What Paul Newman most disliked about himself was the feature that made him unforgettable: Those blue eyes. Oh, it wasn’t so much that he disliked them but rather that he wished others didn’t repeatedly point them out. He once agreed to take off his sunglasses for a persistent fan, if she would “show him her gums,” according to published reports over the weekend after his death at 83 was announced. “Fair is fair,” he told reporters at the time, obviously believing her request an ultra-personal intrusion into his privacy.

Even viewing his older films today, such as “The Hustler,” it’s almost as if the film has been treated with a tinge of color amid the black and white, a method that has become so prevalent in television commercials. In the midst of all the shades of gray, one can almost see the electric blue that captured us and held the public’s attention and affection for decades.

He was more than just a handsome face and wanted to be seen for his acting ability, not his sex appeal. But he had it, lots of it, and moviegoers noticed. Women loved his bedroom stare and his husky voice, as well as that grin that held such secret promise. Men could see him as a tough guy who didn’t always get the girl. His roles were less leading man than anti-hero: “The Hustler,” “Hud” and “Cool Hand Luke” solidified him as an actor who relied not on his captivating voice and his good lucks. He preferred to be sought for his ability to portray characters one felt for, despite all the logical reasons not to feel anything at all.

He was a ne’er-do-well who did it so well, a nonconformist who rebelled against what producers and directors tried to turn him into: just another pretty face. But he couldn’t hide that face, no matter how hard he tried.

Newman didn’t want the Hollywood life and instead settled in Westport, Conn., in an 18th century farmhouse with an apple orchard on the property. Back to nature not only soothed him personally; it apparently tied him forever with food that fed the body and the soul. Newman’s Own salad dressings, spaghetti sauce, popcorn and cookies generated more than $250 million for charities and organizations that bettered life for others.

His connection with the real world never faltered despite his success in the movie and theatrical one. When his son Scott died from an overdose of Valium and alcohol, Newman established a camp in Connecticut in Scott’s honor, designed for children with cancer and other life-threatening illnesses.

He and his wife, Joanne Woodward, are as famous for their long-term marriage and activism as they are for their contributions to film and stage. They married in 1958 and in Hollywood terms — even in modern America’s terms — were together far longer than the average couple.

He will be best remembered by most moviegoers for two turns with friend Robert Redford: “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” and “The Sting.”

But whether one’s taste runs to “The Verdict,” “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” “The Long, Hot Summer” or “The Color of Money” — or one of our personal favorites, “Slap Shot,” — there are few who could resist the allure of this versatile and talented man.

And then there were those eyes.

Newman was turned down for military service in World War II because he was color-blind.

Fortunately for film history, it was impossible to tell just by looking.