One of the privileges of our blessed life is the interesting people we meet, from carpenters to old-timey moonshiners to movie stars and country music legends.
A beautiful woman who recently crossed our path is the daughter of Joanne Woodward and Paul Newman. Notice that I listed Ms. Woodward first.
That is because Clea said that for the first years of her life, she didn’t know she had a first name. After all, she was constantly introduced as “Paul Newman’s daughter.”
Though both of her parents will always be known as tremendous actors, their most significant achievements are the camps they founded to help children struggling with terrible maladies.
Their children passionately carry on this mission. Paul Newman’s Salad Dressing was founded solely to fund these camps. It does its job well.
One of my dearest, most extended relationships is with the Richard Petty family. I adore them.
Richard, a racing legend, and his son, Kyle, worked with the Newmans to start Victory Junction, a wonderland camp for children. It was founded in memory of Kyle’s son, Adam, who was killed in a race accident in New Hampshire.
Richard wisely said, “I have learned never to put a question mark where God puts a period.”
The Pettys carried on bravely and brilliantly. My favorite spot in the camp is a massive statue of a lion with a tiny lamb curled up with him. It always brings me to tears.
That explains how Tink and I came to be at a fundraiser for Victory Junction and met this lovely woman. I introduced myself, then said something that I didn’t believe anyone had ever said to her.
“Is it true,” I asked, “that when your mother won the Academy award, that she was wearing a dress she’d made, herself?”
Clea’s beautiful, Newman-blue eyes flew open, and delight covered her face. “Yes, it is true!”
She was so happy to talk about the Georgia-born Woodward. She continued, “It was a strapless dress, and she had made a little jacket to wear with it.
When they called her name, it happened so quickly that she didn’t have time to put on her jacket.
She was so disappointed because she wanted her mother to see, on television, the dress and jacket she made.”
I replied, “I sew, too.
And for many years, I wore homemade dresses. It always meant so much to know that Joanne Woodward accepted an Oscar wearing a homemade dress. It encouraged me.”
Growing up, I always had homemade dresses.
I look at photos now and realize Mama’s incredible talent. I’d see a dress in a store window that I coveted, and Mama would look at it, studying it carefully. Then, she’d go home and cut a pattern out of a newspaper. It was remarkable.
I learned to sew when I was about six years old.
I’d stand behind Mama in the chair, with my hands on her shoulders, and carefully watch what she was doing. She bought me a little sewing machine, and I started sewing clothes for my Barbie. By the way, my Barbie was a career woman. She lived in a two-story Malibu house (which I still have). Every day, she got in her Corvette and drove off to her job as a fashion designer.
Mama started a sewing business in our guest room, and the money she earned put me through college debt-free.
I had to buy a new sewing machine recently.
Sentimentally, I chose a singer who turned out to be a humdinger.
Isn’t it unbelievable how homemade dresses brought two unlikely people together and started a lovely conversation?
“When people tell you their favorite Paul Newman movie, what’s number one?”
“Butch Cassidy. Always.”
Smiling, I replied, “Oh, but the last two minutes of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof.
Whew.”
She patted her heart, nodding in complete agreement.
I thought if only Mama were still alive, how she’d love this story.
Ronda Rich is the bestselling author of St. Simons Island: A Stella Bankwell Mystery. Visit www.rondarich.com to sign up for her free weekly newsletter.