When I first saw The Long, Hot Summer, I was a sad 23 year old living in Saint Louis. It was July. I was alone. The film's title probably attracted me to it: it neatly summarized my experience of living in my recession-smacked college town the summer after I'd graduated, working for an architect I despised and biding my time until it was time to move to a large city. The film's Faulknerian bleakness somehow lifted my spirits. Paul Newman was the most beautiful man I'd seen in pictures or otherwise. He was what I wanted to be. He was what I wanted. He was a dense layering of powerful looks, powerful body, brilliant acting, and genuine (midwestern?) nonchalance, all transmitted in one movie role. Somehow, he was New York.
Newman's death reminded me of this long, hot summer, mostly because it came at another time of uncertainty for me. Financial uncertainty. Emotional uncertainty. Except things have changed. I am no longer alone. The challenges I face are much more complex than they were fourteen years ago, but they are appropriately scaled to who I am now. I am a dense layering of networks, workouts, and creativity. I am already New York.
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