New Yorkers remember the summer of 1990. I was headed to college after going to Saint Francis Prep in Queens. I could have gone to one of the universities in “the City,” as we called it. But even at 17, I sensed that New York was in a bad way.

New York City homicides hit 2605 that year. The last week of August and first week of September, as school began, saw the murders of Sean Healy, a Bronx prosecutor, and Brian Watkins, a teenage tourist headed to the U.S. Open, culminating in the New York Post headline “Dave, Do Something” that began the end of David Dinkins’s mayoralty. Settling into my dormitory, I felt confirmed in my decision to leave.