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Hi listeners, it's Carter Roy Happy America 250. If you want to binge all four parts of our limited series about the crimes that built America, ad free, subscribe to Crime House Plus. With Crime House plus, you'll get all four episodes right now instead of waiting. You'll also get every episode of Murder True Crime Stories and the rest of the Crime House shows ad free and released early. To join, go to crimehouseplus.com or if you're listening on Apple Podcasts, tap try free at the top of this show's page. This is crime house. Behind every success story, there's a family that gave up everything to make it happen. Parents who work double shifts. Siblings who shared bedrooms and wore hand me downs. Years of sacrifice that nobody talks about because all anyone sees is the finished product, the kid who made it. We call it a rags to riches story and talk about it like it happened overnight. But that's almost never the case. And it certainly wasn't for the Mineo family from the Bronx. Their son Sal was a scrappy kid who loved to act and dance, and they believed in him when nobody else did. They scraped together every dollar they had, put him on the subway to Manhattan, and watched him work his way from a one line part in a Broadway play to starring alongside James Dean in Hollywood. But the fairy tale that the Mineos sacrificed so much to build, it didn't end happily ever after. Not even close. People's lives are like a story. There's a beginning, a middle and an end, but you don't always know which part you're on. Sometimes the final chapter arrives far too soon, and we don't always get to know the real ending. I'm Carter Roy and this is True Crime Stories, the Crime House original. Powered by Pave Studios. New episodes come out every Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, with Friday's episodes covering the cases that deserve a deeper look. Thank you for being part of the Crime House community. Please rate, review and follow the show and for early ad free access to every episode, subscribe to Crime House plus on Apple Podcasts. This is the first of two episodes on the 1976 murder of actor Sal Mineo. Today I'll take you from Sal's childhood in the Bronx, through his early years on Broadway and all the way to Hollywood, where a chance audition changed his life forever. Next time, we'll follow Sal's rise to the top in the free fall that came after. By the mid-1970s, he was broke and desperate for a comeback. He thought he'd finally found one. But before he got the chance to see it through, his story came to an abrupt end. All that and more coming up. On this show. We're always digging for the truth, yet modern healthcare remains one of the greatest mysteries of all. Everyone deserves real medical support. And that's why I want to talk about Mochi Health. Mochi is a nationwide platform that's bringing humanity and transparency back to healthcare by treating your unique biology. Not a fad. They've already helped 400,000 members lose over £5 million. And while they lead the way in weight loss, Mochi is now a full scale Marketplace for over 120 treatments ranging from hair and skincare to longevity, mental health and specialized men's and women's health. After you complete an eligibility form, you'll receive a telehealth evaluation with a partnered provider on Mochi's platform to build a plan personalized for your specific body and goals. You'll have 247 access to your provider and specialized medications from a network of licensed pharmacies delivered right to your door. No waiting rooms or hidden fees. You just pay for your membership and your medication. It's personalized care that actually treats you like a human being. Stop leaving your health a up to an algorithm. Go to joinmochi.com. Sal Mineo's Father Arrived in America with Nothing Salvatore Mineo Sr. Had grown up in Sicily, Italy. By the time he was 16 years old, Mussolini's fascist government had run the economy into the ground. So Sal Sr. Got on a boat and quite crossed the Atlantic, hoping things would be better on the other side. They weren't. Not right away at least. He landed in New York in the middle of the Great Depression and work was hard to come by. He bounced around doing odd jobs, but he was best at working with his hands. He picked up carpentry from local tradesmen and when he wasn't helping them, he carved little wooden figurines to sell on the street. Sal Sr. Spent his days just trying to survive, but he was also looking towards the future and he knew exactly who he wanted to spend it with. We don't know how he met Josephine Alvisi, but we do know she made him work for it. She was also 16, the daughter of Italian immigrants from Naples, though she'd been born in America and she flat out told this Sicilian boy that she wouldn't go out with him until he learned to speak English. Most guys would have moved on, but Sal Sr. Wasn't the type to back down from a challenge. He started studying and picked up the Language fast. Josephine was impressed by his English and by the fact that he never stopped hustling. He wasn't flashy or loud about it. He just showed up every day and put in the work. Nat told Josephine everything she needed to know. She and Sal got married in 1931 when they both turned 18 and settled into a small apartment in an Italian neighborhood in the Bronx. Sal Sr. Had steady work as a cabinet maker by then. It didn't pay much, but they got by. That was until the babies started coming. Victor arrived in 1935, then Michael in 1937. And then on January 10, 1939, Josephine had another boy. In Sicilian families, the third son is named after his father. So the baby was Salvatore Jr. From the start, but everybody called him Sal. With three boys to feed, Sal Sr. Took a job at the Bronx Casket Company and worked his way up to Forman. The promotion meant longer hours and more responsibility. But the extra money still wasn't enough for a family of five living in a three room apartment. Sal and his brothers didn't just share a bedroom, they shared a bed. Every shirt Sal ever wore had been Victor's or Michael's first. But the tight quarters and hand me downs didn't bother him. He looked up to those two. But Sal wasn't the baby for long. When he was about 2, Josephine had a girl who they named Serena. Around this time, Josephine started telling Sal Sr. That he needed to open his own shop. She'd watched him pour himself into somebody else's business for years. The way she saw it, all that work should be building something for their family. There was a problem though. They didn't have enough money to start a business. But the Mineos had deep roots in their neighborhood. And when word got out, friends and neighbors invested what they could. It took a few years to pull together, but in 1946, Sal Sr. And his brother opened Universal Casket Co. Right in the basement of their apartment building. At first it was a bare bones operation. Two models of casket handmade by Salvatore Sr. And displayed in a tiny showroom building. And selling them was a full time job on its own. But there was a whole other side to running a business that somebody had to handle. Josephine scraped together $160, about $2,600 in today's money to take a business course. After that, she ran the books and handled the sales. Between her and Sal Sr. They were working around the clock. Since the shop was right downstairs, the kids were always around. And with three rowdy boys, that was probably for the best. They got along fine most of the time. Climbing fire escapes, playing stickball in the street, that sort of thing. But Sal and Michael were the troublemakers. Those two were always cooking up some prank, dropping water balloons off the roof onto whoever was unlucky enough to walk by. Pranks like that were exactly why Josephine wanted the kids close. So more often than not, they ended up in the shop with their parents. And once they were old enough, everybody got a job. The older boys helped build the caskets, while Sal watched his little sister. He would have rather been outside with his friends, but even as a little kid, Sal understood the deal. Everybody pitched in. Money was tight, and it would stay that way for a while. The Mineos had investors to pay back before they could keep a dime for themselves. But Josephine drew the line in certain places. Her children's education was one of them. She was a devout Catholic, and all four kids went to local Catholic school. Sal was a decent student, smart, but easily bored. Then, when he was 8, the nuns asked him to play the boy Jesus in a church pageant, and everything changed. At first, Sal wasn't sure about it. Part of him wondered if pretending to be the savior was some kind of sin, and part of him was just scared he'd mess it up. But he said yes. And once he did, he threw himself into it completely. He took the script home, memorized every word, and then started reading other material to get deeper into the character. In one of the books, he came across a picture of young Jesus holding a staff like a big walking stick. Sal got it in his head that he needed one, or the whole thing would feel wrong. Everyone told him it wasn't necessary, but he couldn't let it go. On the day of the show, he spotted a fire hook hanging on the wall in the hallway. A long wooden handle with a sharp metal tip meant for emergencies. He grabbed it and took it on stage with him. After that performance, Sal couldn't stop thinking about how it felt up there. The rush, Standing in front of a crowd, becoming somebody else for a few minutes. He'd never felt anything like it, and he loved every second of it. Unfortunately, acting didn't win him many friends. Sal was small for his age, which already made him a target. And the bullying at school was relentless. But Sal was the kind of kid who hit back every single time. He won a few of those fights, too, which made his brothers proud and his teachers furious. In fourth grade, he got expelled for fighting. Josephine got him into another Catholic school. But the same thing happened. More fights, another expulsion. And it wasn't Just at school, around the neighborhood. Sal had a reputation. If somebody came at him or his brothers, he was swinging. Josephine was desperate to get her kids somewhere safer. Luckily, the casket business had finally turned a corner. By then, they'd paid back their investors and there was real money coming in. So they bought a fixer upper on East 217th street in the Olenville section of the Bronx. It needed work, but. But compared to where they'd been, it felt like a different world. The kids all got their own rooms for the first time in their lives. There was a yard, open fields to run around in. A far cry from the cramped apartments above the casket shop. Josephine hoped the change would settle Sal down. It didn't. He started at the local public school and got jumped into in the bathroom on his first day. He fought back, which meant the bullies kept coming and the cycle continued. But it wasn't just about his size. There's something else about Sal that the other boys picked up on. A creative streak that set him apart from the other neighborhood kids. That side of Sal came out at home where he felt safe enough to let his guard down. Josephine had gotten him hooked on movies when he was young, and the ones that really grabbed him were the musicals, especially anything with Fred Astaire. He'd sit in front of the TV and watch a stare glide across the screen, completely mesmerized. The memory of that church pageant hadn't faded either. That feeling of being on stage, of becoming someone else, still pulled at him. Then, in 1948, a stranger showed up and gave Sal his first real shot at chasing it. Sal was playing outside with some friends and his sister Serena when a man walked up and asked if any of them wanted to be on tv. All they had to do was sign up for singing and dancing lessons. Sal didn't buy it for a second. He started singing and dancing right there on the spot, just to mock the guy. But the man watched him for a minute, then asked to speak with Josephine. She took his card, but she didn't trust him either. It didn't matter. The idea had already taken hold in Sal's head. That night, the whole family sat down and talked it over. Sal begged for the lessons, and his parents could see the logic. They'd been looking for anything to keep him busy and out of trouble. And here was something that actually excited him. They said yes. That one decision set Sal on a path that would take him from the Bronx to Broadway and eventually all the way to Hollywood. It would bring him everything he ever wanted. And it would would cost him everything too. On this show, we're always digging for the truth. Yet modern healthcare remains one of the greatest mysteries of all. Everyone deserves real medical support. And that's why I want to talk about Mochi Health. Mochi is a nationwide platform that's bringing humanity and transparency back to healthcare by treating your unique biology. Not a fad. They've already helped 400,000 members lose over £5 million. And while they lead the way in weight loss, Mochi is now a full scale Marketplace for over 120 treatments ranging from hair and skin care to longevity, mental health and specialized men's and women's health. After you complete an eligibility form, you'll receive a telehealth evaluation with a partnered provider on Mochi's platform to build a plan personalized for your specific body and goals. You'll have 24. 7 access to your provider and specialized medications from a network of licensed pharmacies delivered right to your door. No waiting rooms or hidden fees. You just pay for your membership and your medication. It's personalized care that actually treats you like a human being. Stop leaving your health up to an algorithm. Go to joinmochi.com Such an ordinary thing to walk home from high school. Her name was Mickey Costanzo. Just 16. She didn't have far to go. Seemed perfectly safe. Until it wasn't. What happened to Mickey? I'm Keith Morrison and this is five Miles From Home, an all new podcast from Dateline. Search five Miles From Home to start listening now. In 1948, nine year old Sal Mineo walked into a dance school in Manhattan for the first time. Josephine had taken him to the place the stranger recommended, and they were right not to trust the guy. He had nothing to do with the school. But there was a spot open, so Sal enrolled. The tuition wasn't cheap, and that was before you factored in the required headshots, recital fees and costumes. Money was already tight at home, but Josephine made a deal with the school. She'd handle their bookkeeping and admin work in exchange for a break on the cost. And since she had to ride the subway with Sal every time anyway, she figured she might as well bring little Serena along and sign her up too. It was worth it. Sal was happier than she'd ever seen him, and he took those lessons seriously. So seriously that Josephine started worrying he was missing out on being a regular kid. He'd lock himself in his room and practice for hours at a time until she kicked him out of the house to go play with his brothers. Before long, his teachers couldn't keep up with him. So Josephine found a bigger school. The Mary Moser Dance Academy in Manhattan had more classes, more performance opportunities and a regular spot on a local TV show that aired Saturday afternoons. That got Sal's group noticed and they were invited to dance on another local program called the Ted Steele Show. For Sal, the dancing was turning into a real career path. But back at his public school, it only made things worse. The boys gave him a hard time about it. The fight started up again, and before long he was running with the street gang. As gangs went, this one was pretty tame. The occasional scrap with a rival group, some petty vandalism, small time theft, nothing serious. Until one day they got ambitious and decided to rob the school. Sal was the only kid skinny enough to squeeze through the basement windows. So he climbed in, grabbed a bunch of sports equipment and passed it out to his friends. Then they made what turned out to be a pretty bad decision. They stashed everything in Salvatore Sr. S casket showroom. We don't know exactly how, but they got caught. And for the first time in his life, Sal ended up standing in front of a judge. He got off easy with a stern warning and an assigned social worker. But it was a wake up call for Josephine. She sat down with a social worker and Sal's teachers to figure out what to do with him. And they all landed on the same conclusion. Sal wasn't a bad kid. He was a restless one. Too smart and too full of energy for a regular classroom. They just had to find the right outlet for it. That outlet turned out to be a professional performing arts School. By 1950, Sal was 11 and balancing the new school with his dance lessons in Manhattan. Josephine trusted him enough to get himself and Serena to the studio on his own. One December afternoon, he was leaning against the back wall there, waiting for his sister's class to end when a stranger walked up and said he was a casting agent. He handed Sal a card with an old address on the back. They were holding auditions tomorrow. The last time something like this happened, the guy had been full of it. But Josephine took Sal to the address anyway. And this time it was real. About 15 boys around Sal's age were lined up across the stage. Sal didn't even know what the show was. He just went for it. And he got the part. He'd be playing a young Italian kid named Salvatore in the Rose Tattoo, a brand new Tennessee Williams play headed for Broadway. Josephine looked at the contract and couldn't believe it. Sal would be making $75 a week. Around $900 in today's money. More than the casket business was pulling in. But the new career was came with costs that ate through most of it. His agent took 10%. And then there were union dues, photos and subway fare back and forth to Manhattan every day. And it wasn't just Sal riding the train. Josephine was right there with him, making the commute between performances, weekends and constant auditions. Sal's schedule got so chaotic that regular school stopped working. Josephine pulled him out and hired a private tutor at $500 a semester. When it was all said and done, Sal's acting career was actually costing the family money. But the Minos knew how to bet on themselves. They'd done it before scrimping and saving for years before the casket shop turned a profit. Now they were doing it again with their 11 year old old son. Sal saw all of it. His mom working extra jobs, his dad putting in longer hours, his older brothers picking up the slack at the shop. And he made himself a promise. He was not going to waste this opportunity. Rehearsals started two weeks after the audition. Sal figured he'd have a decent part. But it turned out to be one line right at the top of the play. He could have goofed off for the rest of the night and nobody would have noticed. Instead, he sat in the audience and watched the director work with the leads, soaking up everything he could. He studied the way Maureen Stapleton built emotion in a scene. How she could shift from rage to grief in a single breath. He watched Eli Wallach find the comedy in his character without ever making it feel forced. He paid attention to the director's notes, what got praised, what got cuts, what got reworked until it landed right. Sal was 11 years old and he was basically auditing a masterclass in acting without anyone knowing it. Then came opening night. The rose Tattoo opened February 3, 1951, at the Martin Beck Theater. The marquee, the crowd, the energy. Backstage, Sal took in every second of it. A year earlier, he'd been getting expelled and robbing his own school. And now here he was, 11 years old, standing on a Broadway stage in a Tennessee Williams play. That rush was unlike anything he'd ever felt. Whatever doubt was left about what he he wanted to do with his life vanished that night. Weeks later, the show won four Tony Awards. Best Play, Best Featured Actor, Best Featured Actress and Best Scenic Design. The Minos celebrated like Sal had brought home every single one. Josephine cooked a huge dinner. The neighbors came over. The same investors who'd put their savings into Universal Casket Company affairs earlier now had A kid from their own block performing in a Tony winning Broadway play. For everyone in that little Italian neighborhood, it was a moment of pride that none of them had seen coming. But Sal already had his eyes on the next thing. If he wanted to actually win something someday, he'd need bigger roles. He'd been pounding the pavement before the Tonys, and now he pushed even harder. Eventually it paid off when he landed the child lead in a play called the Little Screwball. Playing a street kid named Condido. It meant leaving the rose tattoo, but his brother Mike had been chaperoning him for long enough to know the roll cold. Mike stepped in and took over. Paycheck and all. The Little Screwball ran at the Westport Country Playhouse in Connecticut, which meant Josephine was back to commuting with Sal while Serena tagged along. It was a lot of back and forth, but they made it work. That was what the Mineos did. And eventually Serena even got a small part of her own. The show went well. Good reviews, a solid run. Then Sal landed another play, the Dinosaur Wharf, which got his picture in the New York Times. But this one bombed. It closed after just two days. That stung. But just when Sal started worrying his career might be over, he got a shot at the biggest musical on Broadway. The King and I had been running since March of 1951, and the the house was still packed. Every night in November, Sal showed up for a group audition to play the Crown Prince. He didn't realize they'd be asked to sing. And while every other boy had prepared something from the show, Sal hadn't. He ran to the nearest music store and grabbed the first sheet music. He found a goofy country number called Down Yonder that had absolutely nothing to do with do with the show. While every other boy had rehearsed something that actually fit, Sal was up there doing a bouncy country tune. He leaned into the silliness, had a blast doing it, and walked out completely convinced he'd blown it. He hadn't. It was enough to get him the understudy gig for the Crown Prince. Sal Mineo was officially back on Broadway, and as a young working actor, he was now eligible for the professional children's school in Manhattan. For Sal, that was huge. He was suddenly surrounded by kids with chaotic schedules and the same shared dream he had. Nobody teased him for wanting to act. They were all doing it. And a curriculum was built around their real lives. How to read from a script cold, how to take direction, how to carry himself in an audition. But more and more of his classmates were landing TV parts and small movie roles, and Sal was stuck in the wings. Night after night, he watched someone else play the crown prince while he waited for a turn that never seemed to come. It was torture for a kid with Sal's drive. He knew the part cold. He'd rehearsed it hundreds of times. He could hear every cue, feel every beat of the music, and picture exactly where he'd be standing if it were him up there. But the boy in the role wasn't going anywhere, and all Sal could do was wait. He begged Josephine to let him audition for tv. She said no. She thought he was pushing too hard and didn't want him to burn himself out. It was the first real fight the two of them ever had about his career. Josephine had no doubt her son was destined for stardom. The only question was what it would cost him to get there at the rate he was going. She could see only two ways this ended. Sal was either going to burn bright or burn out before he ever got the chance. On this show, we're always digging for the truth. Yet modern healthcare remains one of the greatest mysteries of all. Everyone deserves real medical support. And that's why I want to talk about Mochi Health. Mochi is a nationwide platform that's bringing humanity and transparency back to healthcare by treating your unique biology and not a fad. They've already helped 400,000 members lose over £5 million. And while they lead the way in weight loss, Mochi is now a full scale Marketplace for over 120 treatments ranging from hair and skin care to longevity, mental health and specialized men's and women's health. After you complete an eligibility form, you'll receive a telehealth evaluation with a partnered provider on Mochi's platform to build a plan personalized for your specific body and goals. You'll have 24. 7 access to your provider and specialized medications from a network of licensed pharmacies delivered right to your door. No waiting rooms or hidden fees. You just pay for your membership and your medication. It's personalized care that actually treats you like a human being. Stop leaving your health up to an algorithm. Go to joinmochi.com every day, something remarkable
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happened in history and on history. Daily, they tell the fascinating stories of what happened on that day. New episodes drop every weekday, each one under 20 minutes. That means you can start and finish a show anytime you need a quick hit of history. The stories cover it all. Famous battles, fashion firsts, medicine, science, technology, religion, politics, sports. Everything that made us who we are today. And here's the best part. Even if you think you know what happened on a certain day, you'll likely be surprised by the hidden details and amazing facts you've never heard before. Because at the heart of every episode is a simple truth. History is human History daily goes beyond names and dates to uncover the overlooked and forgotten human stories behind the events that shaped our world. Discover the past in a whole new way. Listen to history daily wherever you listen to podcasts
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by March 1952, 13 year old Sal Mineo and his mother mother were at a standoff. He had a steady gig as the understudy for the Crown Prince in the King and I, one of the biggest musicals on Broadway. But he wanted more. He wanted to be on tv. Josephine didn't think he could handle it. His plate was already full between the show and school. So when his agent called with a TV audition, she said no. But the family talked it over and and Josephine got outvoted. Sal went to the audition and booked his first on camera role, an episode of Hallmark hall of Fame broadcast live from NBC Studios. Every episode was a standalone story and Sal must have done well because he landed another one a couple months later. Then, In October of 1952, Sal finally got the call he been waiting for. The kid playing the Crown Prince had aged out of the role and it was Sal's turn to step up. He was nervous he'd be acting across from Yul Brenner, who just won a Tony for this exact performance. Everything Sal knew about Brenner came from watching him on stage, where he played the King as domineering and intimidating. South figured the real Brenner couldn't be that different. He was way off. In person. Brenner was warm and easygoing. He teased Sal like an older brother, but treated him like an equal when it came to the work. They didn't just run lines together, they had real conversations about acting, about what made an honest performance, about how to find the truth in a character. Sale had never had anyone like that in his life, someone who took him seriously as an artist. Brenner became a friend and a mentor, giving Sal books about the craft and asking what he thought about them later. But even with Renner's help, this role was harder than anything Sal had done. For the first time, he had to become someone else, completely different from himself. And no matter what he tried, that Bronx accent wouldn't go away. So he hired a private acting coach to work with him on transforming into other people. He studied how they talked, how they moved, how they carried themselves. It was grueling work. Sal would spend hours in front of a mirror trying to reshape the way his mouth formed words. He listened to recordings of different accents and practiced until his jaw ached. But slowly he started to get it. The Bronx didn't disappear entirely, but he could push it aside when the scene called for it. Brenner noticed the improvement and told Sal he was proud of him. Coming from Brenner, that meant the world. He was also learning that musicals were physically demanding and a way he hadn't expected. As he got into his teens, all that kid energy was starting to run out. Brynner put him on a weightlifting routine and taught him breathing exercises to help with his singing. Somewhere along the way, Sal noticed that all the working out was paying off in more ways than one. He'd always been a good looking kid with thick eyelashes and full lips, but now girls were starting to look at him differently. His little sister's friends were the most obvious about it, hanging around the house to watch him do yard work. Sal didn't mind. He liked the attention. But he kept his dating life quiet, especially around his Catholic mother. That was pretty much Sal's world until the King and I closed in March of 1954. The producers wanted him to join the touring company, but Josephine shut it down after two solid years of working and going to school at the same time. She wanted her son to just be a kid for a while. That lasted about three months. In June of 1954, Sal's brother Mike got called in to audition for a movie. And for once, Sal was the one tagging along. And the casting people let Sal read since he was already there. But they needed someone who looked like the actor playing the adult version of the character. Sal didn't fit the part, but Mike did, and he booked it. For a kid who'd never been that serious about acting, Mike was genuinely excited. This was his moment. Then about a week later, the lead actor dropped out. Tony Curtis came in to replace him and Sal happened to look a lot more like Curtis than Mike did. The studio called and gave the part to Sal instead. Mike must have been crushed. He'd finally gotten something that was just his and it was gone. But the rest of the family was so swept up in celebrating Sal's big break that nobody really stopped to think about how Mike was feeling. The movie was Six Bridges to Cross and they filmed it on location in Boston during the summer of 1954. Fifteen year old Sal went with a set guardian keeping an eye on him and the whole thing felt like acting. Camp every day on set taught him something he couldn't have learned on a stage. The other actors took him under their wing, sharing tricks of the trade. The crew showed him what they were doing and why. Sal soaked it all in. He'd grown up watching musicals on tv, pretending to be the leading man. Now here he was actually doing it, surrounded by people who'd been doing it for years. And he needed every bit of that mentorship because acting in front of a camera was a completely different skill from being on stage. Even the live TV work he'd done was basically theater. The director, Joseph Pevney, taught Sal how to pull it back. The camera caught everything, every twitch, every flicker. So the bigger gestures that work from a stage just looked overdone on film. It was a hard adjustment, but Sal was a fast learner. He wrapped filming that summer and went home. Josephine told him to be pickier about what he took next. So Sal had a normal summer for the first time in years, which was a good thing, because his life was about to get hectic once again. In November of 1954, Universal Studios needed him back in LA for reshoots and dubbing on Six Bridges. While he was out there, he auditioned for another film and landed a part as a military cadet in the private war of Major Benson. He barely had time to fly home for Christmas before heading back to start shooting. It was only his second film, but there were a lot of firsts. His first time on a soundstage where the controlled environment felt nothing like the open streets of Boston. And the first time he didn't really bond with his castmates, partly because they were probably a little jealous. Reviews for Six Bridges had dropped right before filming started and Sal got great notices. Casting agents around the studio lot started paying attention and one of them slipped him a script for a movie about teenage delinquents. It was called Rebel Without a Cause. In March of 1955, 16 year old Sal showed up to audition for a small part. Just another kid in one of the gangs. But from the moment he walked in, director Nicholas Ray couldn't take his eyes off him. Sal was way smaller than the other boys and his clean preppy outfit made him look like he'd wandered into the wrong audition. But that was exactly what caught Ray's attention. After watching Sal Reed, he realized this kid wasn't going to play a gang member at all. He was going to play Play doh, one of the film's three leads. He called Sal back for a second read. And this time Sal would be acting with the Movie star James Dean. His first major film had just hit theaters and he was already blowing up. For Sal, getting to read with James was a huge deal. The audition wasn't at the studio, though. It was at the Chateau Marmont, where the legendary hotel on Sunset Boulevard where all the Hollywood heavyweights hung out. Ray was living in one of the poolside bungalows. Picture a 16 year old kid from the Bronx walking through this place, past the pool, past whatever famous faces were lounging around to audition for a starring role in a major motion picture. It was a long way from East 217th street when James showed up. Sal was starstruck, but it went deeper than that. Although James was just 24, only eight years older than Sal, he had a presence that filled the room. Sal knew right away there was a lot he could learn from him. Not only that, but their chemistry was exactly what Ray had been hoping for. Sal had the same easy connection with with the actress playing the film's third lead, Natalie Wood. The three of them clicked, and Ray knew he'd found his cast. Filming kicked off on March 28, 1955, and the experience felt a lot like Sal's first movie. He clicked with the director and everybody on set fed off each other's energy. They shot all over Los Angeles for the next two months, from the Griffith Observatory to the Warner Brothers lot to neighborhoods across the city. Sal spent most of his time with Natalie, since they were both 16 and had to do three hours of school every day on set. Between that rehearsals and filming, the two of them were practically inseparable. And soon, James Dean, Natalie, Sal and another actor named Nick Adams had become a tight little group. For Sal, this was the first time he'd had a real circle of friends. Back home in the Bronx, he'd always been the outsider, the kid who got beat up for liking dancing, the one who didn't fit in with the neighborhood toughs. Even at the professional children's school, he was constantly working, never really getting to just be with people. But this was different. These four were going through something together, making something together. And they got each other in a way nobody back home ever had. But of the four of them, Sal and James were the ones who really clicked. They had this brotherly thing going, full of joking around and pranks, and James would sneak up on him between takes or they'd riff on each other's lines during downtime. Off camera, James was nothing like the brooding loner the press was turning him into. He was funny, restless and surprisingly generous with his time, especially with Sal. Who was still figuring out how to be in front of a camera. But there was something else underneath all the teasing, something people around the set started to notice and whisper about. Sal never confirmed there was a relationship, but years later he admitted that James was the first man he'd ever been attracted to. Growing up Catholic in the Bronx, that wasn't something Sal had ever let himself think about. But he couldn't pretend it wasn't there. Ray saw what was happening and told Sal to use it to let those feelings come through in his performance. It was part of why he'd cast Sal opposite James in the first place. Both Sal's and Natalie's characters were supposed to be captivated by James's, and off camera, they were. The guy just had that effect on people. Filming wrapped on May 26, 1955. The studio rushed it into post production because James star was rising fast. The three leads stuck around a few extra days for dubbing and reshoots. Sal was fine with that. These had been the best two months of his life, and he wasn't ready for it to end. For the first time, he'd been part of something that felt bigger than just a job. He'd found people who understood him, who saw the world the way he did. He didn't want to say goodbye to either of his co stars, but especially not James. They promised to stay in touch. James talked about future projects they could work on together. It felt like the beginning of something neither of them could have known that in less than a year, they would both get the call. Every actor dreams of an Oscar nomination, but only one of them would be alive to hear it. Thanks so much for listening. I'm Carter Roy and this is True Crime Stories. Come back next time for part two on the murder of Sal Mineo and all the people it affected. True Crime Stories is a Crime House original powered by Pave Studios. Here at Crime House, we want to thank each and every one of you for your support. If you like what you heard today, reach out on social media, rimehouse on TikTok and Instagram. Don't forget to rate, review and follow True Crime Stories wherever you get your podcasts. Your feedback truly makes a difference. And to enhance your Murder True Crime Stories listening experience, subscribe to Crime House plus on Apple Podcasts. You'll get every episode early and ad free. We'll be back on Thursday. True Crime Stories is hosted by me, Carter Robert and is a Crime House original. Powered by Pave Studios. This episode was brought to life by the Murder True Crime Stories team Max Cutler, Ron Shapiro, Alex Benedon, Natalie Pertzofsky, Alyssa Fox, Megan Hannam, Cassidy Dillon, and Russell Nash. Thank you for listening. Mom, can you tell me a story?
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Nope.
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