Babylon is a village in Suffolk County, New York, United States. The population was 12,166 at the 2010 census. Its location is approximately 25 miles (40 km) from New York City at the Queens border, and approximately 33 miles. Rickenbacker 360/12; Manufacturer: Rickenbacker: Period: 1963 - Present: Construction; Body type: Semi-Hollow: Neck joint: Set Neck: Woods; Body: Maple Carved, with white plastic binding along the back: Neck: Three-ply Maple. A Spellbinding Thriller about a Science History Professor on the Run for his Life and an Unpublished Einstein Theory that Could Change the World. Debut novelist Mark Alpert brings one of the most explosive books of. Study online flashcards and notes for BRS Microbiology and Immunology 5th ed.pdf including Microbiology and Immunology Arthur G. Johnson, Ph.D Professor Emeritus Department of Anatomy, Microbiology, and Pathology University of. List of free sample resumes, resume templates, resume examples, resume formats and cover letters. Resume writing tips, advice and guides for different jobs and companies. Babylon (village), New York - Wikipedia. Babylon is a village in Suffolk County, New York, United States. The population was 1. Its location is approximately 2. New York City at the Queens border, and approximately 3. Manhattan. Its official name is The Incorporated Village of Babylon. It is commonly referred to as Babylon Village, to distinguish it from the Town of Babylon, of which it is a part. History. Lightly settled from 1. Great South Bay and South Oyster Bay (both actually lagoons), was the harvesting of salt hay, which was used as cattle feed and bedding. When a coherent community grew up in the area by 1. An influential local lady, Mrs. Conklin, was used to living inland in what is now considered Dix Hills and was at unease with the home site that her grandchildren would be raised in. The bible- reading Mrs. Conklin compared the new hamlet to the biblical city of Babylon and proposed that name in apparent defiance of the area's rather bawdy reputation as a stop- over place for travelers on Long Island's south shore. Her son Nat was appalled by the use of an . The family legend states she replied: . The adjacent part of Islip town, an effective extension of Babylon, was originally considered as part of Babylon, or as East Babylon, but today is the hamlet of West Islip. Hotels; gateway to Fire Island. Beachgoers arriving by train or coach, or staying at local hotels typically took the Babylon Railroad, originally a horsecar line and later a trolley, to the Babylon Dock for ferries to Oak Island, Muncie Island, and Fire Island destinations. As now, the epitome of the luxury lifestyle was summering on the ocean. This led many affluent individuals and families to reside at Babylon's seaside resorts, both on the mainland and on barrier beach islands. Muncie Island, (was just north of Oak Beach, island was depleted for the construction of Ocean Parkway) was host to one of the most elite sanatoriums and nearby Saltaire was host to the Surf Hotel offering several hundred rooms to guests. Guests of the Surf would take the rail road to Babylon's trolley and then cross the bay by a ferry. Off Robins Avenue at Stone Dock was the South Shore Inn and Watson House on Fire Island Avenue was famed to be . Those of even greater wealth would have homes or compounds built on the shore or barrier beach islands for vacationing. Stage stop hotels include the La Grange Inn, previously used as a catering hall, and now a West Islip Historical Museum, and is actually adjacent West Islip. Some of Babylon's hotels included: American Hotel, Main Street and Fire Island Avenue. The Argyle, Arygle Park, Main Street. Boynes Hotel, at steamboat dock. East End Hotel, Main Street and Cooper Street (burned in 1. La Grange Inn, South Country Road, (West Islip), ***NOW CLOSED***St. James West Main Street. Sherman House, East Main Street. South Shore Inn, Robbins Avenue. Surf Hotel, Fire Island, east of the lighthouse. Watson House, Fire Island Avenue. Argyle Hotel & Park. It was constructed in 1. August Belmont, the LIRR and resort entrepreneur on the former estate of Brooklyn railroad magnate Electus B. Financing was provided by a syndicate headed by Long Island Rail Road President, Austin Corbin. The grounds, which included a large millpond, Blythebourne Lake became renamed Argyle Lake, for one of the hotel. The renaming gave the Hotel & Park a more genteel English flavor yet the hotel proved a bad venture: it was near the end of the era of such projects, it was built much too large with 3. After about a decade of disuse, it was finally demolished in 1. Argyle Park. In 1. Argyle Park was donated for passive recreation to the Village of Babylon, by J. This park is still popular, drawing substantial numbers of visitors from outside the community for fishing, strolling, playing on the children's playground, and winter ice skating (including a lighted area for night skating). Effingham Park/Hawley's Lake Park. The old mill is claimed to be the first permanent structure in the Village area and was constructed for Judge Garrett Montfort and operated by the Oakley family for approximately 1. Nathaniel Conklin also owned the mill and in its final years, ownership was in the hands of David Ricketts, the second mayor of the Village. Ricketts used the mill as a toy whip factory which he later relocated to George Street. At one point, a bridge was used to carry Main Street over the overflows connection to Sumpwams Creek. The park belonged to the estate of Effingham Sutton that later came into the ownership of Edwin Hawley, a U. S. Hawley demolished the Old Mill and parts of Sutton's Estate to erect an even more opulent estate including guest cottages, staff housing, and stables. Hawley turned the overflow from the Old Mill into a waterfall that matched and, some claim, exceeded the splendor of the still- existent Argyle Falls at Argyle Memorial Park. In addition to the falls, there were two bridges crossing the north side and mid- northeast side of the lake in many old postcards and photographs. The north side bridge was likely the bridge that carried George Street over the stream feeding Hawley's Pond, before New York Highway 2. The Hawley Estate was gated off from the public with hedges and grand ornate estate fencing so that the public rarely saw its vast luxuries and amenities. In the late 1. 96. Hawley's Pond was in a rundown state, being unkempt and dilapidated. When Route 2. 31 was being built, Hawley's Lake Park lost all hope of being repaired and restored to its former glory: the routes northern and southern terminus were run directly through the estate. Some sources even claim that the lake was made considerably smaller and was partially filled in during the expressway's construction. Today, Hawley's Lake Park is an unused resource due mostly for its lack of parking and lack of village concern. The aging grand falls were replaced with a more modern, less ornate and less attractive setup. The Babylon Beautification Society tries from time to time to maintain the site, although no plan has proved considerably successful. Since there is no parking at the site, and because access to families that might otherwise want to use it is constrained by the necessity of crossing active highway lanes, the current status of the site has remained unchanged. Between the park and the Lake Drives in West Islip and the northern terminus of Route 2. Effingham Park. This portion is no longer designated as park property, and is accessible to the homes on Lake Drive South and Lake Drive North. The overflow pool from Hawley's Fall opens into two tunnels beneath Main Street that drain into Sumpwams River, known locally as East Creek, and eventually into Great South Bay. Baseball and African- American history. The team so dominated local white teams that Walter Cook, a New Jersey promoter, put up the money to have them travel and play as the . There were no Cubans in the Cuban Giants. The team went on to become the . The Babylon Panthers varsity baseball team won Long Island championships in 2. New York State championship in 2. The village also has one of Long Island's older continuous African- American communities, of which the employees of the Argyle are said to have formed the core. This community still maintains two of the village's 1. Ebenezer Baptist Church and the Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church, both on Cooper Street. Another prominent African- American, the filmactress. Thelma (Butterfly) Mc. Queen, moved with her family from her birthplace of Tampa, Florida to live on Cottage Row in Babylon, where she went on to graduate from Babylon High School and then pursued her acting career before later attending several universities and attaining a degree in political science. Cottage Row still exists but no longer has any housing on it, falling prey to parking space for business district stores. Hurricane Sandy. This particular area experienced storm surge as high as six feet during the storm. Damage caused by Sandy displaced dozens of families in Babylon for several months. Description. Because of the 1. Montauk Highway, originally the only through highway on Long Island's south shore, most of the core of Babylon dates to the era from before the American Civil War to World War I. As a result, there is a mix of building styles, including pre- Civil War, colonial, Victorian, and more recent designs. Nearer the shore, much of the housing was originally summer properties, including mansions and estates, cottages and bungalows: the latter two, virtually all now winterized. As far as large formal mansions and estates, most have been razed, yet one of the last remaining estates in Babylon, and presumably the towns smallest is the Long Island Yacht Club, built by E. W. Some of the few areas developed after World War II reflected the conversion of remaining farms and remains of large estates and mansions. These areas generally contain 1. Long Island split level homes and high ranches. Areas of large new homes are on formerly undeveloped or reclaimed former wetlands developed during the late 1. Lucinda and Peninsula Drives, with estate- like homes such as that of Bret Saberhagen until 2. Most of the affluent homes built in these new areas were large ranch houses, popular in the time of building, but much less favored today. In the last decade and continuing to the present, many of these houses have been expanded by adding a story and changing their style to more colonial appearance. Babylon Village has also experienced the modern phenomenon in which small sound houses on desirable lots have been purchased and torn down by affluent recent purchasers and replaced with houses as large as zoning will permit, meaning that the new home builder has paid the price of a home just to obtain the lot. Houses of worship. Church, 5. 0 Cooper Street. Christ Episcopal Church, 1. Prospect Street. Congregation Beth Sholom, 4. Deer Park Avenue. Cross of Christ Lutheran Church, 5. Deer Park Avenue. Ebenezer Baptist Church, 3. Cooper Street. First Baptist Church of Babylon, 3. Final Theory by Mark Alpert, Paperback Chapter One Hans Walther Kleinman, one of the great theoretical physicists of our time, was drowning in his bathtub. A stranger with long, sinewy arms had pinned Hans's shoulders to the porcelain bottom. He clawed at the stranger's hands, trying to loosen their grip, but the man was a shtarker, a young vicious brute, and Hans was a seventy- nine- year- old with arthritis and a weak heart. Flailing about, he kicked the sides of the tub, and the lukewarm water sloshed all around him. He couldn't get a good look at his attacker — the man's face was a shifting, watery blur. The shtarker must have slipped into the apartment through the open window by the fi re escape, then rushed into the bathroom when he realized that Hans was inside. It started in the center, right under his sternum, and quickly filled his whole rib cage. A negative pressure, pushing inward from all sides, constricting his lungs. Within seconds it rose to his neck, a hot choking tightness, and Hans opened his mouth, gagging. Lukewarm water rushed down his throat, and now Hans devolved into a creature of pure panic, a twisting, squirming primitive animal going into its fi nal convulsions. No, no, no, no, no, no! Then he lay still, and as his vision faded he saw only the wavelets at the surface, rippling just a few centimeters above him. A Fourier series, he thought. When Hans regained consciousness he was lying facedown on the cold tiled fl oor, coughing up bathwater. His eyes ached and his stomach lurched and each breath was an excruciating gasp. Coming back to life was actually more painful than dying. Then he felt a sharp blow to his back, right between his shoulder blades, and heard someone say in a jaunty voice, . The back of Hans's head banged against the wet tiles. Still breathing hard, he looked up at his attacker, who was kneeling on the bathroom rug. A huge man, a hundred kilograms at the least. Shoulder muscles bulging under his black T- shirt, camoufl age pants tucked into black leather boots. A bald head, disproportionately small compared with his body, with black stubble on his cheeks and a gray scar on his jaw. Most likely a junkie, Hans guessed. After he kills me, he'll tear the place apart, hunting for my valuables. Only then will the stupid putz realize I don't have a goddamn cent. You can call me Simon, if you like. His eyes were small and brown, his nose was crooked, and his skin was the color of a weathered brick. His features were ugly but indistinct — he could be Spanish, Russian, Turkish, almost anything. But I needed to show you that I'm serious. And better to do that right away, eh? He'd already accepted the fact that this stranger was going to kill him. What disturbed him was the sheer impudence of the man, who kept smiling as Hans lay naked on the fl oor. It seemed clear what would happen next: Simon was going to order him to reveal the number of his ATM card. The same thing had happened to one of Hans's neighbors, an eighty- two- year- old woman who'd been attacked in her apartment and beaten until she gave up the number. No, Hans wasn't afraid — he was furious! He coughed the last drops of bathwater out of his throat and propped himself up on his elbows. I don't even have a bank card. I'm interested in physics, not money. You're familiar with the subject, I assume? Was this putz making fun of him? Who did he think he was? After a moment, though, a more disturbing question occurred to him: How did this man find out my name? And how does he know I'm a physicist? I'm not as ignorant as I look. I may not have any advanced degrees, but I'm a fast learner. What are you doing here? On a very challenging and esoteric topic. But I have some friends, you see, and they explained it very well.? What do you mean, friends? Clients would probably be better. I have some very knowledgeable and well- financed clients. And they hired me to get some information from you.? Are you some kind of spy? I'm an independent contractor. Let's just leave it at that. The shtarker was a spy, or maybe a terrorist. His exact affi liation was unclear — Iran? They were all after the same thing. What Hans didn't understand was why the bastards had targeted him of all people. Like most nuclear physicists of his generation, Hans had done some classifi ed work for the Defense Department in the fi fties and sixties, but his specialty had been radioactivity studies. He'd never worked on bomb design or fabrication, and he'd spent most of his professional life doing theoretical research that was strictly nonmilitary. I know nothing about that! And nothing about warhead design either. My fi eld is particle physics, not nuclear engineering. All my research papers are available on the Internet, there's nothing secret about them! I don't care about warheads and I don't care about your papers. I'm interested in someone else's work, not yours.? Did you get the wrong address? He pushed Hans down on his back and placed one hand flat on his rib cage, leaning forward so he could put his whole weight on it. Your professor at Princeton fi fty- fi ve years ago? The wandering Jew from Bavaria? The man who wrote Zur Elektrodynamik bewegter K? Surely you haven't forgotten him? The shtarker's hand felt impossibly heavy. Mein Gott, he thought. This can't be happening. He thought you were one of his most promising assistants. You worked together quite closely in his last few years, didn't you? Simon was pushing down on him so hard he could feel his vertebrae grinding against the cold tiles. But more than that, he trusted you. He conferred with you about everything he worked on during those years. Including his Einheitliche Feldtheorie. On his left side, on the outer curve, where the tensile strain was greatest. The pain knifed through his chest and Hans opened his mouth to scream, but he couldn't even draw enough breath to cry out. Oh Gott, Gott im Himmel! All at once his rational mind disintegrated, and he was afraid, he was terrified! Because he saw what this stranger wanted from him, and he knew that in the end he would be unable to resist. Hans took a deep breath, and as the air whooshed in he felt the knife of pain again on his left side. His pleural membrane was torn, which meant that his left lung would soon collapse. He was weeping from the pain and shuddering with each breath. Simon stood over him with his hands on his hips, smiling contentedly, quite satisfied with his work. Do you see what I'm looking for? I'm sorry, Herr Doktor, he thought. I'm going to betray you now. And in his mind's eye he saw the professor again, saw him as clearly as if the great man were standing right there in the bathroom. But it was nothing like the pictures that everyone knew, the photographs of the unkempt genius with the wild white hair. What Hans remembered was the professor in the last months of his life. The drawn cheeks, the sunken eyes, the defeated grimace. The man who'd glimpsed the truth but, for the sake of the world, couldn't speak it out loud. The pain ripped through his torso, and his eyes sprang open. One of Simon's leather boots rested on Hans's bare hip. I'm going to get some paper from your desk and you're going to write everything down. Who knows, you might even enjoy it. A moment later Hans heard rummaging noises. With the stranger out of sight, some of Hans's fear lifted and he was able to think again, at least until the bastard came back. And what he thought about were the shtarker's boots, his shiny black storm- trooper boots. Hans felt a wave of disgust. The man was trying to look like a Nazi. In essence, that's what he was, a Nazi, no different from the thugs in brown uniforms that Hans had seen marching down the streets of Frankfurt when he was seven years old. And the people Simon worked for, those nameless ? Who were they if not Nazis? His lung was collapsing and each breath was a torture, but he wasn't going to help this Nazi. I think you need another bath. Once more Hans struggled to raise his face to the surface, bashing himself against the sides of the tub as he clawed at the shtarker's arms. If anything, the second time was more terrifying than the fi rst, because now Hans knew exactly what lay ahead — the tightening agony, the frantic twisting, the mindless descent into blackness. It took a tremendous effort to emerge from the abyss, and even after Hans opened his eyes he felt like he hadn't fully awoken. His vision was fuzzy around the edges and he could take only shallow breaths. When Hans looked up he saw the silhouette of the shtarker, but his body seemed to be surrounded by a penumbra of vibrating particles. If you look at the situation in a logical way, you'll realize that all this subterfuge is absurd. You can't hide something like this forever. This is amazing, Hans thought. If only I had a camera! Perhaps you didn't know this, but your professor had other confidants. He thought it would be clever to parcel the information among them. We've already contacted a few of these old gentlemen, and they've been most helpful. One way or another, we'll get what we need. So why make this hard on yourself? Upon closer inspection it became clear that they weren't particles at all but infi nitely thin strings stretching from one curtain of space to another. The strings shivered between the undulating curtains, which curled into tubes and cones and manifolds. And the whole elaborate dance was proceeding exactly as predicted, exactly as Herr Doktor had described! Kleinman, but my patience is wearing thin. I don't enjoy doing this, but you leave me no choice. The diaphanous curtains of space had folded around him. Hans could see them so clearly, like curving sheets of blown glass, brilliant and impenetrable, yet soft to the touch. But the other man obviously couldn't see them. Who was this man, anyway? He looked so clownish standing there in his black leather boots. Kleinman, could you tell me where the nearest electric outlet is? He saw nothing but the lacy folds of the universe, curving around him like an infinitely soft blanket.
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