Terrence Stephen McQueen, better known as Steve McQueen, was speeding down a Los Angeles highway at 110 mph. He was the epitome of the handsome, effortlessly suave Hollywood star, so much so that the American public had nicknamed him “the King of Cool.” But where would he be without his great uncle Claude, who had passed on to Terrence Stephen his lust for life, for fast cars and adrenaline? Claude had taught young Stephen everything he knew, back when his mother was splayed on the couch downing bottles of cheap liquor and his father was practising circus routines or touring the country. For Stephen’s fourth birthday, Claude had given him a red tricycle. Down on the sidewalk below their apartment block, little Steve never tired of pedalling as fast as he could, as far as he could, again and again. Now, sitting behind the wheel of his speedster, he smiled. That tricycle had been really something. After that, it was inevitable he’d end up getting into auto racing. Claude drove like an ace, though the cars he owned were nearly write-offs. He kept his foot heavy on the pedal, eating up the road like a starving cougar. Leaving Claude’s farm was always agony for Steve. When his mother remarried, she decided that he would be coming with her to a sad and miserable life, far from his idol. He’d been only eight years old, and had no say in the matter. Claude had gifted him a gold pocket watch with the inscription: “To Steve – who has been a son to me.”
Nobody believed in Steve; he was a dunce, half-deaf and dyslexic, and could not sit still. Everyone made fun of him, teachers and schoolmates alike. Back then he had been anything but the “king of cool.” At home the days were filled with violence, and his mother drank like there was no tomorrow. Sometimes he dreamt of escaping from that hell, when his stepfather beat him with a belt or shut him up with a backhand across the face. One day, he followed through on his dream. Life on the streets had its good side, but you had to be a real survivor and break the rules some. He joined a street gang, and was constantly getting into fights. He grew up in the dust of dirty sidewalks and came to know the cruelty of poverty, but he was free. Free as the air, and he didn’t have to explain himself to anybody. As the car sped along Los Angeles Boulevard, those memories felt vague and far-off. Steve McQueen could barely even hear the motor roaring. He squeezed the accelerator. It wasn’t revenge; he felt no remorse about leaving it all behind for California.
In 1974, Steve McQueen was the highest-paid actor in the world for his anti-hero roles, propelled to fame by the counter-culture of the 1960s. The King of Cool left an indelible mark on his admirers; the Persol sunglasses he wore in The Thomas Crown Affair fetched $70,000 at auction. Fans paid $276,000 for one of his cars, or as much as $2.31 million for his Ferrari 250GT. His Rolex Explorer II sold for $234,000. The list of memorabilia worn by Steve McQueen and later sold at auction is a long one. Decades after his death, the King of Cool is still a popular and influential figure – his personality continues to loom large in the female psyche, and as in the time of his great-uncle Claude, his accessories still fascinate men.
Alan Alfredo Geday