summer of ‘77
I’m currently reading Bill Bryson’s “One Summer,” which details all the amazing things that happened in America in the summer of 1927. It seems like an awful lot was packed into that one summer and it reminded me of my own jam-packed summer in 1977.
Of all the years of my life ,1977 is the year I could tell you the most about. It was a time so packed with intensity and emotion and drama — I don’t recall any other year of my life being quite like that one. Of course, I was barely 15 at the time and there’s enough emotion and insanity inherent in that alone to make the year worth telling about. But there was something so different about 1977, especially the late spring and summer. Especially in New York.
I was in the midst of my first year in the local Catholic high school. I had a new set of friends, a new way of life, a new outlook on the world. I would be 15 in a few months. Life was good. Life was mine.
Though we lived on Long Island, we weren’t that far removed from the glamour and excitement of New York City. Even at our young ages (and I doubt there is a Long Island parent today that would be as permissive as our parents were back then) we would sometimes take the train to the city on weekends and just walk around, using our allowance money to buy records and eat burgers at the Steak and Brew, where we tried to pass ourselves off as 18 year olds to get the free pitchers of beer that came with the burgers. No matter how good it was to be 14 or 15, it seemed there was always something better on the horizon. We wanted to be 18 or 19. We wanted to cruise around in cars and go to bars. We were jealous of the permissive lifestyle that was so prevalent in NY at the time — Studio 54 opened in 1977, punk rock was on the rise and bands like The Dead Boys were playing at CBGB’s — it seemed there was so much turmoil, yet so much excitement. It was all so glamorous in a decadent and we couldn’t help but want to be caught up in it.
New York City was just coming out of terrible times — there had been a huge financial crisis and there had been a stretch when the South Bronx was literally on fire for the longest time. My father was a fireman at the time and he was…