Jamie Lipman’s cheeks flushed as the brisk December wind blew against his face, its gusts burning his eyes as he strung up Christmas lights outside his 37th Street home. Always the holiday enthusiast, Lipman decided this year, 1979, he’d try something different. So, with his neighbors looking on, he linked his lights to his friend’s house across the street. By nightfall, a single strand connected their homes in glowing matrimony. Though Lipman didn’t realize it at the time, he had created one of Austin’s most hallowed holiday traditions.

By 1986, nearly every house on the block had followed Lipman’s lead, resulting in an entire street awash in bright, vivid color. Eager to up the ante, Lipman began gathering props—such as cars and kitchen sinks—to display his lights in increasingly unconventional ways. Others began to follow suit. One person constructed a volcano of lights atop his roof using a timer and a series of red lights; another made a manger for “baby Cheesus,” a sampler plate of cheese dressed to look like the Baby Jesus. The nearby architecture students even hung an illuminated icosahedron (a 20-sided geometric figure) in their front yard.

As the years passed, visitors flocked to see the brightest block in Austin. Charter busses clogged the road, and crowds packed the sidewalks. People even began pinning dollar bills to Lipman’s backyard clothesline, which he distributed to his neighbors to help pay their electric bills. The 37th Street lights had become an unofficial Austin landmark—until, without warning, the city stepped in.

Deeming the displays unsafe (they were attached to telephone poles), local officials took the lights down in 1993. “Everyone turn off your lights and call the mayor—we’re protesting!” one resident yelled in rebellion. Within hours, the street was pitch black. The blackout worked with shocking expediency: After disappointed visitors demanded an answer from the city, Mayor Bruce Todd came to personally apologize for “messing with Christmas.”

When asked why he started—and continued—the phenomenon, Lipman’s answer was simple. “Yes, it was a chance to socialize and be goofy without any repercussions,” he says, “But mainly? I just liked the colors.”