“Of course you did, my dear,” Gish responded. “I was offered the role, but turned it down. When it was shown on television, I had another engagement.”
Two days later, Susan claimed that she had one big scene in The Cobweb. “I was a nervous wreck. I went out to take a breath of fresh air. As I was standing there, gasping for breath, Jimmy roared up on his motorcycle.”
“I came to take you for a ride,” he said. “Hop on!”
“I can’t leave. I’m due back on the set in a little while.”
“It won’t take that long,” he said. “It’ll relax you.”
“I really want to,” she said, “but I don’t know.”
“Then shit, do it!” he commanded. “C’mon!”
She later recalled, “I wasn’t used to hearing the word shit used around my family.”
Soon, she was on the cycle behind him, holding on for life. “The wind whipped my hair over my face, stinging me. I leaned closer, my face buried in his leather jacket.”
The next morning, Jimmy awakened early and paraded out from Ray’s suite in his briefs, jumping into the pool, perhaps hoping it would wake him up.
He became aware that there was another swimmer in the water. When her head surfaced, he realized he was staring into the face of Greta Garbo. He’d heard from Ray that she was in residence at the Château Marmont, occupying one of the penthouses.
“Morning,” he called to her. “I’m Jimmy Dean.”
“And I’m Harriet Brown,” she said, rather coldly, swimming away.
“That was the extent of my conversation with Miss Garbo,” he later told Ray.
***
For reasons rather obvious, Susan left out the behind-the-scenes details of her brief fling with James Dean.
Years later, in New York in the 1970s, Darwin Porter escorted her to a number of gala events, often followed by dinner at Joe Allen’s, where she preferred to go.
Gradually, she confided in him why she couldn’t write about her brief affair with Jimmy. She relayed how he took her to his rental property that looked like a hunting lodge, in the Hollywood Hills. “He took my virginity. I didn’t like it. Messy stuff, but he told me that the next time would be easier, smoother, and better.”
“He was right. I almost fell in love with him before he disappeared from my life. As the weeks went by, and he was away making Giant, I became pregnant. My mother denounced me and threatened to have Jimmy killed. She told me that my father must not find out. Vincente Minnelli knew this doctor. I had an abortion. Lee never found out.”
Many biographers have assumed it was lyricist Richard Adler who took Susan’s virginity. “I misled them. I told them that Richard was my first love affair. There’s a difference between a love affair and losing your virginity. After Jimmy, there were so many other men—Cary Grant, Richard Burton, Warren Beatty, even Marcello Mastroianni.”
Ten years after her seduction by Jimmy, Susan married actor Christopher Jones. Six months later, she gave birth to his child, Jennifer Robin. Ironically, Jones had long ago been labeled as “The New James Dean.”
In Bittersweet, she quoted Jones’ opinion of Jimmy.
“He was a great actor. A fucking saint. That’s why he had to die so young.”
“Chris was more obsessed with Jimmy than I was. In his private little study, he had at least six pictures of Jimmy on the wall. He looked more like Jimmy than all the other imposters wanting to carry Jimmy’s banner after his death. Chris wore his rebel badge with pride, and, like Jimmy, was a war with society. He started out with such promise. But there was this damn thing called drugs.”
“As the years have gone by, I’ve had two regrets. First, I didn’t have Jimmy’s kid. I was also up for the Luz Benedict II in Giant. For a while, I thought I had it wrapped up. I was looking forward to going on location with Jimmy. The last time I saw him, he dropped by our bungalow. One of my saddest moments was when he told me the role I had coveted had gone to Carroll Baker.”
Ramon Novarro Vs. Jett Rink
“BEN HUR WANTS MY HONEY”
—James Dean
Ramon Novarro, the Mexican-American actor once promoted by MGM as the greatest Latin Lover of the Silent Screen, attempted to come out of retirement to play a minor role in Giant, that of an itinerant rancher, “Old Polo.” He had thrilled audiences in the 1920s, reaching the peak of his fame in Ben Hur (released in 1925).
At a luncheon in the Warners commissary, director George Stevens introduced Novarro to Jimmy. The long-faded matinee idol “wanted desperately to meet this Jimmy boy.”
After a quick drink, Stevens departed, leaving the two actors, one from yesterday, one of them contemporary, to talk privately.
Mexican-American silent film star Ramon Novarro. “I was a bathing suit beauty,” he said.
Judging from his references, Novarro had heard that Jimmy was gay, and he wanted to share some advice about how a studio was likely to handle, if necessary, the possibility of a gay actor’s exposure.
During Novarro’s heyday, Louis B. Mayer, the MGM mogul, had wanted him to enter into what was known as a “lavender marriage” as a vehicle that might squash rumors that he was gay. “He tried to force me into a loveless marriage, but I refused, even when he told me he’d line me up with a lesbian star at MGM. He did not name her. I think it might have been Nazimova.”
“I stubbornly refused. I’ve heard that such a marriage is now being forced upon Rock Hudson.”
The lunch went quickly, but Jimmy was not turned on by Novarro’s adoration, especially when he told him, “I like to enjoy young men, such as yourself, who reward me with their honey.” Then he invited Jimmy to visit him at his residence that evening at eight o’clock.
Jimmy agreed, writing down Novarro’s contact information.
Ramon Novarro as Ben-Hur in 1925. Both he and James Dean had only one thing in common: Each of them would meet violent deaths.
Escorting the aging actor to his car, Jimmy gave him a passionate kiss on the lips, telling him, “I can’t wait. I won’t wear underwear.”
Apparently, Novarro was waiting at his home at eight o’clock and beyond. Surely by midnight, he’d realized that Jimmy had been putting him on, with no intention of ever showing up.
Jimmy later told Stevens about Novarro’s come-on.
“You shouldn’t play games with an old queen,” Stevens chastised him. “He was a big star worthy of respect. Didn’t you see Norma Desmond in Sunset Blvd.? One day you, too, may be a fading star being humiliated by young men. However, in your case, maybe not. You might not live that long.”
To add insult to his injury, Stevens had to call Novarro later that afternoon to inform him that he’d decided to give the role of Old Polo to character actor Alexander Scourby.
[On October 30, 1968, Novarro picked up two brothers, Tom and Paul Ferguson, thinking they were hustlers with whom he could have sex for pay. However, they had another motive in mind. Someone had told them that the fading star kept a huge stash of money at his home.
As the evening progressed, Novarro wanted them to come into his bedroom one by one to extract their “honey.” Paul had another plan: He and his brother tortured Novarro for several hours, trying to get him to reveal where the loot was hidden, but there was no stash of money in the house. The brothers had been misinformed.
After the two perpetrators left the building, Novarro died of asphyxiation, choking on a mixture of his own vomit and blood.
The Ferguson brothers were later caught and sentenced to long prison terms, but released on probation in the mid-1970s. They were later sent back to prison on unrelated crimes.
After his final release, Tom committed suicide in 2005 by cutting his throat in a Motel 6.]
Angela Lansbury & Joan Collins
CONSIDERED, BUT REJECTED. WERE THEY “TOO BRITISH?”
Susan Strasberg and Ramon Novarro were not the only actors rejected for lesser roles in Giant. Two of the most talented actresses in the entertainment industry were
also turned down.
Stevens had long been fascinated by the acting skills of British star Angela Lansbury, who had fled the London Blitz to come to America in 1940. He first saw her in Gaslight (1944), in which, at the age of eighteen, she had played a cockney maid, adding spunk to this film with Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer. She won an Oscar as Best Supporting Actress in her American debut. Amazingly, she was also nominated the following year for Best Supporting Actress. She was cast as Sibyl Vane, the music hall singer in the adaptation of Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray (1945).
For a while, Stevens thought she might play Rock Hudson’s butch sister, Luz Benedict. He finally decided, however, that in spite of her talent, she would not be convincing “as a Texas broad.” Instead, he opted for Mercedes McCambridge, figuring that she was more “dyke-like,” citing her performance opposite Joan Crawford in Johnny Guitar (1954).
After that, still intrigued with her potential, he considered her for the lesser role of Vashti Snythe, a plump, uncouth heiress, but eventually assigned it to Jane Withers instead.
After her second rejection, with a touch of bitterness, Lansbury was quoted as saying, “I thought in America it was three strikes and you’re out, not two strikes.”
For a brief time, Stevens considered casting one of the most talented Puerto Ricans, Rita Moreno, in the role of Juana, a Mexican girl who marries Dennis Hopper, son of Bick and Leslie Benedict. But at the last minute, he opted for the beautiful Mexican actress, Elsa Cárdenas, instead.
Angela Lansbury...Not butch enough.
[Actually, the role was too small for a performer of Moreno’s talent. She would go on to win all four major American entertainment awards, including an Oscar, a Grammy, a Tony, and an Emmy.]
Joan Collins, the sultry British brunette, was also under consideration by Stevens for a role in Giant, mainly as a backup possibility in the event something happened to Elizabeth Taylor that prevented her from performing her duties.
When Elizabeth came through, the offer was never pitched to Collins. Ironically, she later became the bewigged, bejeweled, bitch goddess of the hit TV series, Dynasty (1981-89), which—along with its competitor, Dallas (1978-91)—were said to have been inspired by Giant.
Joan Collins was considered as an alternative choice to star in two of Elizabeth Taylor’s most famous movies: Giant and Cleopatra.
Collins met Jimmy at a small dinner party in the San Fernando Valley. He later said, “I was with Ursula Andress that night, but I found Joan a hot little number. I staked her out for a big seduction in my immediate future.”
He never revealed if he fulfilled his sexual fantasy with Collins.
Collins remembered him in one of her memoirs: “He was intense, moody, and had incredible charisma. He was short, myopic, not good looking in life, really. You know who he was like? A young, better-looking Woody Allen. He had the same qualities of shyness, uncertainty, and insecurity.”
“I was particularly energized by his eyes, which were a deep, piercing blue and could change instantly from a look of sullen brooding to an expression of extreme mischievousness. He was quite short for a film actor and had longish, blonde, wavy hair.”
***
At long last, Stevens rounded up what he called his “Texas posse,” with supporting roles going to Mercedes McCambridge, Carroll Baker, Jane Withers, Chill Wills, Nick Adams, Dennis Hopper, Rodney Taylor, Earl Holliman, and Sal Mineo. Mineo told his gay friends, “With Hudson and Dean in the cast, I expect to get my ass pounded a lot.”
Warner Brothers summoned a press conference to introduce the stars of its upcoming Texas saga to reporters.
Jimmy was the last to arrive, appearing in a threadbare red flannel shirt, tattered boots, dirty blue jeans, a Stetson, and a large silver buckle on a cowhide belt that he claimed had once belonged to Roy Rogers. A cigarette drooped from the corner of his mouth, and he wore very dark sunglasses which he refused to take off for reporters. He claimed, “I had a hell of a fucking night, and I’ve got bags under my eyes.”
When Jimmy was introduced to Elizabeth Taylor, he was rude to her. He had a good reason to dislike her. She was still demanding that Stevens replace him with Montgomery Clift in the role of Jett Rink.
Leonard Rosenman, the composer of the musical scores for both East of Eden and Rebel Without a Cause, and who had been Jimmy’s sometimes lover back in New York, had not been able to get him on the phone in Hollywood. He decided to show up at the press conference, hoping to get a chance for a conversation. He wanted Jimmy to recommend him to George Stevens as a composer for Giant.
“I was shocked,” he later said. “Jimmy practically didn’t even acknowledge me. We’d never had an argument. But it was like he didn’t even know me, and I had been one of his best friends.”
“He told me he could not recommend me as a candidate for the composition of music for Giant. Dimitri Tijomkin got the job. I sensed that Jimmy had really changed, not gone Hollywood exactly. But he had become a big star—at least he was acting like one.”
“He claimed he hated Hollywood and detested the press conference, but the fucker actually got off on all the attention.”
“It’s like this,” Rosenman said. “In the land of the blind, even a one-eyed king stands out. In Hollywood, Dean could stand out as a New York intellectual, a regular Arthur Miller. After all, what was his competition? Bimbo starlets and directors and producers who used to be gas jockeys filling up your tank, or else attendants in wash rooms handing out towels.”
Hollywood’s Hottest New Star
JIMMY SUDDENLY RECEIVES DOZENS OF OFFERS FOR MOVIE ROLES
During the last month of his life, Jimmy was the most sought-after actor in Hollywood. Virtually every major studio wanted to cast him in some film, but in almost every case, Jack Warner was unwilling to lend out his most prestigious star. Some examples of the many offers swirling around him are elucidated below:
***
Both Marlon Brando and Jimmy were seen together one night at the Villa Capri, sharing a table and talking about the 1954 release of The Egyptian. Brando had turned down the role before it was sent to Jimmy, who also rejected it. The role was that of Sinuhe, a physician in the ancient Egyptian court, who sustains an affair with one of the Pharoah’s mistresses.
In this intimate scene from Giant, Jett Rink (Dean) is secretly in love with Leslie (Elizabeth Taylor), who is married to his boss, Bick Benedict. He conveys his longing for her with his eyes.
Director Michael Curtiz cast Edmund Purdom instead. In the final version, he appeared opposite Jean Simmons, Victor Mature, Gene Tierney, and Peter Ustinov.
***
Producer Lew Kerner wanted Jimmy to play the title role of Studs Lonigan. Its script would be based on the trilogy of Studs Lonigan novels by James T. Farrell, which today are ranked by Modern Library as one of the one hundred best English language novels of the 20th Century.
At the time of the Great Depression, Farrell set out to expose the evils of capitalism. Studs deteriorates from a tough, adventurous teenager to an embittered, physically shattered alcoholic.
During Jimmy’s short lifetime, the project never got off the ground, but in 1960, it was adapted into a minor movie featuring a young Jack Nicholson in one of his first film roles. In 1979, it was adapted once again into a TV series starring Harry Hamlin.
***
Billy Wilder wanted Jimmy to play the aviator Charles Lindbergh in The Spirit of St. Louis, set for release in 1957. The script was to depict the thirty-three hour transatlantic flight of the young aviator in his monoplane crossing the Atlantic. Setting a world’s record, he landed at Le Bourget in Paris on May 21, 1927, when it seemed that most of Paris turned out to give him a tumultuous welcome.
Even though he was the right age to play Lindbergh, and vaguely resembled him, Jimmy rejected the role.
At the time, although he was forty-seven years old, and Lindbergh at the time of his crossing was twenty-five, James Stewart was also vigorously campaigning f
or the role. He went on a diet, dyed his hair, and worked out every day, trying to beef up his beanpole physique.
In this still from The Spirit of St. Louis, a “too old for the part” James Stewart impersonates the twenty-something Charles Lindbergh in a role originally rejected by James Dean.
Jimmy had objected to the script because he wanted more spice in it. He wished to insert a scene showing Lindbergh picking up a waitress in a diner to seduce her before taking off from New Jersey. “It might have been his last chance for a good fuck,” Jimmy told Wilder.
He also wanted some scenes of a younger Lindbergh in flashbacks, before any footage depicting his transatlantic success, as well as an overview of his reaction to the kidnapping of his child in 1932.
“The audience has to understand the character,” Jimmy lectured Wilder, “or else I’ll be reduced to looking out at the clouds until I get to Paris.”
He later said, “I just couldn’t see myself sitting up there for thirty-three hours in that airplane, pissing in a jar.”
[If circumstances had been different, Stewart and Jimmy might have worked together on the same film, East of Eden. For a while, Elia Kazan considered casting the veteran actor in the role of Jimmy’s stern, puritanical father. But the role went to the more suitably cast Raymond Massey. Jimmy told Kazan, “Stewart is too lovable a character to play the mean father role.]
Wilder briefly considered casting Jimmy’s rival, John Kerr, in the role before finally giving in to Stewart. Upon its release, The Spirit of St. Louis—made for $6 million—was massively promoted as the saga of a hero who became the first person in history who was in New Jersey one day and in Paris the next. In spite of the hype, the movie failed at the box office, although some critics cited Stewart’s “boyishness.”
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