Newman's Own

Funny how events keep buzzing around the brain, there but not quite rising to the forefront of my thoughts. Not an irritant, more an awareness. Something to be spoken to later, maybe.

Last October, Paul Newman’s Daytona Rolex—a gift from his wife Joanne Woodward—sold for $17.8 million at a 12-minute auction, trouncing the previous record for a watch.

The story piqued my interest, not because I am or ever was a watch guy. Somewhere along the way I started wearing a self-winding Timex flexband, perhaps junior high. I wore it just about all the time. Had it torn off my wrist playing basketball and football and even tennis. I had a watch of that type stolen off my wrist while inside—yes, inside—the living heart exhibit at the Chicago Museum of Science & Technology.

But I persevered wearing that style of Timex until my first year teaching high school. Once I sized up the reality of the clock ticking on the wall, bells ringing, and students shuffling about in their desks at the end of class, I never wore a watch again in my life. The year was 1980.

So, timepiece envy isn’t the issue.

No, it’s all that money—for a watch worn by Paul Newman. I immediately go there, the scholarships that could be awarded, or the homes that could be built, or the medical care that might be provided.

A watch? Maybe the buyer liquidated everything he owned and is now rambling about homeless, but by gawd he has Paul Newman’s watch.

I just can’t imagine having that kind of money and that’s the best I could do with it.

Ah, the sucker punch.

You see what I did there, fell right into the ol’ rich vs not rich trap. I am thinking from the perspective of a lifetime of earnings that is 1/10^th the amount paid for that watch. I got it all wrong.

The buyer is not down and out roaming the hills with his bauble. Nope, much more likely to have multiple homes, multiple cars, boat or boats, a plane maybe, and to expense $600 meals with nary a blink of an eye.

Maybe the watch is displayed right next to the, well whatever millions and millions buy and get displayed. Does anyone in the buyer’s tribe oooo and aaaah over the watch? Perhaps someone drily observes, “Nice watch”. 

Or maybe no one is around when it comes out of its lock box. “Mine, mine, all mine” and then that laugh—you know which one.

Okay, imagine this scenario. I’m sitting on a bench in Manhattan. (I said imagine.) The Newman watch guy sits next to me and has to ask, “Got the time?”  Oh, yes, yes I do. The trusty Timex. Still ticking.