Another installment from Morrissey’s ever engrossing book ‘James Dean is not dead!’. You may be wondering why I’m bothering to post this shit up, no? Well, it’s easier than actually writing entries yourself. I’m busy. I have a life, man. This next tid-bit tells of Jimmy’s arrival in New York City and landing a part in East of Eden. Chronology be damned.
But first a word from the author himself-

“I saw Rebel Without A Cause quite by accident when I was about 6. I was entirely enveloped. I did research about him and it was like unearthing Tutankhamen’s tomb. His entire life seemed so magnificently perfect. What he did on film didn’t stir me that much but as a person he was immensely valuable.” – Le Mozz.

At 20, James Dean arrived in Manhattan for the first time.
Dean: “New York overwhelmed me. For the first few weeks I only strayed a couple of blocks from my hotel off Times Square.”
Dean spent most of his money seeing movies. He moved into a room at the YMCA but lived in isolation, his only contact with people being at the drug store where he found a job as a counter-man. Rogers Brackett suggested that his friend pursue TV director James Sheldon. Dean did so, and Sheldon passed the budding actor on to the Louis Schurr Agency. Here he was interviewed by Jane Deacy, who decided to take him on as a client.
Deacy gave Dean great encouragement and found him the part of Bachir in Billy Rose’s play The Immortalist, which told the story of a man who marries only to discover on his wedding night that he is homosexual. The man discovers this with the help of Bachir (Dean), an Arab boy, who decides to seduce his older friend. Dean was singled out by critics for special praise. Elia Kazan saw The Immortalist and realised that Jimmy was ideal for the role of Cal in an adaptation of John Steinbeck’s East of Eden which would be Kazan’s next venture.
Night and day Jimmy walked the city, never holding down a romance, but flitting in and out of people’s lives. He had no need for ‘love’, and indeed saw no real need for the permanent affections of anyone. By now he was living in a set of rooms at the top of an old building on West 68th street. Here he spent many nights of solitude, listening to his jazz records, or reading his books. He never bought clothes, spending most of his money on records and books. He would never eat at expensive restaurants, but frequented Cromwell’s coffee bar.
What will happen next? In other news: Don’t pick mushrooms in Australia! What a total Bummer. Come on mate, bit of a laugh mate.