Oyster Bay Long Island Rail Road Turntable
Oyster Bay is the location of one of few remaining Long Island Rail Road stations with an original turntable on site. The turntable was built in 1902 to replace a smaller one that had been relocated from the Locust Valley station. The turntable is listed on the National Register of Historic Places, is a Town of Oyster Bay Landmark, and a featured site on the Oyster Bay History Walk audio walking tour.
The planned Oyster Bay Railroad Museum will incorporate the turntable, locomotives, railroad cars and the depot.
Read more about Oyster Bay Long Island Rail Road Turntable: See Also
Famous quotes containing the words oyster, bay, long, island, rail and/or road:
“I had rather be an oyster than a man, the most stupid and senseless of animals.”
—George Berkeley (1685–1753)
“The seagull’s wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty—
Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes”
—Hart Crane (1899–1932)
“In view of the fact that the number of people living too long has risen catastrophically and still continues to rise.... Question: Must we live as long as modern medicine enables us to?... We control our entry into life, it is time we began to control our exit.”
—Max Frisch (1911–1991)
“We approached the Indian Island through the narrow strait called “Cook.” He said, “I ‘xpect we take in some water there, river so high,—never see it so high at this season. Very rough water there, but short; swamp steamboat once. Don’t paddle till I tell you, then you paddle right along.” It was a very short rapid. When we were in the midst of it he shouted “paddle,” and we shot through without taking in a drop.”
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)
“If goodness were only a theory, it were a pity it should be lost to the world. There are a number of things, the idea of which is a clear gain to the mind. Let people, for instance, rail at friendship, genius, freedom, as long as they will—the very names of these despised qualities are better than anything else that could be substituted for them, and embalm even the most envenomed satire against them.”
—William Hazlitt (1778–1830)
“A novel is a mirror carried along a high road. At one moment it reflects to your vision the azure skies at another the mire of the puddles at your feet. And the man who carries this mirror in his pack will be accused by you of being immoral! His mirror shews [sic] the mire, and you blame the mirror! Rather blame that high road upon which the puddle lies, still more the inspector of roads who allows the water to gather and the puddle to form.”
—Stendhal [Marie Henri Beyle] (1783–1842)