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As with his other projects, Mr. Davidson needed entry, and he got it in the form of the gang leader, known as Bengie.

“He was kind of a brilliant visual guy,” Mr. Davidson said. “He took me to this roof, and I remember thinking, ‘This kid’s going to throw me off the roof and then rob me,’ but he’s pointing down at the stickball game and saying, ‘Get that,’ and saying: ‘Oh, there’s the Statue of Liberty. You can see it through all these television antennas.’ ”

The images of that summer have an eternal quality to them, as if the gang might still be drinking beer in paper cups on the beach, but the Jokers’ world was already beginning to change. Heroin was making an entrance; one gang member died from an overdose at 19.

A few years ago, Bengie got in touch with Mr. Davidson.

“I went out with him to the old neighborhood,” the photographer said. The candy store where the gang used to hang out was gone. “He took me for a cafe latte.” The neighborhood had changed, and so had the Jokers; Bengie is now a drug counselor, and Mr. Davidson’s wife is writing a book about his life.

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