Here we have the first letter sent by 21-year-old Morrissey to his Scottishpen-pal, Robert Mackie in 1980, in response to a personal ad in Sounds magazine. His note was written on the back of a James Dean photo (James Dean was of course the subject of a book written by Morrissey around that time), and as a result of the letter Morrissey and Mackie became pen-pals for 18 months. The Smiths formed in 1983.
I love this photograph, I love the idea of this photograph. I lived in a studio apartment for years and even after moving into a very large apartment, I ignored a large portion of it and treated it as a studio apartment. I loved the coziness, the comfort, and the economy that the size restrictions created. I am not a hoarder by nature, and I guess I accumulate things to accommodate my surroundings, like a goldfish growing to the size of his bowl, so when I got more space, I got more furniture. It just turned out that I rarely used it. I guess what I am drawn to about this photograph is that James Dean could have had a photo spread taken at a borrowed Hollywood Hills house, sipping orange juice outside next to the pool, sweater tied around the neck. He could have borrowed a huge Upper East Side apartment for a similar styled photo shoot. Whether he crafted the artist bohemian Upper West Sideefficiency apartment (with shared bath) the same way, I do not know, but it speaks to my aesthetic, especially my aesthetic for who I thought he was.
Despite being just steps from a glamorous stretch of Central Park, James Dean’s studio apartment on West 68th Street in New York City was decidedly collegiate. The actor lived in the rented space, off and on, from 1953 until his death in a car crash two years later. (The photograph here was published in Life magazine, six months before Dean was killed.) On the top floor of a five-story, 19th-century redbrick townhouse, Dean’s New York City home was furnished with bohemian casualness. Outfitted with indifferent, seemingly secondhand furniture and knotty-pine shelves, the small, round-windowed interior had abstract art tacked to the walls and a matador’s cape hanging above the bed—the latter possession echoed in one of the books above the built-in desk: Volume 5 of Los Toros, a 1943 encyclopedia of bullfighting by José María Cossío. The bath, shared with other tenants, was located down the hall.
As filming of Giant came to an end in September of 1955, Elizabeth Taylor gave co-star James Dean a Siamese kitten that he named Marcus. A week later, Dean travelled to Salinas to race his Porsche; en route, he died in a car crash. The night before he left — September 28th — he gave the following list of instructions, and Marcus, to a friend.
NAME: James Dean OCCUPATION: Film Actor BIRTH DATE: February 08, 1931 DEATH DATE: September 30, 1955 EDUCATION: University of California at Los Angeles PLACE OF BIRTH: Marion, Indiana PLACE OF DEATH: Paso Robles, California
BEST KNOWN FOR: American motion picture actor James Dean became a symbol of the confused, restless, and idealistic youth of the 1950s.
James Byron Dean (February 8, 1931 – September 30, 1955) was an American film actor. He is a cultural icon, best embodied in the title of his most celebrated film, Rebel Without a Cause (1955), in which he starred as troubled Los Angeles teenager Jim Stark. The other two roles that defined his stardom were as loner Cal Trask in East of Eden (1955), and as the surly ranch hand, Jett Rink, in Giant (1956). Dean’s enduring fame and popularity rests on his performances in only these three films, all leading roles. His premature death in a car crash cemented his legendary status.
Dean was the first actor to receive a posthumous Academy Award nomination for Best Actor and remains the only actor to have had two posthumous acting nominations. In 1999, the American Film Institute ranked Dean the 18th best male movie star on their AFI’s 100 Years…100 Stars list.
American teenagers at the time of Dean’s major films identified with Dean and the roles he played, especially in Rebel Without A Cause: the typical teenager, caught where no one, not even his peers, can understand him. Joe Hyams says that Dean was “one of the rare stars, like Rock Hudson and Montgomery Clift, whom both men and women find sexy.” According to Marjorie Garber, this quality is “the undefinable extra something that makes a star.” Dean’s iconic appeal has been attributed to the public’s need for someone to stand up for the disenfranchised young of the era,[40] and to the air of androgyny that he projected onscreen. Dean’s “loving tenderness towards the besotted Sal Mineo in Rebel Without a Cause continues to touch and excite gay audiences by its honesty. The Gay Times Readers’ Awards cited him as the male gay icon of all time.”
Dean is mentioned or featured in various songs, which include titles such as “Allure” by Jay-Z, “American Boy” by Chris Isaak, “American Pie” by Don McLean, “A Young Man is Gone” by The Beach Boys, “Bla bla bla (Blah Blah Blah)” by Perfect, “Chciałbym umrzeć jak James Dean (lit. I Wish to Die Like James Dean)” by Partia, “Come Back Jimmy Dean” by Bette Midler, “Daddy’s Speeding” by Suede, “Electrolite” by R.E.M., “Famous” by Scouting for Girls, “Five Years Time” by Noah & The Whale, “Just Like a Movie Star” by The 6ths, “Flip-Top Box” by Self, “Girl on TV” by LFO,[43] “Hello my Hate” by Black Veil Brides, “Jack and Diane” by John Mellencamp, “James Dean” by Bonnie Tyler, “James Dean (I Wanna Know)” by Daniel Bedingfield, “James Dean” by That Handsome Devil, “James Dean” by the Eagles, “Jim Dean of Indiana” by Phil Ochs, “Jimmy Dean” by Icehouse,[44] “Lost on Highway 46″ by Sham 69, “Choke On This” by Senses Fail, “Mr. James Dean” by Hilary Duff, “My Kind of Girl” by Collin Raye, “My Shine” by Childish Gambino, “Peach Trees” by Rufus Wainwright, “Picture Show” by John Prine, “Rather Die Young” by Beyoncé, “Rock On” by David Essex, “Rockstar” by Nickelback, “Speechless” by Lady GaGa, “Teenage Wildlife” by AJ McLean of the Backstreet Boys, “These Days” by Bon Jovi, “Under the Gun” by The Killers, “Vogue” by Madonna, “Walk on the Wild Side” by Lou Reed, and “We Didn’t Start The Fire” by Billy Joel.
In addition, he is often noted within television shows, films, books and novels. In an episode of Degrassi: The Next Generation, the character Liberty likens the rebellious, anti-social Sean Cameron to James Dean. On the sitcom Happy Days, Fonzie has a picture of Dean in his closet next to his mirror. A picture of Dean also appears on Rizzo’s wall in the film Grease. On the American version of the TV series Queer as Folk, the main character Brian Kinney mentions James Dean together with Cobain and Hendrix, saying, “They’re all legends. They’ll always be young, and they will always be beautiful”. In the alternate history book Homeward Bound by Harry Turtledove, Dean is stated to have not died in a car crash and to have made several more films, including Rescuing Private Ranfall, based on Saving Private Ryan.
Dean’s estate still earns about $5,000,000 per year, according to Forbes Magazine.
What You Need To Know
James Dean wardrobe staples include white tees, denim and a leather jacket.
He wore dressier duds like the shawl collar jacket that he is recognized for having resurrected.
His rebellious look marked a definite departure from predominantly preppy styles.
Why He’s A Style Icon
James Dean, who himself was a man of few words, requires little explanation when it comes to discussing his status as a style icon. He was the king of cool.
Dean’s first television experience came in the form of a 1950 Pepsi commercial — a far cry from his first big-screen debut five years later in Elia Kazan’s East of Eden. His role as the angsty outcast Cal Trask was a prelude to achieving full-blown stardom in Rebel Without a Cause. The brooding young actor gained international fame playing Jim Stark, a teenager who, as the title implies, can’t seem to stay out of trouble. Dean had a classic greaser look with slicked-back hair, jeans and a tight white T-shirt that was capped off not with a black leather jacket but a red windbreaker, and of course, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. It may not seem cutting-edge by today’s style icon standards, but his rebellious look marked a definite departure from predominantly preppy and buttoned-up midcentury styles.
Life imitated art with James Dean carrying that brazen image into his everyday existence. A taste for fast cars was conveniently accompanied by fame and fortune that allowed him luxuries like a Porsche 356 Speedster, which he later traded in for the more exclusive — and faster — 550 Spyder model. Not surprisingly, Dean had a habit of racing his pricey investments. It was the natural complement to his all-American bad boy persona. But as luck would have it, life in the fast lane ultimately led to an untimely demise at the ripe young age of 24.
Dean’s legacy, however, far outlives his short time on Earth for one simple reason: He embodied the essence of cool. He was one of the first male actors who garnered as much attention from women as he did from men. And while James Dean’s sexual past remains shrouded in mystery to this day, one thing is clear: Everyone either wanted him or wanted to be like him.
Dress The Dean Way
It is indeed possible to be almost as irresistible as Dean without putting your life in danger. His immortal sense of style is easy to infuse into your wardrobe, and the truth is, you’re probably already halfway there (everyone has a T-shirt and jeans; they just have to be cut right). Dean’s look comes from an era when clothes fit properly by hugging the body rather than hanging and bunching with enough extra fabric to outfit a family of four.
There is more, however, to Dean’s look than understanding denim and a white tee. He is credited with popularizing the vest as part of his Texas oil tycoon role in the posthumously released film Giant. Dean also had his hands on dressier duds like the shawl collar dinner jacket that he is recognized for having resurrected. From the familiar to the formal, James Dean was a timeless trendsetter — and an undeniably cool one at that.
On September 30th of 1955, less than a month before his most celebrated role as Jim Stark in Rebel Without a Cause graced the screens, 24-year-old James Dean died shortly after his Porsche collided with another car at high speed. His funeral was held nine days later in Fairmount, not far from the farm on which he was raised by his aunt and uncle, Ortense and Marcus Winslow.
A few days later, as millions continued to mourn his passing, the following letter was sent to the Winslows by Stewart Stern, a friend of Dean’s and the man who wrote the screenplay for Rebel Without a Cause.
Rarely — if ever — have I seen a condolence letter as beautifully written.
I shall never forget that silent town on that particular sunny day. And I shall never forget the care with which people set their feet down — so carefully on the pavements — as if the sound of a suddenly scraped heel might disturb the sleep of a boy who slept soundly. And the whispering. Do you remember one voice raised beyond a whisper in all those reverential hours of goodbye? I don’t. A whole town struck silent, a whole town with love filling its throat, a whole town wondering why there had been so little time in which to give the love away.
Gandhi once said that if all those doomed people at Hiroshima had lifted their faces to the plane that hovered over them and if they had sent up a single sigh of spiritual protest, the pilot would not have dropped his bomb. That may or may not be. But I am sure, I am certain, I know — that the great wave of warmth and affection that swept upward from Fairmount has wrapped itself around that irresistible phantom securely and forever.
Nor shall I forget the land he grew on or the stream he fished, or the straight, strong, gentle people whom he loved to talk about into the nights when he was away from them. His great-grandma whose eyes have seen half of America‘s history, his grandparents, his father, his treasured three of you — four generations for the coiling of a spring — nine decades of living evidence of seed and turning earth and opening kernel. It was a solid background and one to be envied. The spring, released, flung him into our lives and out again. He burned an unforgettable mark in the history of his art and changed it as surely as Duse, in her time, changed it.
A star goes wild in the places beyond air — a dark star born of coldness and invisible. It hits the upper edges of our atmosphere and look! It is seen! It flames and arcs and dazzles. It goes out in ash and memory. But its after-image remains in our eyes to be looked at again and again. For it was rare. And it was beautiful. And we thank God and nature for sending it in front of our eyes.
So few things blaze. So little is beautiful. Our world doesn’t seem equipped to contain its brilliance too long. Ecstasy is only recognizable when one has experienced pain. Beauty only exists when set against ugliness. Peace is not appreciated without war ahead of it. How we wish that life could support only the good. But it vanishes when its opposite no longer exists as a setting. It is a white marble on unmelting snow. And Jimmy stands clear and unique in a world where much is synthetic and dishonest and drab. He came and rearranged our molecules.
I have nothing of Jim’s — nothing to touch or look at except the dried mud that clung to my shoes — mud from the farm that grew him — and a single kernel of seed corn from your barn. I have nothing more than this and I want nothing more. There is no need to touch something he touched when I can still feel his hand on me. He gave me his faith, unquestioningly and trustfully — once when he said he would play in REBEL because he knew I wanted him to, and once when he tried to get LIFE to let me write his biography. He told me he felt I understood him and if LIFE refused to let me do the text for the pictures Dennis took, he would refuse to let the magazine do a spread on him at all. I managed to talk him out of that, knowing that LIFE had to use its own staff writers, but will never forget how I felt when he entrusted his life to me. And he gave me, finally, the gift of his art. He spoke my words and played my scenes better than any other actor of our time or of our memory could have done. I feel that there are other gifts to come from him — gifts for all of us. His influence did not stop with his breathing. It walks with us and will profoundly affect the way we look at things. From Jimmy I have already learned the value of a minute. He loved his minutes and I shall now love mine.
These words aren’t clear. But they are clearer than what I could have said to you last week.
I write from the depths of my appreciation — to Jimmy for having touched my life and opened my eyes — to you for having grown him all those young years and for having given him your love — to you for being big enough and humane enough to let me come into your grief as a stranger and go away a friend.
When I drove away the sky at the horizon was yellowing with twilight and the trees stood clean against it. The banks of flowers covering the grave were muted and grayed by the coming of evening and had yielded up their color to the sunset. I thought — here’s where he belongs — with this big darkening sky and this air that is thirst-quenching as mountain water and this century of family around him and the cornfield crowding the meadow where his presence will be marked. But he’s not in the meadow. He’s out there in the corn. He’s hunting the winter’s rabbit and the summer’s catfish. He has a hand on little Mark’s shoulder and a sudden kiss for you. And he has my laughter echoing his own at the great big jokes he saw and showed to me — and he’s here, living and vivid and unforgettable forever, far too mischievous to lie down long.
