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Driven by Legend: A 2026 Retrospective on Steve McQueen’s 1957 Jaguar XKSS
Cool. Magnetic. Mercurial. These are the adjectives that invariably surface when the name Steve McQueen is invoked. Nearly a quarter-century after his passing, the mystique of “The King of Cool” remains potent, a cultural force that transcends generations. McQueen—born Terrence Steven McQueen—was a cinematic powerhouse, an elusive, anti-authoritarian figure who redefined the male archetype on screen. Yet, beyond the glare of the spotlight, his true passion lay not in the craft of acting, but in the visceral thrill of speed and the intimate relationship between man and machine.
For the true aficionados, the allure of McQueen isn’t just about the iconic films—the white-knuckle pursuit in Bullitt or the stark realism of Le Mans. It’s about the man himself, a walking contradiction who found solace in the roar of an engine and rebellion in the open road. He was a paradox wrapped in leather and denim: a dyslexic, often-homeless youth who ascended to the zenith of Hollywood superstardom, a man capable of profound tenderness yet plagued by demons that would ultimately claim him at the tender age of 50.
In 2026, as we reflect on the legacy of cinematic titans, McQueen’s shadow looms large. He wasn’t just an actor; he was a cultural phenomenon, a symbol of rugged individualism that resonated deeply with the American psyche. His contemporaries—Brando, Newman, Garner—etched their names in the pantheon of male icons, but McQueen possessed a raw, untamed charisma that set him apart. He was the “misunderstood bad boy,” as Faye Dunaway famously quipped, the kind of man who made women swoon and men aspire to emulate his effortless cool.
The Mechanical Muse: McQueen’s Lifelong Affair with Speed
From his earliest days, McQueen was drawn to the mechanical arts. His filmography reads like a curated automotive enthusiast’s checklist, each vehicle serving as a testament to his insatiable appetite for speed. In The Great Escape, it was the legendary motorcycle chase that etched him into the annals of cinematic history. In The Sand Pebbles, his connection with the powerful steam engine spoke volumes about his innate affinity for machinery. And who can forget the customized dune buggy he commandeered in The Thomas Crown Affair?
But it was two films in particular that laid bare the depth of his passion: Bullitt (1968) and Le Mans (1971). The San Francisco chase scene in Bullitt remains the gold standard for automotive action sequences, a masterclass in tension and vehicular ballet. McQueen, at the helm of a Highland Green Mustang Fastback, outmaneuvered a black Dodge Charger with a finesse that belied his off-screen persona. For car enthusiasts, this sequence is hallowed ground, a 10-minute symphony of exhaust notes and tire squeals that continues to captivate audiences decades later.
Le Mans, however, offered a more intimate glimpse into McQueen’s soul. This was not merely a film; it was a labor of love, a cinematic ode to the grueling world of endurance racing. McQueen poured his heart, soul, and substantial fortune into the project, determined to capture the raw, unfiltered reality of the 24 Hours of Le Mans. He drove the Gulf-liveried Porsche 917 himself, immersing himself in the sport he adored. The production was a logistical nightmare, a maelstrom of creative differences and personal turmoil, but the resulting film, despite its commercial struggles, became a cult classic, a benchmark for automotive filmmaking.
His famous line, “Racing is life. Anything that happens before or after is just waiting,” encapsulates his philosophy. For McQueen, racing wasn’t a hobby; it was an existential pursuit, a way of confronting mortality and pushing the boundaries of human endurance.
McQueen possessed a rare and undeniable talent behind the wheel. He wasn’t merely a celebrity dabbling in motor sports; he was a legitimate competitor, a man who could hold his own against the world’s best. His participation in the 1970 Sebring 12-hour enduro, alongside Peter Revson in a Porsche 908/2, remains legendary. Battling against faster, more technologically advanced machinery, McQueen and Revson clawed their way to a hard-earned second-place finish, separated from victory by mere seconds. It was a testament to McQueen’s grit, determination, and sheer driving prowess—a performance that silenced the critics and validated his place in the world of racing.
The Coveted XKSS: A Rare Gem in McQueen’s Collection
McQueen’s automotive odyssey began humbly with MGs, but as his star ascended, so did his garage. He amassed an enviable collection that spanned the spectrum of automotive excellence—Ferraris, Porsches, Cobras, and Packards. But among these mechanical masterpieces, one stood out as the embodiment of his racing soul: the 1957 Jaguar XKSS.
To understand the significance of this car, one must first appreciate the dominance of Jaguar in the 1950s. The decade belonged to Coventry, where the iconic XK series reigned supreme on both road and track. Building upon the success of the XK120M, Jaguar unleashed the legendary D-Type, a purpose-built sports racer that redefined the boundaries of performance and aesthetics.
The D-Type, designed by the visionary Malcolm Sayer and patronized by Sir William Lyons, was a masterpiece of engineering and artistry. Its aerodynamic monocoque chassis, innovative for its time, provided a rigid and lightweight foundation for the legendary XK DOHC inline-six engine. With its triple Weber carburetors and dry-sump lubrication, the engine produced around 250 horsepower, a formidable figure in 1950s racing parlance. The D-Type’s sleek, flowing bodywork, sculpted by Sayer’s aerodynamic genius, was a vision of speed even at a standstill. It was a car that didn’t just win races; it commanded attention, a rolling sculpture that perfectly blended form and function.
Jaguar’s dominance in endurance racing was nothing short of remarkable. The company secured an unprecedented hat-trick at the 24 Hours of Le Mans in 1955, 1956, and 1957, further solidifying its reputation as the premier sports car manufacturer of the era. These victories weren’t just for the factory team; privateer entrants, campaigning Jaguar D-Types, reaped the rewards as well, further cementing the car’s legendary status.
However, by the late 1950s, the winds of change were blowing through the world of motorsports. The 1958 season brought new regulations mandating 3.0-liter engines, a constraint that hampered the D-Type’s performance against the burgeoning might of Ferrari and Aston Martin. Jaguar, facing the prospect of obsolescence on the track, found itself with a surplus of D-Types—25 customer cars that no longer met the competitive demands of the era.
It was in this crucible of change that the XKSS was born. Faced with the challenge of finding buyers for their unsold D-Types, Jaguar conceived a daring solution: convert these pure-bred race cars into street-legal GTs. The transformation was a delicate balancing act, a blend of practicality and preservation. A full-width windscreen was added to replace the minimalist aero screens, a vestigial exhaust system was installed (albeit one that still posed a burn hazard to unwary passengers), and plush leather upholstery replaced the spartan racing seats. Removable side curtains and a luggage rack were grafted onto the bodywork, transforming the D-Type from a track weapon into a road-worthy machine.
A total of 16 XKSS models were produced, each a living testament to this audacious engineering feat. While some were later reconverted to D-Type specifications, these 16 cars remain among the most coveted Jaguars ever created, a rare fusion of racing pedigree and road-going usability.
The Green Rat: A Star is Born
Among these coveted machines was chassis number XKSS.713, a car destined for a life beyond the race track, a life that would intersect with one of the most iconic figures of the 20th century. Originally finished in white with a red interior, XKSS.713 was imported by Jaguar Cars North America in April 1957. Its journey to American soil was marked by a curious detail: despite its left-hand-drive destination, it was a right-hand-drive model, a remnant of its race-bred origins.
Its first owner was James Peterson, a building contractor based in Altadena, California, and a man intrinsically linked to the nascent world of West Coast motorsports. Peterson, instrumental in the construction of Riverside International Raceway, was a man who understood the allure of speed. It was at this very raceway, a proving ground for champions and a crucible of automotive culture, that Peterson first encountered the legend that would become his most famous patron.
Peterson’s tenure with XKSS.713 was relatively brief. He soon parted with the car, selling it to local radio and television personality Bill Leyden. Leyden, a familiar face on the Los Angeles airwaves, often displayed the striking Jaguar at his studio on Sunset Boulevard, where it became a fixture against the backdrop of Hollywood’s golden era. It was here, amidst the glitz and glamour
