Getting famous people to sit down for one-on-one interviews is sometimes near impossible, especially if they don't want to be interviewed.

Paul Newman was interview-shy. He hated talking about himself, particularly about the movie business or his personal life. The first few times I managed to corral him for a short sit-down, I was told the ground rules were no questions about family or his movie career. He only wanted to talk about auto racing or his charitable endeavors.

But he was obviously a multi-faceted person and, as our relationship became a bit stronger over the years, I kept up my hopes that some day he would let me do a real in-depth interview.

It was in Portland, Ore., in June of 1991 when I ran into Newman on the Indy car pit lane. We chatted amiably for a few moments. He was driving in the Trans-Am Series full-time at that point and I asked when his next race was.

He said it was in Cleveland the following week and asked if I would be there? I said, "Sure, that's my old home town. I wouldn't miss it."

His eyebrows raised and he said, "You know I'm from Shaker Heights."

At that point, we started talking about places we both knew on the east side of  Cleveland, including Corky and Lenny's deli, where Judy had waitressed and my family had hung out over the years.

He stopped talking and looked at me hard for a moment and said, "You want to do that interview you've been talking about? We start practice Friday morning at 8. If you come by the motor home at 7, I'll sit down with you."

Pushing my luck, I said, "Can we talk about things other than racing?" He smiled and nodded.

I was thrilled and also nervous. I wanted to do a good job on the interview and not come off as obsequious or fawning. Normally, I just asked questions as they popped into my head. This time, I prepared a list of possible questions ahead of time, writing them on the first page of an unused reporter's notepad.

I showed up at the motor home at 6:45, 15 minutes early and waited. Finally, at 7:30 Newman showed up and brushed past me.

"I'm late. We'll talk another day," he said brusquely and disappeared into the motor home.

I was disappointed and a bit angry.

After the practice session, I waited for Newman at the motor home. I stopped him as he walked up and said, "What about the interview you promised me? Are you still going to do it?"

He shrugged, stared at me with those clear blue eyes and said, "All right. Tomorrow before practice."

Again, I showed up early and waited. This time, Newman arrived on time, sighed and grudgingly invited me to follow him into the motor home.

Once inside, he began getting into his driving uniform. I began to ask him questions and he was replying in monosyllables. I was getting virtually nothing.

Scott Sharp, his 23-year-old teammate and the son of Newman's good friend Bob Sharp, was also getting ready for the practice session. After about 10 minutes of listening to Newman avoid answering my questions, this wonderful young man turned around and gave Newman both barrels.

"Paul, you're not being fair to Mike," he said. "You agreed to an interview and then you brushed him off yesterday and told him you'd do it today. Now you're just stone-walling him. You know Mike is a journalist you can trust. You've known him for a long time. Talk to the guy."

I was astounded and Newman appeared abashed. He turned to me and said, "I'm sorry, Mike. Let's start again."

He sat down and began answering my questions in great detail.

We talked about his racing career, of course, and his upbringing and Joanne, his wife. He told me stories about working with his close friend Robert Redford and we filled up the 45 minutes before he had to leave for the start of Trans-Am practice. As he left, he said, "If you need anything else, let me know."

I hugged Scott and thanked him before he followed Newman out the door.

The story moved as a weekend news feature and turned out great. It got used in hundreds of newspapers. The best part of the story was when I asked Newman if he had ever played other sports. He said, "I really wanted to be a great tennis player when I was younger, but I had two left feet. The only time I ever feel really graceful is when I'm dancing with Joanne, and that has little to do with me."

A few days later, I was sitting in a press box when the phone rang. The voice on the other end said, "Mike, this is Marty. I just wanted to congratulate you on the Newman story. It was really good work and very appreciated."

I hesitated for a moment and asked, "I'm sorry, who did you say you are?" He replied, "Oh, sorry. This is Marty Thompson. I'm the AP's managing editor."

It was the first and only time I ever talked to him.

Another memorable interview took place in Montreal during the Formula One weekend sometime in the early 90's.

I only covered F1 when the world-hopping series was in North America and I never got to know most of the drivers except in group interviews. And the PR people who worked for the drivers weren't very interested in giving a writer from the U.S. access to their guy for one-on-ones.

I often had to be sneaky to get face-to-face with the drivers.

That weekend, I decided I wanted to find a way to interview F1's biggest star, Ayrton Senna. I had talked with him in small groups a few times and he seemed like a good interview subject.  But his PR lady wasn't having it.

"He'll be doing the international writers interview at 4 p.m. on Friday. You can talk with him then," she said.

The Team McLaren PR person was even more negative.

"Could I possibly have a one-on-one interview with Ayrton sometime before the race?" I asked. "No!" he said. But, then he smiled and invited me to eat lunch in the McLaren compound, an invitation which I gladly accepted.

As I sat and ate, I watched the activity buzzing around me in the compound. The team was being fed and there were numerous languages being spoken. As I finished and stood to leave, Senna walked into the compound, said hello to a number of crewmen and walked up to the buffet table to grab some food.

His PR lady was nowhere in sight, so I sidled up to him, took a plate and started putting food on it. He looked over and I said, "Hello, Ayrton. I'm Mike Harris from the Associated Press in the U.S."

He shook my hand and I said, "I've been trying to get an interview with you, but it seems impossible."

Senna looked surprised and said, "I'll talk to you. Come here tomorrow morning at 8 and I'll give you 15 minutes."

I thanked him as he walked away. I was elated and a bit nervous that the PR lady would show up and put the kabosh on the interview.

The next morning, I was there waiting at 8 o'clock. The security guard in front of the compound eyed me suspiciously. But I showed him my credential and told him I had an appointment with Senna. He looked leery, but let me in. I guess I didn't look dangerous.

At precisely 8 a.m., the door to the motor home opened and Senna waved me in. We sat down and he said, "You have 15 minutes. Let's get started."

I had thought about my questions beforehand and began. He was a great interview and things were progressing well when the door opened and his engineer walked in. Senna looked up and said, "Not now. I'm talking to Mike. Come back in," he glance at his watch, "seven minutes."

The engineer left and I finished the interview. That, my friends, is true focus and perhaps the reason Senna was the youngest three-time F1 champion.

I thanked Senna, shook his hand and left as the engineer walked in. As I walked through the compound, Senna's PR lady saw me and gave me a very nasty look. I just smiled and waved goodbye.