The one who is rarely,
if ever, discussed is
Donald Gene Turnupseed,
the driver who
collided with James Dean
on the 13th of September
in ’55.
The sun was in his eyes
as he made the left onto
Route 466 (now 46).
Photos of the crumpled
Porsche Spyder
plastered gazettes,
heralds, and newspapers
tossed by young
all-Americans into
the mouths of driveways.
But no one wrote about
Turnupseed’s 1950
Ford Tudor, with its
split windshield
and three-on-the-tree
transmission that
took him fourteen months
to save up for.
One journalist compared
Turnupseed to John Wilkes
Booth, forcing him to
stay in his room for a couple
of weeks, drop out of classes
at Cal Poly State, and gift
his white tees and leather
jacket to Frankie, a boy
down the road.
Turnupseed lived quietly
from that point forward,
reading crime novels in bed
and trying marriage out twice
with a Barbara and a Mollie,
who both assured him
accidents happened and
that Dean was cited
that very same day
for speeding.
Turnupseed owned and operated
a successful electrical business
for most of the years
after the crash.
He rarely drove 466 again,
except when there was no
alternative, and he always
slowed down at the
intersection, heard metal
bend, saw “One-Speed Dean”
face down on the asphalt,
spread across the dashed
center divider lane.
He didn’t know who
was in the oncoming car,
not that it would’ve made
a difference.
The sun beamed sharp that day,
hard and disorienting. Turnupseed
raised the volume of “Only You”
by the Hilltoppers. He was cozy in
his own world, thought he had
space, and whipped out too fast,
a rebel in his own right
that bright day in early ’55.
