Paul Newman dies at the age of 83. He spent 50 of those years married to Joanne Woodward.

From the New York Times:

In an industry in which long marriages might be defined as those that last beyond the first year and the first infidelity, Mr. Newman and Ms. Woodward’s was striking for its endurance. But they admitted that it was often turbulent. She loved opera and ballet. He liked playing practical jokes and racing cars. But as Mr. Newman told Playboy magazine, in an often-repeated quotation about marital fidelity, “I have steak at home; why go out for hamburger?”

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I can’t think of any another time I’ve read of a celebrity’s death where I’ve experienced waves of sadness. Perhaps it’s because Newman is one of the stars I grew up with, the seemingly timeless “pretty boy” next to Robert Redford, both seared in my brain after their Butch Cassidy movie. Perhaps it’s because he dared to race in Daytona in his 70s. Perhaps it’s because he had more longevity in his marriage than most Hollywood stars have in ten marriages.

And, perhaps it’s because these words would hardly be said by anyone remaining in Hollywood:

We are such spendthrifts with our lives,” Mr. Newman once told a reporter. “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.”

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