the joe strummer story

Out of the blue, I received a call from Rolling Stone, asking if I could take a photo of Joe Strummer running the 1983 London Marathon that coming Sunday. Of course I quickly said yes, without thinking to ask for any more information, such as, say, how to find him amongst the 16,500 people who would be assembled at the start of the race.

So early on the morning of April 17th I drove over to Blackheath Common from my flat in Stockwell. It was cold and wet, and absolutely teeming with people. I parked and got out of my car, wondering how on earth I was going to find Joe. I looked across the street… and there he was, standing in the middle of the swarm, in a pool of light, oblivious to the wind and the rain, warming up alongside his mate Alex. He was wearing a cut-up 1977 Complete Control t-shirt, and otherwise decked out in Adidas gear. I walked over, (re)introduced myself, and took a few photos. No-one else seemed to notice him, apart from his partner Gaby Salter, who took some snaps of her own.

Now feeling a little more relaxed, I drove over to Tower Bridge, and set myself up on Lower Thames Street, looking north towards Saint Mary-At-Hill alley, waiting in the drizzle for couple of hours for a photo of my bandy-legged hero actually running the marathon. But there was no sign of Joe. I was about to head home in damp and ignominious defeat when I glanced up and saw Joe Strummer shuffling his way towards me down Lower Thames Street at around mile 21. In a slight panic I grabbed my cameras and managed to rattle off some b&w and color shots as he passed by - which now, forty years later, turn out to be historic images, with Joe smiling, waving, growling, and generally looking as punk as fuck.

Joe finished the 1983 London Marathon in a very respectable 4 hrs 13 minutes, but he didn’t stay up all night before the race and drink 10 pints, as legend has it (that may have happened prior to the Paris Marathon the previous year). However, even as I tried to lay that Joe Strummer tall tale to rest, I had it on good authority that he definitely did stay up till all hours drinking martinis before setting off for Blackheath with Gaby and Alex in his Morris Minor at an unholy hour of the morning… and during the race he may have popped into a pub for a swift half, and he may even have hopped on and off a bus. Legend.