With thunderstorms bearing down on the region tonight, I am reminded that in about hour it will be the 37th anniversary of the great New York City blackout of 1977. The summer of 1977 has so many vivid memories for me. Reggie Jackson and the Yankees, David Berkowitz, the Son of Sam serial killer, disco at its zenith (Brick House, Dancing Queen), the greatest Grateful Dead tour ever (this one I discovered in retrospect), Star Wars, Smokey & the Bandit, and The Spy Who Loved Me, Al Stewart’s The Year of the Cat, Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville, and The Steve Miller Band’s Fly Like an Eagle. That’s just scratching the surface. Pink Floyd’s Animals came out, and so did the Sex Pistols’ Never Mind the Bollocks. There was Steely Dan’s Aja and Bob Marley’s Exodus and David Bowie’s Heroes and Low. Elvis Costello released his debut album. The Ramones had Rocket to Russia and the Talking Heads had Talking Heads: 77. There was Jackson Browne’s Running on Empty and Eric Clapton’s Slowhand. Meat Loaf had a hit with Paradise By the Dashboard Light with a cameo by Yankees announcer Phil Rizzuto.
I turned eight at the very end of the summer and the Yankees won the championship a few weeks later. It was a glorious, weird, scary and delightful time. I wish I could live it over and over.
