The first leaves of autumn have finally covered the fresh earth on actor Paul Newman's grave and all the remembrances have been printed. So, finally, I can enter my own and a few words given to me by actors, now all dead, who worked with Paul.

My one and only encounter with Newman was a memorable one for a young actor. I was lucky to land a job managing a posh movie theater on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood, back in 1968. All the furnishings were from the fabulous Hearst Castle. There was no tacky candy or popcorn bar, just Alice, a coffee lady in an evening gown, serving espresso. Haut cinema.

We were screening the debut of Mel Brooks' popular and original "The Producers." It was an enormous hit, and our theater, a Walter Reade theater, was awarded the only print in Los Angeles.

Consequently, we were mobbed at each showing, and it ran for a year. Every star in Hollywood wanted to see it. It was not uncommon to come into the lobby and find Michael Caine sipping espresso with Warren Beatty and singer Mel Torme.

Then, after a few months, when things settled down, we ran a Sunday matinee. I was checking the books when my one usher came into the office and said there was a husband and wife at the door, wanting to know if they could bring in their own popcorn.

I got up and went to the door to explain to them that we didn't allow refreshments into the theater.

There, standing on our expensive Oriental carpet, dressed casually in jeans, and holding a huge bag of popcorn, were Joanne and Paul Newman. They were waiting for my permission to bring in their own popcorn.

Paul smiled and sheepishly held the bag out without saying a word.

Knowing I wasn't going to turn him down, I took some. It was good stuff.

I let them in, free of charge. It was the least I could do for all Paul had given all of us.

Paul loathed the daily life of Hollywood, the "rubbish," he called it, of the business. One of my friends who worked with him in "Cool Hand Luke" later told me, "He always warned us about falling into the 'material success' because it came so easily in Hollywood. Being a celebrity annoyed him."

My friend later remarked that he and others thought that strange. Hollywood was, after all, the industry that made him a star, made him rich and, without Hollywood, there would have been no "Blue Eyed Boy," as we knew him. There would have been no "Hole In the Wall Gang" for sick children or the enormous "Newman's Own" that contributed so many millions to charities in the world.

Hollywood can be an annoying, suffocating place to struggle in and keep one's feet on the ground. Paul obviously knew that better than those of us who were still struggling for the recognition that "annoyed" him.

We're all grateful that Paul didn't stay on Broadway and found his way to Hollywood where he brought so much, in so many ways, to so many people around the world.

I quote e.e. cummings who wrote, "Buffalo Bill's defunct ... Jesus, but he was a handsome man ... and what I want to know is, how do you like your blue eyed boy, Mister Death."

J.P. Devine is a freelance writer living in Waterville.