Let me tell you about a place, somewhere up NJ way … Cherry Hill to be exact. The home of the legendary Emerald City. I had been there quite a few times to see shows, with and without my then girlfriend Dorothy. This particular evening my friend Geoff Hoover and I were there to see John Eddie & The Front Street Runners. They were opening for Gary US Bonds.

Gary was having a comeback of sorts. He had a new album out that Bruce Springsteen had written three songs for, played and sung on, Miami Steve Van Zant, played, sung, and wrote “Daddy’s Come Home” for this LP, and the Asbury Jukes horn section got in on the action too. It was truly the “Asbury Park Mafia” helping out one of their heroes.

“Police On My Back”

Well I’m running, police on my back
I’ve been hiding, police on my back
There was a shooting, police on my back
And the victim well he wont come back

I been running Monday Tuesday Wednesday
Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday
Runnin Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday
Saturday Sunday
What have I done?
What have I done?

Eddy Grant

These are the moments legends are made ….

In 1980 I was attending school at  CW Post Center of Long Island University. I was also sharing an apartment in Oyster Bay Long Island with 3 women: Cande Roth, Ellyn Solis, and Dorothy (Orant) Morrison. The night I moved into this insane asylum I ended three years of being a non-smoker. I purchased that pack of Newports … and torched up the first smoke, and didn’t quit again until the early 90′s.

In my years at Post I was a communications major and later film major. I also did radio shows on the college station WCWP 88.1 on the FM dial. I also was a photographer for an NYC club magazine called Non-LP B-Side. Those were some exciting times. Musicly there was the whole UK & US punk explosion that brought so much amazing and exciting music. I use to spend a lot of my extra cash either at Bleaker Bob’s in NYC or a few of the independent music stores on Long Island that specialized in British imports. Buying the latest import singles & LPs my radio shows were something to hear. I loved bands like The Clash, The Jam, The Sex Pistols, XTC, Elvis Costello, Ian Dury And The Blockheads, Fashion, Richard Hell And The Voidoids, Tom Verlaine with or without  Television, Graham Parker, The Undertones, Ultravox, The Ramones, Talking Heads, all the assorted Stiff and Two-Tone bands and so much more. And what money I didn’t spend there I was spending on photographing some of these bands and paying to have the film processed at professional color labs, in NYC or on “Lonkisland”.

Dorothy was also an avid musicologist and fan girl of so many of those bands. That was one of our many connections. She also turned me onto a lot of stuff that she loved too. We influenced each other. Hell … when I met this girl she was “sittin’ on the hood of a Dodge” in the parking lot at the Spectrum in Philadelphia. A friend of mine and I were waiting to buy Springsteen tickets. We drove in from southern NJ the night before and slept in  my car. Early the next morning, before “the line formed”, I was wandering around the parking lot and here was this beautiful blond wild child, sitting on the hood of that car (but no soft summer rain) and asking me … “hey you like Costello too?” I was wearing an Elvis Costello t-shirt at the time. And that was that. We talked and that started the long slow process of friendship … and years later … a bit more.

Dorothy and I were in L. O. V. E. with the Clash. There was always something about their music, attitude and politics that resonated with us, and the world. They were so much less nihilistic than the Pistols. Plus they had huge hearts. You could see it in the passion they showed onstage and off.

I’m feeling horribly sad. Pain welling up. Like having the crusty brown crackling scab of a deep wound ripped from my flesh. Feeling the pain and discomfort, but realizing, I was only feeling a pea under the mattress of time, poking me in my minds eye. Hey you! Wake up! Wake the fuck up! Joe is gone. Joe? Joe who? Joe Streno? No! Joe Strummer.

I’m back stage at Bonds, NYC. It’s 1981. I’m seeing it though the eyes of another. Out of body? Am I still dreaming? I am the camera. I’m on one side of the curtain divider, tagged by others before me. He’s on the other side. They … are on the other side. Dorothy is next to me. “I’ll pull it back …” she said “… be ready.” Was I? Could I? Should I? Suddenly the curtain is drawn. He turns, looking into my eyes, dead on. There is a blinding flash. He doesn’t blink. He knows what is needed. He knows what is required. Focused like a laser. Peering into the elements of time, space and visual acuity. His essence has been received. His likeness captured. In a microsecond, the curtain returns to its place. Both of them. Light levels return to normal. Did that really happen?