Illustration by Penelope Dullaghan

But that would have been unfair — especially to the legions of Dean fans who would beg to differ, and I knew I’d have to continue, even knowing that the rest of my article might not live up to the promise of that first sentence.

Other quotes came, of course: “He was kind of before my time,” we heard more than once, out of everybody from middle-aged lemonade retailers to college students working the poster booth.

As if on cue, a girl who looked about 6 or 7 appeared beside us, wearing a souvenir T-shirt three sizes too big, the famous wincing image covering half her body. “So you like James Dean?” I asked, trying to look friendly. She nodded. “Can you tell me why? Do you know what it is you like about him?”

“Is it that he’s cute?” Penelope offered, smiling down at the girl. “No,” the girl shot back, her eyes blazing. “It’s because he’s a great actor.”

Well, excuse me, Shortstuff. Teen angst seems to start earlier every year.

The mini-thespian was in the minority, though; most of the people we spoke with seemed much more interested in the “Fest” part of the James Dean Fest than the “James Dean” part.

This dismayed some of the Dean faithful, namely Margaret Stepp and Julie Hoeft, two lovely sisters manning the James Dean Fan Club booth. Margaret doubted if many in attendance had ever even seen a James Dean movie.

“This is just a fair,” she said, glancing around at the rock-climbing wall and the helicopter tours and the local police scooting past on ATVs. “If you really want to honor his memory or figure out what it’s about, go to the museum in Fairmount, or the festival in September, or heck, just watch East of Eden.”

We thanked her and headed off toward the parking lot, wondering why we’d driven all the way to Marion when we passed a video store not two minutes from our house. We climbed back in the car and nodded to each other, our lesson learned: We should have quit while we were ahead.