Ah, the fifties. As Post-war celebrations subsided, life took a turn for most Americans. The war’s end brought the lust for more entertainment and Hollywood’s heightened allure.
Films of that era conveyed the awareness of glamor and the admiration of rugged men, the bad boy. With only three movies under his belt, James Dean was the most recognizable and admired actor of that time.
But Dean was not without his intricacies. Besides his reputation as a slob and two fake front teeth, Dean had a horrible myopic vision. Without his glasses, he was nearly blind. No one knows if his poor vision played a role in his death. Still, the authorities should have factored that information into their investigation.
James Dean also had a fondness for cars. He loved to race both motorcycles and automobiles. Although his acting career took precedence in his life, racing held his heart. A week before his death, Dean purchased the high-class Porsche 550 Spyder with his recent movie earnings. He called it “The Little Bastard” and had the number 130 painted on the hood.
Although he had the car, he did not drive it to a restaurant where he met close friends for dinner that night. While there, Dean met Alec Guinness (aka Obi-Wan Kenobi from Star Wars). Guinness recalled the incident years later; he says, “Some strange thing came over me. Some almost different voice and I said, ‘Look, I won’t join your table unless you want me to, but I must say something: Please do not get into that car, because if you do, by 10 p.m. next Thursday, you’ll be dead if you get into that car.’”
James laughed at the premonition and drove the Porsche despite the warning. Three hours before the crash on highway 46 in California, a police officer stopped Dean and cited him for speeding 65 mph in a 10-mph zone. According to internet sources (see my Facebook page for links), the ticket did not deter James; he flew through an intersection where he hit a 1950 Ford head-on and died.
Guinness’ spooky warning held fast. But that’s not the end of the story. After the accident, a car dealer purchased the totaled vehicle and moved it to his warehouse. While there, the car lurched off the trailer, ran over a mechanic’s foot, and broke it. A week later, a thief entered the garage and attempted to steal the steering wheel of the “Little Bastard,” but he slipped and broke his arm.
Not wanting any more tragedy surrounding the Spyder, the dealer dismantled the engine and sold the parts. The first person who installed the fragment into his race car lost control, careened off the path, and hit a tree. He died instantly. The second victim had a near-fatal accident that injured him severely. Last but not least, the dealer sold the tires off the car, and yes, you guessed it, the customer’s tires blew off simultaneously, causing more injuries.
Convinced the Spyder 550 had a curse, the dealer displayed the wreckage for a road safety cause. Yet, while the car sat in storage, the garage burned down, the car hauler died, and the car fell on a student! Wow! The owner arranged for the car to return to Los Angeles to protect the public. While returning home, the car disappeared. As of this date, there is no credible evidence of its existence anywhere.
Spooky is an understatement.
I hope all of you are well. Until next month!
Harper.