Born in 1977

If you were born in 1977, two things happened at the movies that changed American culture permanently, and they couldn't have been more different. *Star Wars* opened in May in thirty-two theaters—Fox expected it to fail—and by summer the lines were around the block in every city and town in the country, kids seeing it fifteen and twenty times, the Force becoming a genuine part of the American imagination. Then in December, *Saturday Night Fever* put John Travolta in a white suit on a Brooklyn dance floor and disco became inescapable.

The Bee Gees were on every radio station. Fleetwood Mac's Rumours was on every turntable. Elvis died in Memphis in August and the grief was oceanic—the king of a certain American dream was gone.

Jimmy Carter was in the White House, earnest and a little overwhelmed. The Apple II went on sale for $1,298 and personal computing began its long climb toward the living room. The Atari 2600 home video game console launched in October and Pong came home with it.

The CB radio craze was fading but left behind a brief national romance with the trucker as folk hero—Smokey and the Bandit was the year's third-highest-grossing film. You could buy a gallon of gas for sixty-five cents, though not for much longer. The mood was warm, a little distracted, and waiting for something.