James Dean Remembered

60 years ago, James Dean sped into the California desert and died in his Porsche Spyder. The car went missing in 1960.

I was a huge JD fan. To say huge is an understatement considering in high school I made pilgrimages to his hometown of Fairmount, Indiana. Also where Jim "Garfield" Davis hailed from too. I would often travel with friends, the two hours there. We'd take the basic provisions and yap about life and philosophy and dream big. By the time we got to the grave site, we felt like a week had passed. It's changed lives. I think. I felt great in that town. It only existed for the town. On one memorable visit, I actually met his cousin, Marcus. Much older now, but still lived at the old Dean farmhouse. He came out to greet us. Generous friendly guy:

I had one of those fan books and showed him pictures. He looked at the images, almost removed from who that was. To him, it was just his cousin. To the rest of the world, he became an icon. He signed my book, and told us stories about his motorcycle rides with Dean.

The town itself is a character. Fairmount is unashamed about the love they have for JD. They have a festival every year. It seems the further we get from icons like him, the less the younger generation cared. The museum eventually whittled down from the original building. My fondest memory is of taking my college girlfriend there. We spent the night watching his movies and just wondering how amazing the short lifespan of 24 years could bring someone (as we were only 22). If you think about it now, he may as well be a teen. Which is what he's known for. Midwest to West Coast, I've haunted the other places he's visited here in Los Angeles. I don't think we'll have another one like him or Marilyn Monroe. We're just too cynical and too cool for school.

It's weird, 60 years. He would've been 84.