New York City in 1977 was in turmoil. Not because of supernatural parasites from Dutch colonizers, but because of a myriad of man-made issues that all clashed at once. The summer would come to be known as the Summer of Sam, named for serial killer David Berkowitz, known only to Sylvie and her friends as the .45 caliber killer until he was caught.

One of Berkowitz’s confessions involved blaming his neighbor’s dog, Sam. He claimed the dog sent him messages.

New York’s budget was in the red in the years before and after FEAR CITY. The banks held a metaphorical gun to the mayor’s head to get social programs chopped down to nothing or the city wouldn’t be bailed out. In 1975, President Ford said he wouldn’t help, giving us the famous headline FORD TO CITY: DROP DEAD. Free college? Free daycare? Free clinics? Decimated. Libraries were shuttered and their hours reduced (sound familiar?). Waste workers went on strike, leaving garbage to pile up in the heat. Landlords torched their buildings to collect insurance, leaving entire neighborhoods looking like wastelands. Times Square, now a Disneyfied glow-in-the-dark tourist destination, was a no-man’s land for most people. Old theatres were neglected, sandwiched between adult shows and adult novelties. The night court was prime entertainment. Broadway chugged along, still creating incredible art, but the family friendly era (partially ushered in by CATS) was years away.

When the blackout hit in July of 1977, for many people it was the last straw. They already had to put up with complete indifference about violence, cost of living, and neighborhood blight, and now there was no power on one of the hottest days in one of the hottest weeks of the year. Broadway in Bushwick suffered the worst damage, with many businesses broken into and burned into husks. Meanwhile, in Manhattan, especially in the nicer neighborhoods, people gathered at their local watering hole to have what remained of the drinks before they got too warm. It was a party atmosphere in some places, and chaos in others. Some people reveled in the rebellion and others tried to maintain order.

What caused the blackout? Multiple lightning strikes outside the city, and poorly manned and maintained substations.

As for Sylvie’s SoHo, it was still a barely legal place to live. For a number of years, Robert Moses and the city hoped to build a new expressway through the area. Technically, no one was supposed to be living there. The era of houses was over a century earlier; those residents had moved uptown. For decades, the only thing in SoHo (or what would become SoHo) were factories.

Full time residents in 1977 had to be working artists (Artists in Residence, or A.I.R.). While this is technically still the case, the rules are not enforced. Today, there are many wealthy families living in the area full or part time, with all the comforts of modern society. In 1977, there were only a handful of families with children and no street lights at night. Many buildings still had manual elevators and unreliable plumbing and electricity. They were also often filled with rats, as there were no stray cats like other neighborhoods (this is still true, at least the cats part). SoHo was smashed between places like the Meatpacking District and the former Gasoline Alley, where everything was a little roughshod.

Taxis often couldn’t find their destinations, as the streets were less known. You’d get off on Houston or Broadway to spare your driver the annoyance. The work days started before dawn and were still filled with what remained of the manufacturing businesses. It was a hard, mercantile, working class neighborhood, with a weft of artists trying to take roost in the empty spaces. And there were a lot of empty spaces back then. Entire buildings and entire floors. Fire hazards due to becoming storage for factory scraps. The sidewalks were not maintained, and street parking was limited during the work week.

Even so, there were an abundance of tourists from outside the city and uptown who made a point of visiting SoHo. Unique businesses and restaurants, more similar to what you might find decades later, began to appear. There were fears about the whole place becoming too trendy one day, driving out the artists, especially once the rest of the manufacturing businesses were driven out. Those fears were eventually realized, though not until Sylvie had grown up.

When people speak fearfully of New York, of dark, graffiti-filled subway cars, of violence in unlit corners, they’re speaking of Sylvie’s era. At least, part of Sylvie’s era. Because New York was vibrant with subcultures and small businesses and traditions that have, unfortunately, fractured as time has gone on. It would be impossible for Sylvie to live her life today. Her parents would not be able to afford the rent in SoHo, let alone owning two floors. There may no longer be an arson problem in the outer boroughs, but that doesn’t mean people haven’t been driven from their homes by greedy landlords and a government that cares only for the rich.

Still, though, what makes New York City wonderful is what the people do there in spite of every obstacle.