow up in a broken home.  His father was, in fact, a successful entrepreneur himself. 

But to watch Paul’s Oscar-nominated turn in that remarkable courtroom drama, The Verdict, is to witness someone whose true kinship was not with those who came from wealth, from power or privilege – but with those who struggled, who earned, who overcame. 

For all his generosity, kind-heartedness, and compassion, there was another side to Paul – one that was utterly driven to succeed, whether it was acting or directing, film or theater, charity or business. 

I suspect I was not the only friend of Paul’s who did not share his passion for racing – which he often did at our state’s Lime Rock Park. 

But compared to Hollywood, Paul found racing’s lack of pretension refreshing. 

The pure love he had for the sport was what made it such a thrill for him – a thrill he pursued into his eighties. 

He was impossible to pigeonhole.  I loved his sense of humor and irony – a devilish spirit which hid—just barely—a contempt for the predictable and lazy you couldn’t help but admire. 

He once commented that the “single highest honor” paid to him was learning he was 19th on Nixon’s so-called “enemies list” assembled by Charles Colson.

He named the Hole in the Wall Gang camps after Butch Cassidy’s band of outlaws and offered cowboy hats to children who had lost their hair because of chemotherapy.

The first vat of Newman’s Own salad dressing was stirred with a canoe paddle.

And one of the biographies he wrote for a local production read, “Paul Newman is probably best known for his spectacularly successful food conglomerate. In addition to giving the profits to charity he also ran Frank Sinatra out of the spaghetti sauce business. On the downside, the spaghetti sauce is outgrossing his films.”

Let it never be said there wasn’t a sparkle in those famous blue eyes of Paul’s to the end. 

In a career that required him to fabricate many a character and experience, Paul’s rebellious yet playful quality always struck me as completely genuine.

It often masked and helped him promote some very serious work. 

A resident of Westport, Connecticut, he made enduring contributions to our state.  Some will remember that he insisted on holding the first movie premiere in New Haven history when Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid made its debut at the Roger Sherman theater. 

But for the sprinkle of glitter a star of Paul’s magnitude brought to Connecticut, the difference he made to our communities was far more lasting – from helping to preserve open spaces such as the Trout Brook Valley and renovate the Westport Historical Society and its Country Playhouse, to the active role he played in government at the local, state and federal levels.

Mr. President, like all Americans at this hour, I’ll miss Paul Newman. 

As much as I’ll miss his friendship and his performances on the silver screen, I’ll miss being reminded every time we saw him just how good and decent we can be. 

Our thoughts and prayers are with Joanne, their daughters and the rest of the Newman family. 

And I want to thank them for sharing him with us these many years.

Thank you.

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