It's strange how someone's death can trigger the oddest of memories. When I heard that Paul Newman died, I suddenly flashed to the moment he walked into the house where I was babysitting and said, "Come on, kid - let's clean these fish."
Piercing blue-eyes. Brilliant smile. Easy-going, if somewhat hurried manner. Tight white tee shirt, blue jeans and some kind of serviceable jacket -- he was holding a plastic box filled with fish he and my summer-job boss and her...
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