A longstanding rumor associated James Dean with BDSM, particularly a claim that Dean enjoyed receiving cigarette burns and had the nickname “The Human Ashtray.” The story appeared in Kenneth Anger’s original edition of Hollywood Babylon (1959, English trans. 1965) and was repeated in Anger’s Hollywood Babylon II (1984), from which Darwin Porter and Danforth Price used it in their 2016 pseudo-biography, James Dean: Tomorrow Never Comes. Although the claim quickly entered into entertainment industry lore, the source of the claim had been obscured by a particularly complex literary heritage.
The English translation nickname “Human Ashtray” likely derived from a surrealist piece of art Dean made with that title, though Anger originally used a slightly different French phrase (“Ashtray of Flesh”) that was also the title of surrealist Achille Chavée’s 1936 poetry collection. Most writers who repeated the BDSM claim knew it from its inclusion in Venable Herndon’s 1974 Dean biography James Dean: A Short Life. However, Herndon had quoted one line from the suppressed 1965 English translation, which inaccurately summarized the 1959 French original, a rare text that no writer or researcher read. Later, Anger combined these later writers’ expansions into a composite for his 1984 sequel, creating a circular conversation. The original claim, however, can be traced back to Anger’s friend Ned Rorem, a Pulitzer Prize-winning composer, who had recorded in his diary his lament that gay men preferred to dress like James Dean than in drag, along with evidence that gay men interested in BDSM had adopted Dean as an icon because they shared an affectation of pretended masculinity.
The English translation nickname “Human Ashtray” likely derived from a surrealist piece of art Dean made with that title, though Anger originally used a slightly different French phrase (“Ashtray of Flesh”) that was also the title of surrealist Achille Chavée’s 1936 poetry collection. Most writers who repeated the BDSM claim knew it from its inclusion in Venable Herndon’s 1974 Dean biography James Dean: A Short Life. However, Herndon had quoted one line from the suppressed 1965 English translation, which inaccurately summarized the 1959 French original, a rare text that no writer or researcher read. Later, Anger combined these later writers’ expansions into a composite for his 1984 sequel, creating a circular conversation. The original claim, however, can be traced back to Anger’s friend Ned Rorem, a Pulitzer Prize-winning composer, who had recorded in his diary his lament that gay men preferred to dress like James Dean than in drag, along with evidence that gay men interested in BDSM had adopted Dean as an icon because they shared an affectation of pretended masculinity.
Ned Rorem, New York Diary (George Braziller, 1967), 14 (entry for spring 1956).
America, the new compulsion—male impersonation. In his mépris [= contempt] of women a young man refuses to caricature them; he becomes instead a male impersonator by affecting leather and dungarees (male symbols, it seems). He attends S. & M. meetings (i.e., sadomasochist or slave-master) where truly gory doings are rumored. Yet, when I question Bill Flanagan about the details, the Third Avenue bartender, overhearing, intrudes: “Don’t kid yourself—they just hit each other with a lot of wet Kleenex!” Perhaps it’s in mimicry of divine James Dean (already immortalized by our Frank O’Hara); still, it’s a cause and not an effect: James Dean would not have existed without them.
Kenneth Anger, Hollywood Babylone (Pauvert, 1959), 10-11, 223.
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Original French Text
Les légions des fans sont constituees par cette jeunesse des high schools—les fameaux teenagers—qui a fait preuve à l’occasion de la mort de James Dean d’une mentalité inquiétante, morbide jusqu’à la nécrophilie. Pas le moins surprenant était « l’affaire » du masque de Dean: après sa mort en 1955 on en vendit des milliers à travers la Etats-Unis—quarante $ pièce—moulés en Miracleflesh, plastique flexible qui se réchauffé au toucher, imitant la chair et que les jeunes filles fétichistes en deuil apportaient au lit: autant d’apprenties Salomé…
Il faut d’ailleurs signaler l’existence d’un autre culte de Dean, à l’ombre: Jimmy était aussi pleuré par la Pédale, qui a cru reconnaitre un des siens, et surtrout regretté par le Chapitre Sadomasochiste, qui affirmait que Jimmy n’obtenait sa jouissance qu’avec courroies, coups de cravache et savants brûlures de cigarette: d’où son sobriquet, Le Cendrier de Chair… A part ces « homages » à Dean, des centaines de teenagers ont juré de se jeter du haut d’une falaise dans leurs bagnoles, pour l’anniversarie de sa mort, mettant les pays en émoi et la police sur les dents (l’heure venue, pourtant, ils se sont dégonflés). Les parents s’effraint de ces outrances de leurs rejetons; les mères oublient-elles donc leur propre hystérie à la mort de Valentino, cet autre dieu disparu en beauté du temps de leur jeunesse? C’est, après tout, dans la nature des choses. […] James Dean, Le Cendrier de Chair, à son tour, prend presque figure de has-been: parmi les légions de teenagers, son culte semble définitivement « enterré ». Si le buste de la star est toujours en place dans le « Hall des Immortels » de l’Université de Princeton, entre Platon et Socrate, les emblems, fétiches et masques en Miracleflesh son échus aux frères et soeurs cadets, étranges jouets pour remplacer les pistolets atomiques et les poupées. (La Pédale, pourtant, s’en souviendra encore, semble-t-il.) La farandole des fans qui défilèrent devant son tombeau, les jeunes filles « inconsolables » qui portèrent le deuil à la première de Géant ont fini par délasser l’ombre pour la proie, à la recherche de nouvelles idoles, pour nouveaux cultes. |
My Translation
The legions of fans are made up of these high school youths—the famous teenagers—who, on the occasion of the death of James Dean, showed a disturbing mentality, morbid to the point of necrophilia. Not the least surprising was the “business” of the mask of Dean: after his death in 1955 thousands of them were sold across the United States—forty dollars each—molded in Miracleflesh, a flexible plastic that warms to the touch, imitating flesh, and which young fetishistic girls in mourning brought to bed: so many apprentices of Salomé…
The existence should also be noted of another cult of Dean, in the shadows: Jimmy was also mourned by the homosexual, who thought he recognized one of his own, and he was especially grieved by the sadomasochistic set, who affirmed that Jimmy obtained his enjoyment only with belts, blows of the riding crop and skillful cigarette burns: hence his nickname, the Ashtray of Flesh… As part of these “tributes” to Dean, hundreds of teenagers swore to jump off a cliff in their cars, on the anniversary of his death, putting the country in turmoil and the police on the lookout (when the time came, however, they chickened out). Parents were frightened by these excesses of their offspring; did the mothers therefore forget their own hysteria at the death of Valentino, that other god who disappeared in beauty from the time of their youth? It is, after all, in the nature of things. […] James Dean, the Ashtray of Flesh, in turn, almost takes on the appearance of a has-been: among the legions of teenagers, his cult seems definitively “buried.” If the bust of the star is still in place in the “Hall of the Immortals” of Princeton University, between Plato and Socrates, the emblems, fetishes and masks in Miracleflesh have fallen to the younger brothers and sisters, strange toys to replace atomic guns and dolls. (The homosexual, however, will still remember him, it seems.) The lively dance of fans who paraded in front of his tomb, the “inconsolable” young girls who wore mourning at the premiere of Giant ended up deserting the shadow to catch their prey,* in search of new idols, for new cults.
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Kenneth Anger, Hollywood Babylon (Associated Professional Services, 1965), 181, 270
[Many men] “dig” sex assorted with beatings, boots, belts and bondage, like James Dean--spiced with knowing cigarette burns (which gave Jimmy his underground nickname: The Human Ashtray) . . .
[…]
James Dean, the flesh ash tray, almost becomes a has-been; among the legions of teenagers, his cult seems definitely “buried.” If the bust of the star is still in place in the “Hall of Immortals” at the University of Princeton, between Plato and Socrates, the emblems, fetishes and masks in miracle flesh have are handed down to younger brothers and sisters, odd toys to replace atomic pistols and dolls. (La Pedale, though, apparently still remembers). The procession of fans who filed past his tomb, the “inconsolable” young girls who wore mourning at the premiere of Giant, have deserted the shadow in order to pursue new idols, and new cults.
[…]
James Dean, the flesh ash tray, almost becomes a has-been; among the legions of teenagers, his cult seems definitely “buried.” If the bust of the star is still in place in the “Hall of Immortals” at the University of Princeton, between Plato and Socrates, the emblems, fetishes and masks in miracle flesh have are handed down to younger brothers and sisters, odd toys to replace atomic pistols and dolls. (La Pedale, though, apparently still remembers). The procession of fans who filed past his tomb, the “inconsolable” young girls who wore mourning at the premiere of Giant, have deserted the shadow in order to pursue new idols, and new cults.
Venable Herndon, James Dean: A Short Life (Signet, 1974), 48, 64.
Perhaps this drawing was partially responsible for Kenneth Anger’s assertion, in Hollywood Babylon, that Jimmy dug “sex assorted with beatings, boots, belts and bondage--spiced with knowing cigarette burns (which gave Jimmy his underground nickname: The Human Ashtray) . . . (ellipses in original)
[…]
Oral history at some of the leather-and-chain bars on the New York waterfront holds that Jimmy did some hustling himself during the early Hollywood days, that he was, in fact, an “instant hit with the fist-fuck set” because he would do things no one else dared to do.
[…]
Oral history at some of the leather-and-chain bars on the New York waterfront holds that Jimmy did some hustling himself during the early Hollywood days, that he was, in fact, an “instant hit with the fist-fuck set” because he would do things no one else dared to do.
Kenneth Anger, Hollywood Babylon II (Plume, 1984), 135.
Dean had taken to hanging out at the Club, an East Hollywood leather bar. The predatory night prowler, who dug anonymous sex, had recently discovered the magic world of S and M. He had gotten into beating, boots, belts, and bondage scenes. Regulars at the Club tagged him with a singular moniker: the Human Ashtray. When stoned, he would bare his chest and beg for his masters to stub out their butts on it. After his fatal car crash, the coroner made note of the “constellation of keratoid scars” on Jimmy's torso.
