Winning: The Racing Life of Paul Newman Page #6

and to his race crew,

but the big payoff is the

national championship trophy.

It's not an Oscar,

but to Paul Newman,

it's the honor he seeks most

in his second career.

Will he retire when he gets it?

"Hey," he says, "I'll retire

when I get slower, not older."

He really felt at home here.

People in racing,

they knew who he was,

and they were impressed by him,

but they didn't bug him.

When P.L. was at the racetrack,

he was another race driver,

in his mind.

He wasn't P.L. Newman

the movie star.

He was P.L. Newman

the race driver.

And he conducted himself

like that,

and he never put himself

on a pedestal ever.

He was just another driver

that you wanted to beat.

You know, he got that

much credibility.

People didn't even think

of him being a movie-star racer.

He was just a racer.

There was a little boy,

standing with his mother,

and Paul walked by, and I heard this.

The mother grabbed the little boy

and said:

"Do you know who that is?"

And the little boy said:

"Yeah, it's Paul Newman."

And she said:
"Yes,

but do you know who he is?"

And he said:

"Yes, it's a racer."

And I thought,

"isn't that wonderful?"

Because that's what would

make Paul very happy.

He drove in the

"24 hours of Daytona,"

and then won worldwide

recognition by finishing second

in the famous 24-hour

race at Le Mans.

This last year,

Paul's fascination with racing

has been such that he's

competed in more events.

In fact, some people

think he's spending more time

with his racing career

now than with his movie career.

Every year, I keep saying

that I'm gonna, you know,

stop all this.

So now it looks like I got

a couple of really good scripts

that will go during the

spring and the summer.

So all I have to do is burn

all those scripts, you see,

so I can get back in the car again.

He wasn't so much

divided between the two.

It was that film

would come second to racing.

What is the mystique

about beating the other guy,

about winning?

Well, whatever it is,

it's a mystique

that's held in high reverence

by people in racing.

And I was driving the pro cars,

and Paul was driving

the amateur circuit.

But then he got so good

that it made sense

for him to join me in the pro races.

The car in the background

here was a big IMSA contender.

We had over 900 horsepower.

I had to make a choice

when I went from amateurs

to professional racing,

whether I wanted to be

a big fish in a little pond

or a little fish in a big pond.

Going from 300-some-odd

horsepower to 900 horsepower

is that quantum leap

that you keep talking about.

I think I was away 24 weekends

this summer.

If I wasn't racing,

the Can-Am team was racing

or I was running out to Ohio

to visit Joanne who was

doing a play out there,

and I felt as though I was

inside of a meat grinder,

but all I got to do

if I don't want to do it is stop.

I was worried about him.

I really was seriously concerned.

His whole career

looked as though it was gonna

because all he wanted

to do was race.

They'll have to strap me down

before they keep me

out of these things.

Welcome back, Joanne.

We understand you taught

him everything he knows.

Of course. Absolutely.

And that's why he drives so well.

Joanne has really,

through all of this, you know,

when I was racing badly,

she was supportive.

When I was racing well,

she was supportive.

She keeps asking

the eternal question,

"well, next season, what?

Do we go to France and Paris,

or is it Somers Point

and Pocono."

And she's been just

patient beyond all belief.

Anything can happen

when you're in a race car,

and I think that that was a thing

that she was very concerned about,

about with him becoming,

in some way,

injured with the family

and all of that and also

starting late in life.

Racing was more dangerous

then than it is now,

and it was always a risk

to have him at the wheel.

He was very aggressive, you know.

You can drive hard and you

can even drive extra hard,

and you're not gonna

win any races.

The only way that you're

ever gonna win a race

is just to be right on the

edge of it all the time.

He was not afraid to test the limits.

And sometimes, you got

to get off and go off the track

or brush that wall

to find out where the limit is.

Oh, Newman and Bowman

have gone off.

And he's had a lot of spins,

and there have been

a couple of times

When he didn't come around.

You know, when I'm sitting,

waiting, and saying,

Like, "what happened?

Where did he go?"

Newman was on Viagra

before they even made Viagra.

He was a hard-dick brother.

I didn't want to see him do it,

because it was dangerous,

and I didn't want

to see anything happen to him.

I think everybody wanted

him to quit racing except him.

He was under no pressure to win.

He was under no pressure to go fast.

He didn't have to.

That's not how he made a living.

He was challenging himself as a man.

What's your strategy going to be?

Just drive the race

and try to stay alive.

A racing driver

is very aware of the fact

that death can happen at any time

just because you're going

so fast and there's

so many things out of your control...

The weather, other cars,

mechanical failures, tire failures.

But you're so passionate

about being a race driver

that that overcomes all those senses.

The biggest vintage-car race

in the country

is the Monterey Historics.

In 2010, one of the cars

I drove was the 1958 Scarab.

The race started,

we went over the hill,

and just before the Andretti hairpin,

one car misjudged

the speed of the car

that he was catching at the

back of the pack and spun.

The car right behind him lost

control trying to avoid him,

hit the guardrail on the inside,

and bounced across the track

as I passed and ran

into me in the back...

my left rear corner...

and started flipping the car.

After the crash, the car

was loaded on a flatbed...

Well, the remains of it.

And, in essence, it was destroyed.

But you can fix anything,

especially when it's worth $6 million.

And I thought my neck was broken,

but I raced again in a month.

You know what this reminds me of?

The theater.

It has its audience, its cast,

its drama, comedy,

and sometimes it's tragedy, too.

Things happen in a microsecond,

and sometimes it's not

in your control

like it wasn't in Rolf's control.

In the LA Times grand prix

in 1983,

going into turn 9 at well

over 200 miles an hour,

his rear wing broke.

Paul understood the danger

of racing firsthand after Rolf died.

Paul loved making salad dressing,

and at Christmas time,

he and A.E. Hotchner,

the author,

would make up salad dressing.

They'd put it in an old wine split,

and they'd give it to

the neighbors and the relatives.

And on a Saturday night cookout,

often we'd barbecue out

at the track where the guys

are working on the car.

Paul would go get all the ingredients

to make his salad dressing.

So we'd have salad and

hamburger and fruit,

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