There’s an old story that takes
place in a tiny, picture-postcard New England village — a town where, it so
happened, the actor Paul Newman was fond of vacationing.
A Michigan woman and her family were
visiting that seaside town. Late one Saturday morning, she felt a craving for a
double-dip chocolate ice-cream cone, so she stopped by the local café and
general store.
As she walked in, there was only one
other customer in the place: a man in jeans and a T-shirt, sitting at the
counter having a donut and coffee. Idly, the woman glanced his way, then did a
double-take. One further look at those baby-blue eyes confirmed it: her fellow
customer was none other than Paul Newman.
Newman noticed her presence and
nodded graciously in her direction. Then he went back to his coffee.
“He just wants his privacy,” the
woman thought to herself. “Just order your ice cream. Pretend there isn’t a
famous movie star sitting a few feet away.”
That’s exactly what she did
(although — as she later told the tale — her heart was thumping the whole time
and her hands felt clammy). Calmly, she watched the clerk scoop out her ice
cream and pack it into the cone, never looking once in Newman’s direction. Then
she handed over the money, accepted the ice-cream cone and change, and headed
out the door without a sideward glance. As the screen door slammed shut, she
congratulated herself on how coolly she’d handled the whole situation — like a
real Hollywood insider.
When the woman reached her car, she
realized something wasn’t right. Something was missing. In one hand she held
her change, but her other hand was empty. “Now where’s my double-dip chocolate
ice-cream cone?” she asked herself. “Could I have left it in the store?”
Sheepishly, she went back in, hoping
she’d see the cone still in the clerk’s hand or maybe in one of those holders
on the counter.
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