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320 pages, Hardcover
First published April 20, 2006
This was a beautifully written memoir of Bill's life, with a lot of James Dean in it. From when they met at UCLA in 1950, until Jimmy's unfortunate death in 1955. They became friends at first, though Bill secretly crushed on his handsome friend. They were roommates, then their ways parted for a while when Jimmy went to New York, but in the end they always found their way to each other again. When they went away together for a weekend to Borrego Springs, sharing a room, James finally invited William into his bed, asking him why he took so long.
But of course their relationship had to be kept secret; Jimmy, the rising moviestar, the dream of many women all over the world, could never reveal his sexuality. William understood and was fine with a role in the margins of Jimmy's life. And just as they both decided they would search for a place to live together - for the outside world as 'roommates and friends' - James was taken away.
When William describes his reactions to the phonecall he received about James's accident, I got goosebumps all over. The emotions, his grief is palpable. To imagine your best friend, the love of your life probably, be taken away from you just when you both had decided to chose a life together, that's absolutely impossible. And at such a young age. Such a promising, beautiful life gone in just a second.
The story continues with the author describing the aftermath of Jimmy's death. The tabloids, the rumors, the absurdity of how far fans would go in their admiration and grief. Guys who wanted to bed him because he had been the one in James Dean's bed, men who didn't want him for who he was, but just because he could tell them about James Dean. It's painful to read how he had to learn to be aware of people's sincerity and honesty.
Jimmy remains alive in my mind's eye, alive and forever young, as he was when we first met and when we last parted. Perhaps this should please me, yet, in fact, it saddens me. You see I never had the reward of watching him grow older, more mature, of watching him evolve into a long-loved friend and companion. On the other hand, I, in my mirror, grow alarmingly older, year after year, and now only vaguely familiar, while he, in ads, on book jackets, souvenir T-shirts, video covers, in ancient publicity photos, on never-ending television and cable reruns of his films, he remains alive and young and immediate. In this sense, it could be argued that he has fulfilled his fondest dream. He has become as immortal as any modern icon can hope to be. Eternally James Dean.
This is not a James Dean biography like any other. It's a recollection of memories, of a life spent with one of the few who made it to eternity. It's an interesting inside story of the man James Dean, not the actor. It's also an interesting view of time, of the fifties, of how life and morals were back then, of the Hollywood life. I really enjoyed William Bast's writing, his descriptions of time and places, of people and of his love for James. When this book was first published a year after James's death, it was highly censured, because the reality of their friendship could not be told yet. But like a friend suggested, William wanted to remember the real Jimmy, the man he had known and had called his best friend for five years. He didn't want to lose that image and that feeling in the hoax that started right after he died - the truth and untruth about him, the wild rumors, the false memories of people who just wanted their spotlight and used Jimmy for that.
I, for one, am happy that William decided to be honest and open in this 'new' biography he wrote several years later (in 2006). It's interesting to see how his life developed since then, and what the years did to create the mythical James Dean. He got to witness his friend and lover grow into eternity from the day he died, and yes, it must have pleased him, since it was the wish James had had - to be remembered for eternity. But it must also have saddened him. The constant reminder of the much too early passing of the man he loved.
For those who are remembering the dead, there is a vast difference between photographs and motion pictures. In photos, the dead are still and somehow safely distant; in movies, they come alive again and can be far too real to bear.
William Bast, the author of this book, sadly passed away in 2015. According to Wikipedia, he died of Alzheimer's disease. And that's one thing that really saddens me.