I grew up in Babylon, a small village on the south shore of Long Island. Babylon was a magical place of waterfalls, windmills, and spooky abandoned mansions. As a kid I could pack more than a few adventures into a single day and still be home in time for dinner. My daily companions were a rag tag bunch of neighborhood kids and our adventures included everything from climbing on the local Salvation Army store roof to building a post-apocalyptic shelter in the woods.
Traveling around town on our crazy expeditions we met all kinds of people. Long before Seinfeld brought us George, Kramer, Newman, and the rest, Babylon had its own brand of colorful New York characters. There was “Jerry” the crazy ice cream man, “John” the cross dressing mail carrier, and a woman we called the “Touchy Lady,” because she tapped everything she came across. No writer could have asked for a better place to grow up, and to this day my hometown and its characters continue to fuel my imagination and inspire me to write.