An entertaining, accessible history of the iconic Newman’s Own brand that also serves as a roadmap for foundations and charitable organizations looking to do the most good they can with what they have.   Shameless exploitation has never been more fun nor done more good for more people than when done by Newman’s Own—the first green food company to use all-natural ingredients, and still the most successful. It was 1982 when Paul Newman and A. E. Hotchner made their foray into local gourmet shops with bottles of their homemade salad dressing. The venture was intended to be a lark, a way to poke fun at the traditional way the market operates. Hurdling obstacle after obstacle, they created the first company to mass-market all-natural products, eliminating the chemicals, gums, and preservatives that existed in food at the time. This picaresque saga is the inspiring story of how the two friends parlayed the joke into a multimillion-dollar company that gives all its profits to the less fortunate without spending money on galas, mailings, and other expensive outreaches.  Told in alternating voices, Newman and Hotchner have written a zany tale that is a business model for entrepreneurs, an inspirational book, and just plain delightful reading. Paul Newman , cofounder of Newman’s Own and The Hole in the Wall Gang, was a major motion picture actor. Paul Newman died in 2008. A.E. Hotchner , cofounder of Newman's Own and The Hole in the Wall Gang, is the author of international bestseller Papa Hemingway and such memoirs as Looking for Miracles and King of the Hill , which was adapted into an award-winning film by Steven Soderbergh. He lives in Westport, Connecticut. Chapter 1 It is December 1980, a week before Christmas, Westport, Connecticut, a blanket of snow on the ground, wood smoke from fireplaces redolent in the air, tree lights festooning the houses, a pervasive Yuletide lilt, but we are laboring in the subterranean space beneath Paul's converted barn, an area that had once been a stable for farm horses. There is a bucket filled with ice-blanketed Budweisers and an array of bottles of olive oil, vinegar, mustard, condiments, and so forth. There is also an empty tub and a collection of old bottles dating back to Revolutionary times by their appearance, bottles of various shapes and sizes that had been somewhat sanitized for this occasion. Paul Newman, known to his friends as ol' PL or Calezzo de Wesso (Bonehead), had asked his buddy A. E. Hotchner (Hotch), sometimes called Sawtooth, to help him with a Christmas project that he was assembling in this basement, which wasn't a basement in the usual sense. There were crusty stones, a dirt floor, crumbling cement, and overhead timbers covered with active cobwebs. Also three long since vacated horse stalls, but the unmistakable aroma of horses remained. There were desiccated manure fragments here and there, and there was evidence that certain field animals were still occupying the premises. A very picturesque place in which to mix salad dressing. The project was to mix up a batch of PL's salad dressing in the washtub and fill all those old wine bottles using the assembled funnels and corks and labels, and on Christmas Eve our collective families would go around the neighborhood singing carols and distributing these gift bottles of PL's dressing. PL was very proud of his salad dressing, and this was the apotheosis of his salad days. Over the years, even in four-star restaurants, PL had been rejecting the house dressings and concocting his own. Captains, maitre d's, and sometimes the restaurant owner would scurry around to assemble Paul's ingredients while neighboring diners gawked in disbelief. When we first ate at Elaine's, one of New York's popular restaurants, several waiters and Elaine herself gathered round as Paul blended and tasted the brew he made from the ingredients brought to him from the kitchen. This scene had been repeated in such varied eateries as a Greek diner, at a wedding party, in an outdoor restaurant, on the island of Eleuthera, and in snazzy restaurants from coast to coast. When his kids went off to school, Paul would fill a couple of bottles of dressing for them to take along. On one occasion, when the restaurant mistakenly served the salad with its own dressing, Paul took the salad to the men's room, washed off the dressing, dried it with paper towels, and, after returning to the table, anointed it with his own, which he concocted with ingredients brought to him from the kitchen. At that time, almost all dressings, especially the mass-market ones, contained sugar, artificial coloring, chemical preservatives, gums, and God knows what. So Paul really started to make his own dressing not just as a taste preference, but also as a defense against those insufferable artificial additives. That evening the basement operation seemed to go on forever. We had never tried to mix a vat of salad dressing, let alone pound a 1925 syrup cork int