Club George: The Diary of a Central Park Bird-Watcher

Club George: The Diary of a Central Park Bird-Watcher

by Bob Levy

NOOK BookFirst Edition (eBook - First Edition)

View All Available Formats & Editions

Available on Compatible NOOK Devices and the free NOOK Apps.
WANT A NOOK?  Explore Now


Club George is a witty tale about one man's adventures with George, a particularly charismatic Red-winged Blackbird. Wryly humorous and brimming with affection for birds in general and George in particular, this book combines solid natural science with stylish prose and endearing photographs. The cast of characters includes creatures of all kinds, both human and not, and supporting roles are played by Pale Male and Lola, the famous Red-tailed Hawks whose nest was unceremoniously removed from their fancy Fifth Avenue building to a worldwide furor of protest.

Both useful and entertaining, Club George covers everything from how to buy binoculars to fascinating trivia about New York's most famous park. This amusing gem will be welcomed by book-buying bird-watchers, Central Park enthusiasts, and armchair nature lovers everywhere.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781429906500
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Publication date: 03/07/2006
Sold by: Macmillan
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 384
File size: 4 MB

About the Author

BOB LEVY began watching birds when he was seeking solace during a period of involuntary unemployment. Not in the best of moods, he found his spirits lifting after he befriended the Red-winged Blackbird we now know as George. Bob lives in New York City. So does George.

BOB LEVY began watching birds when he was seeking solace during a period of involuntary unemployment. Not in the best of moods, he found his spirits lifting after he befriended the Red-winged Blackbird we now know as George. Bob lives in New York City. So does George.

Read an Excerpt

Club George

The Diary of a Central Park Birdwatcher

By Bob Levy

St. Martins Press

Copyright © 2006 Bob Levy
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-0650-0


Welcome to the Club

The second of June was a cozily warm, gloriously sunny, summer New York City Sunday. It was the kind of day when the brilliant sunlight makes the scrawniest trees and sootiest buildings glisten. Even the gloomiest people seem to glow. Somehow the intense light brings out the beauty in the natural and unnatural worlds when logic says it should throw a spotlight on their faults.

I was in one of the best possible places to enjoy such a day in the Big Apple. In Central Park I stood on a wooden dock that juts out into a small hourglass shaped pond. It is surrounded by lush plantings of shrubs, grasses, flowers and trees. A fifty-five acre meadow that accommodates eight softball fields with ample space to spare for a multitude of picnickers opens on its northern shore. A stone castle set on top of a sheer cliff is the second highest point in the park. It overlooks a tiny island that dominates the southwest corner. By any standards it's one of the most picturesque spots in the park and had been one of my favorites long before the events described in my tale transpired.

The song and display of any Red-winged Blackbird may or may not get the attention of the casual observer. However, there was no way I could fail to notice George's energetic and theatrical rendition.

On this particular day I was having a chat with Michael, a new acquaintance. He is an accountant by profession and a naturalist and arts enthusiast by inclination. Michael enjoys sharing his knowledge. He was in the midst of explaining to me that the most common turtles inhabiting the pond, the Mississippi Red-eared Sliders, are not native residents but instead are abandoned pets, when a male Red-winged Blackbird landed on the top of the wooden fence, a bird-blind, to our right. This bird perched, on a two-by-six plank, a foot and one-half above our heads and two feet in front of us. As Michael went on to tell me what he knew of the large Snapping Turtles that hunt and breed here, the Red-winged Blackbird began to loudly call "chek" repeatedly and then to sing "konk-la-ree" in an even louder voice. Still vocalizing, the bird raised his wings away from his body. This posture accentuated the display of his scarlet wing patches edged with pale yellow. The patches themselves appeared to literally stand up as if being raised by a charge of static electricity. The theatrical bird was distracting us from our conversation, but we persisted. So did the Red-winged Blackbird. He began to run back and forth still keeping his wings up and away from his torso flaunting his flaming red epaulets and singing passionately. Michael and I kept talking to each other but our eyes became fixed on the bird. After a while I realized that we had begun shouting so we could hear each other over the raucous Red-winged Blackbird.

The bird's singing became so insistent that I began asking Michael to repeat every word he said. I was a bit annoyed, a bit amused and more than a bit surprised by the bird's behavior. When I felt I could no longer act nonchalantly about the situation I said to Michael, using an appropriate New Yorkese expression, "What is it with this bird, anyway?" To which Michael matter-of-factly replied, "Oh, that's George" as if that was all the explanation required for my understanding of the creature's behavior. "What do you mean, oh that's George?" I said. "Are you telling me you know this wild bird and that you call him George?" Michael did not offer detailed verbal clarification. Instead he gave a practical demonstration. "Watch this," he said, as he tore off a piece of a roll he had in his hand. He held the bread up to the top of the fence and said, "Come on, George." The Red-winged Blackbird immediately fell silent, let his wings fall to his sides and rapidly walked along the top of the fence toward Michael's hand. The bird gingerly took the bread from Michael's fingers and flew off to the nearby island where he landed on a rock and ate his food.

This was how George introduced himself to me.

I do not remember what I said next, but I do remember laughing and feeling more than a little astonished. "George is famous," Michael explained. "He will be back soon." In ten minutes George was back stridently singing his "konk-la-ree" Red-winged Blackbird tune and flaunting those scarlet epaulets. I asked Michael if he thought George might take food from my hand. He saw no reason why he would not. I got a bit of Michael's roll and held it up for the bird. In an instant George rushed toward me and took the bread in his beak and sped off to the island again. This put a smile on my face that I could not wipe off for the next hour. I did not know it at the time, but it marked the beginning of a relationship and a heightening of my awareness of the natural world. Gradually, I would come to understand that I had been given an invitation to join a special club and by giving George an offering I had unconsciously accepted the invitation. I had become a charter member of Club George without knowing it.

What is it about this encounter that affected me so? Unquestionably, I was astounded that a wild animal had interacted and communicated with me. His dramatic audiovisual display had commandeered my attention. Once he had it, he delivered not so much a message, as a demand. George did not offer a timid, "Polly wants a cracker," but a forceful, "Hey buddy, feed me" instead.

The location of this encounter intensified the impact it had on me. The fact that it happened in a city park in the middle of one of the most densely populated and developed areas in the world made it all the more startling. Though still implausible, it seemed to me that this would have been more likely to happen in a sparsely inhabited area where one would have expectations to come into contact with wild animals. But then Central Park does have relatively more wildlife than its immediate surroundings. It is a virtual lifeboat for creatures of the natural world that are surrounded by a man-made sea of concrete and steel. It is home for numerous species of birds, mammals, insects, reptiles, amphibians and spiders that have few places as hospitable to inhabit. It is also the temporary home to dozens more bird species during their spring and fall migration. Though it was not its creators' principal intention, Central Park is a strategically placed haven for birds to rest, feed and even raise offspring as they move along the Atlantic migratory route stretching from Canada to South America.

Because its geography attracts migrating birds Central Park is known as a "migrant trap" to birders around the world. The Central Park Conservancy boasts that the park is "one of the top fifteen bird-watching sites in the entire United States." Marie Winn, science writer for the Wall Street Journal, author, translator and birdwatcher, quotes bird expert Roger F. Pasquier as having named the park "one of America's fourteen great bird-watching locales." Marie is pretty fond of it herself. David Allen Sibley, author and artist of several avian works, ranks the park along with Cape May, New Jersey, and the Monterey Peninsula in California as one of the three top bird-watching spots in North America. Other experts might argue that there are geographical sites that offer many more species, rare species or larger numbers of a specific species. Some say ranking locations is inherently futile because the results can vary depending on which of those different criteria I mentioned are used. Perhaps the issue is best put into perspective by the American Bird Conservancy, which has this to say on the subject.

Urban green areas — such as city parks and cemeteries — are often the only spots for migrant birds to alight for miles around. Surrounded by roads and buildings, they offer at least temporary respite during the long journey north or south, and birds head for them by the thousands. Resident species tend to be few, but at two seasons of the year a sharp observer can find scores of species in a single morning. Every birder has a few favorite spots like this, but some are justifiably famous for the number and variety of birds they attract — some far outside their normal ranges. These include Central Park in Manhattan; Prospect Park in Brooklyn; Mt. Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts; Rock Creek in Washington, D.C.; the Magic Hedge on Chicago's Lakefront; the "Migrant Trap" in nearby Hammond, Indiana; and Golden Gate Park in San Francisco.

The number of permanent resident bird species in Central Park is arguably twenty-four. I say "arguably" because at times a few individuals of a species spend a winter there while the majority does not. The total number soars to roughly two hundred when migratory birds visit in the fall and spring. Some species included in this count can be seen flying over the park though they do not usually land there. Birders who track these "flyovers" report hundreds and even thousands of individuals of a particular species traveling in flocks. There is irony in the realization that this haven for wild birds is the product of labors to alter the natural environment with the prodigious application of technologies such as hydraulics, architecture, construction, landscaping, and horticulture among others. Central Park is a complete fabrication down to the last imported ounce of topsoil covering its 843 acres, which by the way came from New Jersey.

Before meeting George I had never been what you could describe as a nature enthusiast and certainly not a bird-watcher but I always thought of myself as one who was concerned about the state of the environment. I considered myself a person who took time to "smell the roses." I appreciated the beauty of the physical world and was curious about the creatures in it. When George "spoke to me" he asked me to enter into his world where I would also be introduced to other members of his club, but it was going to be up to me to get to know and understand them.

There were so many different kinds of birds in George's territory that I started to make lists of them on my calendar so I could later look up essential facts about each one. Many of these birds were already familiar to me. Even a self-absorbed New Yorker must notice the ubiquitous Rock Pigeon, House Sparrow, and European Starling nearly every day. Others were entirely new to me. For example, the Black-crowned Night Heron, Cedar Waxwing, Belted Kingfisher, Great Egret, Great Blue Heron and Barn Swallow were some of George's neighbors that I had inexplicably missed during my "Pre-George" existence. The lists I made on my calendar gradually became notes. The notes evolved into journal entries I typed into my computer several days a week. The journal grew until it became a story about how my incremental discoveries about George and his neighbors led to my admiration of all birds and their environment.

While watching the birds around George's Pond my powers of observation increased as I exercised them. Trying to make sense of what I saw obliged me to do research. It was not long before I found the two reference books I owned were not sufficient. In a short time I collected a dozen texts each having its strengths and weaknesses, but all of them complementing each other. For example, the Peterson Field Guide, which many consider to be the archetypal bird "field guide," is excellent for highlighting the key features that most readily identify a species. Fred J. Alsop III's Birds of North America: Eastern Region has a concise one-page summary for each bird that provides not just physical descriptions but facts about behavior, breeding, nesting, songs, calls, size, wingspan, and weight. Most other field guides do not pull all this information together but focus mainly on physiognomy and vocalizations. For an overview of the world of birds and detailed information about each bird family The Sibley Guide to Bird Life & Behavior, by David Allen Sibley proved to be indispensable, as did his Guide to Birds with its comprehensive descriptions of North American bird species. I found the condensed version, the Sibley Field Guide to Birds, was a convenient size to bring along on birding excursions and Sibley's Birding Basics was a superior how-to-bird-watch primer. Sibley, Alsop and Peterson's works are among the most helpful a birder can find but I can strongly recommend other texts also. They are too numerous to describe here but I feel duty-bound to make special mention of two books that should benefit novice birders. Kenn Kaufman's A New Focus on the Field Birds of North America and Donald and Lillian Stokes' Stokes Field Guide to Birds may be more userfriendly to the beginner but no less comprehensive than some other texts. A staple for many is Robbins, Brunn and Zim's Birds of North America: A Guide to Field Identification. The Club George bibliography lists still more volumes I unequivocally recommend.

There is one thing I urge you to do no matter what books or authors you select: read the introduction you were planning to skip over. Most introductions must of necessity be short and therefore in theory should concentrate a substantial dose of information into a mercifully small capsule that will not overtax your attention span. I believe you will thank me for suggesting this though it may not be for some time after you have waded through the material.

My dwelling on reference books may lead you to believe I only developed an intellectual curiosity about birds. To the contrary, after meeting George all succeeding birds looked to me like works of art. Even those commonly seen birds that I thought of as the "usual suspects" became gorgeous creatures in my eyes. "Post-George," when I looked at a Rock Pigeon I became aware of the iridescent green, purple and bronze on its neck. I looked beyond the American Robin's red breast to see the subtle white highlights on its tail, belly and eye ring. I noticed that the European Starling's black beak turns bright yellow and the white dots on its breast wear away by the time mating season arrives leaving black shiny feathers with shimmering iridescent highlights. The House Sparrow's plumage was not drab as so many describe it but instead it was subtle and refined. Before long I felt self-conscious when I offered a description of any bird at all because I caught myself piling on the superlatives to an embarrassing extent.


Excerpted from Club George by Bob Levy. Copyright © 2006 Bob Levy. Excerpted by permission of St. Martins Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents


Title Page,
Preface - A Mentor I Was Meant For,
Chapter 1 - Welcome to the Club,
Chapter 2 • April 21 - I Only Had Eyes for George,
Chapter 3 • April 24 - Groovy Ruby,
Chapter 4 • April 27 - Goose on the Loose,
Chapter 5 • April 30 - Here's Looking at You Kid,
Chapter 6 • May 1 - A Peek at Two Beaks,
Chapter 7 • May 2 - Bluish-Green Heron,
Chapter 8 • May 4 - A Mixture in the Picture,
Chapter 9 • May 5 - Muetual Trust,
Chapter 10 • May 6 - An Uncommon Common Grackle,
Chapter 11• May 7 - Scene of Graphic Violence,
Chapter 12 • May 8 - Crested Breast Rodent?,
Chapter 13 • May 9 - A Bird in a Bag,
Chapter 14 • May 13 - Morton and Mary,
Chapter 15 • May 14 - Yellow Cake and Black Skimmer,
Chapter 16 • May 15 - Bird Hygiene,
Chapter 17 • May 16 - A Beak Full of Chips,
Chapter 18 • May 18 - A Poetic Place to Nest,
Chapter 19 • May 20 - A Bird's Nest Can Be a Hassle,
Chapter 20 • May 21 - A Heaping Helping of Ducklings,
Chapter 21 • May 22 - Kissing Cardinals,
Chapter 22 • May 25 - Narrow Escapes,
Chapter 23 • May 26 - Love with a Many Splendored Wing,
Chapter 24 • May 27 - Feeding Frenzy,
Chapter 25 • May 29 - Goose vs. Goose,
Chapter 26 • May 30 - Plan A or Plan B?,
Chapter 27 • June 1 - Soggy Bread,
Chapter 28 • June 2 - Hunting Techniques,
Chapter 29 • June 3 - Babes in Pond Land,
Chapter 30 • June 6 - A Cruel Eviction,
Chapter 31 - Apparel That Will Wear Well,
Chapter 32 • June 10 - Would a Woodpecker Spy?,
Chapter 33 • June 11 - Berry in a Beak,
Chapter 34 • June 12 - International Coalition,
Chapter 35 • June 13 - One Chick, No Photo,
Chapter 36 • June 15 - Adaptor Snapper,
Chapter 37 • June 16 and 17 - A Chick off the Old George,
Chapter 38 • June 18 - Replay or New Play?,
Chapter 39 • June 19 - First Club George Charter Member,
Chapter 40 • June 20 - Oriole Rescue,
Chapter 41 • June 22 - The Masked Duck,
Chapter 42 • June 23 - The Art of Bat Detection,
Chapter 43 • June 24 - Red-winged Blackbird Nest Too,
Chapter 44 • June 25 - The Importance of Being Repellent,
Chapter 45 • June 27 - Cedar Waxwing Magic,
Chapter 46 • June 29 - Distress Calls,
Chapter 47 • June 30 - The Molting Has Begun,
Chapter 48 • July 1 - Barnstorming Skimmer,
Chapter 49 • July 2 - Northern Flicker Sitter,
Chapter 50 • July 4 - A Paper Trail,
Chapter 51 • July 7 - Cedar Waxwinglets,
Chapter 52 • July 8 - Hawk on a Lamppost,
Chapter 52 • July 8 - Hawk on a Lamppost,
Chapter 53 • July 9 - A Controversial E-mail,
Chapter 54 • July 10 - George Is off His Feed,
Chapter 55 • July 11 - Genuine Infectious Excitement,
Chapter 56 • July 13 - A Very Sad Story,
Chapter 57 • July 14 - Triumphant Trio,
Chapter 58 • July 15 - Wafer Thin Gray Fuzzy Fringe,
Chapter 59 • July 16 - Blue Jay Blues,
Chapter 60 • July 17 - Beaucoup de Rendezvous,
Chapter 61 • July 18 - Squirrel Attack,
Chapter 62 • July 20 - Heroic Hawk Harasser,
Chapter 63 • July 21 - Bird Talk,
Chapter 64 • July 22 - Slip Sliding, Oy Vey,
Chapter 65 • July 23 - Deranged Muppet,
Chapter 66 • July 24 - One Chick Short Again?,
Chapter 67 • July 25 - Spearfishing in America,
Chapter 68 • July 27 - Predator Alert Tag Team,
Chapter 69 • July 28 - Bye-bye Birdie,
Chapter 70 • July 30 - Unidentified Just Started Flying Object,
Chapter 71 - Tail's End,
Copyright Page,

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See All Customer Reviews

Club George: The Diary of a Central Park Birdwatcher 2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 1 reviews.
lorax on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Most birding narratives are about people with much more birding experience than you, going places you probably don¿t have the time or money to visit, and seeing birds you¿ve probably never seen. Club George breaks all these rules; it¿s by and about a beginning birder in Central Park, and there are maybe a dozen or so species mentioned, with rare exception all among the most common in the eastern United States. It would be possible to write a very interesting book from these circumstances, but this isn¿t it.During a period of unemployment, Bob Levy starts regularly birding in Central Park, or, more specifically, regularly visiting a particular pond where a Red-winged Blackbird he calls George lives. (Unlike many birding books, which omit the practice in the name of ¿readability¿, Levy correctly capitalizes species names. Unfortunately he also incorrectly capitalizes generic names, such as ¿Oak Tree¿.) He becomes very invested in the life of George and a few other bids he sees regularly, following them through the breeding season and describing his observations of their behavior. This sort of close observations of individuals has the potential to be very interesting, and the attention to detail required to identify specific individual birds is commendable.Unfortunately, the scope of the book is too narrow, and the birds¿ behavior too influenced by humans, for these observations to be very interesting; I found myself bored halfway through with endless repetitions of "George flew to the railing. I fed him a peanut. He flew back to the nest, and I looked for nestlings. I didn't see them." While there are interesting quotes from a Red-winged Blackbird expert, Levy doesn't seem terribly interested in the birds other than as individuals. He has the common city-dweller pattern of caring about individual animals rather than species or ecosystems, and is as upset at the prospect of a bird being eaten by a hawk as by being crowded out by the introduced House Sparrows. He never birds anywhere other than Central Park, or even shows any interest in birds other than the few he can identify as individuals; it would have been very interesting if he'd gone out to one of the large post-breeding staging grounds for redwings, to see them in the flocks of thousands he alludes to (and which, for me, still seem like the more normal numbers to see them in), but apparently if he can't pick George out of the crowd he's just not interested, because he never even considers the possibility. Instead, the book ends as soon as George leaves the pond, and Levy's interest in birding apparently does as well.I'm not really sure who would enjoy this book. People with no interest at all in birds would have no reason to pick it up, and avidbirders are likely to be bored by it and annoyed at the self-congratulatory tone and complete lack of curiosity about birdsanywhere other than one small corner of Central Park. Perhaps people in the author's exact situation -- New Yorkers with a budding interest in birds or in nature, who are heartened to learn that anything other than sparrows and pigeons makes a home in the city, would be interested, but outside of that narrow audience it doesn't have much to recommend it. This is not a bad book, just not a good one.