Six decades after James Dean shuffled off this mortal coil, the actor remains as vivid an icon to individuality and rebelliousness as he was before that fateful afternoon of September 30, 1955. Despite having seen him in just one film, East of Eden (Rebel Without a Cause and Giant would be released posthumously), youthful audiences eager to watch people like themselves on the screen had turned the charismatic 24-year-old actor into a major star. When the Porsche Spyder he was driving to a race in Salinas, California was struck by a 1950 Ford Custom Tudor Coupe driven by 23-year-old local Donald Turnupseed, Dean was blasted into immortality. Since then, the actor’s memory has been kept alive by countless tell-alls, biopics, documentaries, magazine articles and fan worship across the globe. Each year on the anniversary of his death, thousands of people from around the world make a pilgrimage to Fairmount, Indiana, Dean’s hometown, to see where their idol grew up.
Queerty’s managing editor Jeremy Kinser and filmmaker Heath Daniels met at a fancy-ish soiree in the hills above Hollywood three years ago and became instant pals when they realized they had a lot in common (some things that can’t be shared here), including a strong, nearly lifelong affinity for Dean. The two recently decided to recreate the actor’s final day as accurately as possible and took photos of all the major stops along the way.
Scroll down to join them on their road trip.
9:20 a.m. We begin at 14611 Sutton St. in Sherman Oaks, a quiet thoroughfare just a few blocks from bustling Ventura Boulevard. Dean’s rustic A-frame log cabin (above left) is long gone, rumored to have burned down decades ago. In its place is an expansive and rather posh modern residence behind a secure gate designed to keep out looky-loos like us.
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9:55 a.m. We arrive at the 1200 block of Vine St. in Hollywood. Before he hit the road to head north out of L.A., Dean met photographer and friend Sanford Roth at Competition Motors then stopped for donuts and coffee at Hollywood Ranch Market across the street. As proof that nothing lasts forever in Hollywood, Competition Motors is now an Armenian banquet hall and the Ranch Market is home to high-end Mexican eatery El Pollo Loco.
We need breakfast and decide Huevos Rancheros probably isn’t a good idea before a long road trip so we walk to nearby Winchell’s Donut House. We order two crullers. Keenly aware of our own muffin tops barely camouflaged by oversized T-shirts, we each took a bite to honor Jimmy and then tossed the rest of the carb crazy breakfast in the trash on the sidewalk.
10:30 a.m. We get back in the car and head north on Highway 101. To help while away the driving time we made a Spotify playlist with more than four hours of tunes we imagine Dean might have listened to during the early 1950s. The first song we hear is, appropriately, “Earth Angel” by The Penguins. We decide this is a good omen.
10:45 a.m. Corner of Beverly Glen and Ventura Boulevard, Sherman Oaks. We snapped selfies in front of what is now a car wash and flower shop where Dean was famously photographed getting gas. We wondered how many of the waiting customers realized the historical significance of this location. Probably zero.
11:10 a.m. It feels as if we’ve been driving for days weeks. There’s nothing but drab gray highway and sun-scorched brown hills for miles in the distance. We decide we hate road trips. Whose idea was this anyhow?
12:25 p.m. Spotify has now played “Come On-A My House” three times. WTF? We decide we can’t listen to anymore Rosemary Clooney. We begin to ask each other searingly personal questions, such as “What’s your favorite Brenda Vaccaro movie?” and “Which was your favorite episode of Laverne and Shirley?”
5:05 p.m. We pulled to the side of the road near where Dean collided with Turnupseed. The intersection of Route 46 and Route 41 was officially dedicated as the James Dean Memorial Junction on September 30, 2005, as part of the State of California’s official commemoration of the 50th anniversary of Dean’s death.
5:25 p.m. We begin our return to L.A. The drive back seems even longer. We feel a bit melancholy that we’re doing something Dean didn’t live to do. We try to lighten the mood by turning highways exits into names for ’50s movie starlets. We create Buttonwillow McKittrick and Pumpkin Lamont and make up exciting back stories for them. Thanks to ever-hideous L.A. traffic, we eventually arrive home at 9:45 p.m.
No matter what the future holds, we’ll always have Blackwells Corner.
Glücklich
“…where Dean was sited” Should be *cited*, like traffic *citation*.
Cool post. The road trip has received coverage on other sites, too.
That is a DESOLATE area. My late grandmother lived in Paso Robles through/to which Highway 46 runs (between I-5 and 101); the accident site is far to the east of the town not far from I-5. It is a (very) hot, windy, dusty, empty area.
The town has only recently started fancying itself up becoming a wine country-type destination but parts of it are still really depressed with lots of boarded-up shops and houses away from the cute-ish historic downtown. Did I mention hot, windy, and dusty? ‘Cause it’s hot, windy, and dusty.
Daggerman
…when I was in L.A. 25 years ago to this day to be accurate I planned to go up to Salinas for James Dean’s anniversary celebrations, but my car broke down and I was so upset..
freedoomboy
What a fun post. Thank you for that. Please do more like this.
Billy Budd
James Dean was AT LEAST bisexual according to many witnesses;
ingyaom
Good-looking guys. Thanks for sharing.
Sammy Schlipshit
My two cents worth….
I, too, have been to the memorial site near the crash location as well as the actual crash site.
The crash site is wide open space….for miles and miles. According to his mechanic who survived, he says he cautioned James about that approaching vehicle. James dismissed him with a ‘He can see me.’ I guess what he didn’t appreciate fully was that Dean was probably driving like a bat outta hell.
The sculpture is pretty cool.
Of course, all has been vandalized but the theme and beauty of it remains.
In the adjoining cafe there is a framed ticket he received listing his home address.
Since my adventures were taking me that way I searched and found that location.
This was waaaaay before GPS or Google Maps. One had to actually use a brain to figure it all out.
The house is/was surrounded on all sides excluding the driveway with a very, very tall hedge. Must be a gloomy place to live.
It’s a nondescript ranch style home. Must have been a stand out back in the day.
……road trip……
Arnold Stollar
Rum?
martinbakman
Quoting Hamlet and Rosemary Clooney lyrics in the same piece. That’s class.