Paul Newman Is Dead At 83

I'm sitting at my desk, sipping this mornings third cup of black crack and getting set to share a few observations from last nights McLame/Oh-um-ah-Obama debate. Then I hit refresh on my Yahoo page and an entirely unsurprising news update hit me like a surprising ton of damn-you-mortality.

Cool Hand Luke is dead.

Legendary stage and screen actor, film director, philanthropist and quintessentially sueded tough guy, Paul Newman, has succumb to cancer. He was 83 years old.

Newman died in his Connecticut home, surrounded by family members.

I first saw Newman on screen when he paired with Robert Redford in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. It wasn't until my adult life, however, when I took the time to immerse myself in Newman's work and the study of his craft. In doing so I was also introduced to others of his time, like Marlon Brando, Steve McQueen and James Dean, just to name a few.

Paul Newman, the man, was an open book with his sincerity, earnestness and measured deeds. He was a man that took his political concerns into quiet action, choosing to organize his own successful food business that gave proceeds to charitable causes. His company, Newman's Own, began with a humble array of organic salad dressings and has since expanded to other products that can complete a family grocery list.

While I'm not a smoker, I'm tempted, as a tribute, to burn an unfiltered Chesterfield to honor the death of Newman. It just seems more appropriate than a moment of silence.

Sure, Hollywood will miss Paul Newman.

Just not nearly as much as they should.