While the general public know James Dean as a movie star, most readers will remember him best for his love of fast cars, especially Porsches.

Words: Eoin Young Photos: Terry Marshall

Fifty years to the weekend that saw movie star James Dean lose his life in a road accident driving his new Porsche 550RS Spyder to a race in California, I borrowed a gloriously sleek look-alike Spyder, created by former Kiwi racer Graham McRae.

The name Spyder was first seen on a Porsche at the London Motor Show in 1954, and the stage was set for international competition in 1955

This locally designed and built Spyder was the first of a series that McRae began manufacturing in 1993, and was based around a 2.0-litre Porsche 914 with a five-speed gearbox. McRae was a technical perfectionist, and his Spyder is the spitting image of the originals built by Porsche in 1954 and 1955. The name Spyder was first seen on a Porsche at the London Motor Show in 1954, and the stage was set for international competition in 1955.

Tight fit

The seat adjustment on the McRae Spyder is accomplished with a spanner, which meant that I was a bit too cosy with the steering wheel as the car’s owner is even more altitudinally challenged than I am. I recall that the Ford GT40 was always promoted as ‘the car you have to be measured for’ — but this was because the seat was fixed and the pedals had to be adjusted. I was reminded of this as, in preparation for my road test of the McRae, other adjustments of a more personal nature came when it was suggested that I would somehow become more comfortable if the seat squab was removed. It gave me more gut room, and I was now literally getting the feel of the Spyder through the seat of my pants.

The fibreglass body is silver blue, echoing the factory cars that raced in Europe. I had an image of a Spyder etched in my mind ever since I saw a 1950s book of motor racing art by the German artist Carlo Demand. He drew the excitement of Hans Herrman and his co-driver ducking under level crossing gates on the 1955 Mille Miglia, diving across just in front of an Italian train. Years after doting on that picture in a book I could never afford to buy as a schoolboy, I received an email from Carlo Demand seeking a book from my UK memorabilia stock. I replied, telling him of my favourite picture, and by sheer chance he still had the original, which I bought from him, having by now graduated from impecunious schoolboy status. By further chance, Herrman turned up to the annual gathering of the Ancien Pilote’s club at Monaco a few years ago, and he was signing copies of that same Mille Miglia drawing. It was his favourite as well.

The Dean connection

A young German mechanic, Rolf Wütherich, worked in Johnny von Neumann’s Porsche dealership, and he jumped at the chance of accompanying James Dean, the exciting movie star, to a race at Salinas in the road-going racing sports car Dean had just bought.

Wutherich was 28 and had worked at the Porsche factory from the early days in 1950, with experience on the works cars at Le Mans, Rheims, Avus and the Mille Miglia in 1953 and 1954. Only 90 of the 550RS competition versions would be built, and it was Wütherich who recommended Dean as a suitable customer. He had a ‘name’ and he had basic talent, even though he had competed in only three races. The 1500cc four-cylinder engine in the racer gave 74.5kW (100bhp) at 6200rpm. Before that, James Dean had raced a 1500 Speedster. It cost Dean $25,000 and he christened it ‘The Little Bastard.’ Porsche’s new model had performed well in the Mille Miglia that summer, winning the class and finishing eighth overall. In the 24-hour race at Le Mans a Spyder 550 won the Index of Performance. Six cars were entered and five finished.

Rebel Without a Cause

James Dean seemed to do things in threes. He had fame as a movie star and yet, at 24, he had been in only three major movies. The Dean legend started with Rebel Without a Cause. His other blockbusters had been East of Eden and Giant, both of which debuted after Dean’s death and earned him the uncertain honour of being the first actor to receive an Academy Award nomination posthumously for his role in East of Eden, and the only actor to receive more than one posthumous Oscar nomination. Dean, who had already sampled speed on two wheels with a Harley Davidson, didn’t really conform to film star standards of behaviour, and his romances with starlets were invented by the PR department at Warner Brothers. His idea of getting down and dirty was to work on the engine of his Porsche.

Dean, who had already sampled speed on two wheels with a Harley Davidson, didn’t really conform to film star standards of behaviour

His first race was at Palm Springs in March 1955, a six-lapper for production sports cars 1300-1500cc with a mix of Porsches and MG TFs. Dean won in his 1500 Speedster. The next day he ran in the 27-lap for sports cars under 1500cc, and he ended up third overall and first in class. As far as the eager young Dean was concerned, he had won again. Being beaten by such as Ken Miles and Cy Yedor in their MG Specials was simply an accolade. Next time out at Minter Field near Bakersfield in Southern California, at the end of April, the racing was harder. The field for the SCCA meet was stronger, but Dean was still third overall in the under 1500cc production class. The next day in the open under-1500cc class he was ninth overall and second in class.

He entered the Speedster at races in Santa Barbara in May, and again in September, but he never showed. It seemed that the movie moguls were worried their young superstar could ruin their shooting schedules if he were to crash his Porsche in a weekend race. While Dean was working out his star roles in his Hollywood epics in 1955, Warner Brothers bosses forbade him to race. It was not because he would have been distracted, they wanted to avoid the chance of an accident that could delay shooting — or worse.

After his disappointing showing at Santa Barbara in the 356 Speedster, Dean decided he was ready for a faster car. Having already admired Porsche’s 550 Spyder, Dean went to see the US Porsche distributor, John von Neumann (who also raced a Spyder), and was promised one of the factory’s first US-bound 1955-model  Spyders. Anxious for a faster car, and unsure whether Porsche could deliver his new Spyder in time for the new season, Dean also ordered a Lotus X, in which he planned to install an Offenhauser engine.

However, the deal with Lotus fell through and, as it happened, the promised shipment of Porsche Spyder’s arrived in time, landing in the US on 16th September. On the night before the Giant premiere, Dean got his first look at his new car when he drove down to von Neumann’s showroom on Vine Street. A few days later, Dean test-drove the Spyder and struck a deal with von Neumann, trading in his Speedster and US$3000 to acquire the new Porsche. With all the publicity for Giant now been completed, Dean was eager to go racing with his new car. Not everyone shared his enthusiasm. When he showed the Porsche racer to thespians Alec Guinness and Grace Kelly he bragged it would do 240kph. Guinness apparently told him that he thought it looked dangerous; that if he drove it he would be dead within a week. Six days later he was proved right.

Fateful journey

To run in his new Porsche, Dean and Wütherich decided to drive it to the Salinas track by road, rather than trailer it. His mates would follow in a Chevrolet station wagon. History was following Dean. Carl von Delius was driving the Chevrolet. He was known as ‘Charlie’ in laid-back California, and was von Neumann’s PR man and brother of German racing driver Ernst von Delius, who had been killed in an Auto Union in the 1937 German GP on the Nürburgring. Von Delius had been battling with Dick Seaman’s Mercedes when the Auto Union leaped a hump-backed bridge on the long undulating finishing straight and landed askew, taking Seaman’s car with it. The Auto Union careered through a wire fence, went end-over-end twice and finished up outside the circuit on the Koblenz road. Von Delius died of his injuries the following morning.

The guys in the Chev had caught up, and one told Dean to take it easy; that his movie career was going to be more important than his car racing

There was a lot of fate about on that morning of the last day in September, 1955. Charlie took a photo of the pair in the Porsche on Dean’s camera before they set off. Dean was holding Rolf’s hand aloft, shouting, “Hi! We’re going to win!” At their first stop for gas they met up with Lance Reventlow, who was having one of his first races at Salinas in a new 300SL Mercedes. In later years he would build the famous Scarab sports cars, and eventually mount a losing attempt on taking a front-engined car to the European Grand Prix races. They arranged to meet for dinner that evening. It was an appointment that couldn’t be kept.

Dean had a Coke, Rolf ate an apple and remembered saying to Dean, “Now don’t you run wild in this race. There’s a big difference between a 1500 Super and a Spyder. Feel your way first.” The guys in the Chev had caught up, and one told Dean to take it easy; that his movie career was going to be more important than his car racing. Dean grinned and said he’d be a good boy.

Final moments

As it turned out, Dean’s death was not really of his doing. It was a case of being in the wrong place in a long-slung silver racer, at the wrong time. It was 5.45pm and sun was low as they approached a junction where turning traffic had to give way. A 1938 Ford, driven by a Californian Polytechnic student with the unlikely name of Donald Turnupseed, was approaching the ‘stop’ sign to turn left onto the main road. In those days in that part of the world a stop sign meant you slowed down, and if nothing was coming you motored on through. Turnupseed was the same age as the man he was about to kill. “I did not see the Spyder,” he said later. “I only saw it when it was too late.”

James Byron Dean had a saying of his own: “Dream, as if you’ll live forever. Live as if you’ll die today¦

James Dean was killed instantly and Wutherich was thrown out of the car, clear over the intersection, suffering serious head and leg injuries. It was the end of a career that had barely begun. The Eagles penned a lyric that seemed to sum up the carefree young star in the Porsche: “Too fast to live, too young to die.” James Byron Dean had a saying of his own: “Dream, as if you’ll live forever. Live as if you’ll die today¦”