Who are the people around Flaco the Owl?

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On a gray Wednesday afternoon in January, I took the E train to Manhattan's Chelsea neighborhood to interview a parrot.

I worked on what was perhaps the most challenging assignment I've tackled in my four-plus years as a Metro reporter at The New York Times, an assignment that ultimately brought me into contact with New York City's first rat czar, a sex therapist. , a high-wire artist, a few ironworkers, and a certain large, yellow Sesame Street character.

The subject was Flaco, a Eurasian eagle owl, and his year at large in Manhattan. A quick summary for those who missed the story:

Last February, someone cut the mesh at the Central Park Zoo enclosure, where Flaco had lived for most of his 13 years, allowing him to fly away. Zoo officials essentially gave up trying to bring him back after he showed he was in tune with his essential owlhood and could fend for himself in Central Park.

I chronicled Flaco's early days of freedom in several articles and became involved in his fate. What started as a quirky crime story had grown into an unlikely survival story. I was rooting for the guy.

But I soon returned to my normal diet of breaking people news, my main responsibility at the Metro desk. But because Flaco had an enthusiastic fan base, I was able to follow him on social media. So last summer I knew where to spot him in one of his favorite trees, while my wife and I cycled through Central Park. He looked quite comfortable.

I had no plans to write about Flaco again. But then he began to approach a year of freedom.

Much had been written about the novelty of Flaco's new life and its significance for those involved in his story. It was Nestor Ramos, the editor-in-chief of Metro, who came up with the idea of ​​trying to capture what that life looked like from Flaco's perspective. Or as my editor for the article, Shauntel Lowe, put it: What's his bird's eye view?

In November, we took a break when Flaco left the relative safety of Central Park and showed up in the East Village, allowing us to follow him as he began exploring new, uncharted territory. Soon he was on the Upper West Side.

It was an exciting turn of events. But the assignment still caused me problems. My subject couldn't tell me anything even if he wanted to. Ultimately, we decided to rely on interviews with bird experts and include the voices of people who had closely followed Flaco and those who had encountered him on their windowsills or air conditioners.

From there we got creative. Flaco was feasting on rats, so it seemed like a good idea to talk to Kathleen Corradi, the city's first director of rodent control. Flaco also lacked a partner. So Dr. Ruth Westheimer, who was appointed New York's honorary loneliness ambassador by Governor Kathy Hochul, seemed worth a try.

To get a sense of Flaco's lofty view of the city, I thought about what kind of people spend time at high altitudes. That brought me to tightrope walker Philippe Petit; radio traffic reporter Tom Kaminski; Charles Semowich, who plays the carillon in the 400-foot tower of Riverside Church in Manhattan; and Jason Chadee and Conrad Lazare, ironworkers whose work helped shape Manhattan's skyline. I interviewed them at their union building in Astoria, Queens.

Then I moved on to my interview wish list. There were a number of people who didn't make the cut: the singer of a hit song about a bird, a rapper known to have an affinity for owls, even the footballer Joe Flacco.

One did: Big Bird. I believe it was my wife who suggested we try it. After all, he is a prominent bird closely associated with Manhattan. I found a press representative from Sesame Street who was happy to give me a joke and get an explanation from “the big man.”

By then I had plenty of material—ornithology, a chronology, the geography of Manhattan, a dose of whimsy—but I still didn't know how to put it all together.

It may have been simple desperation that led to my “aha” moment. I began to think of the people I spoke to as characters living in Flaco's New York, and their comments as something a neighbor would say.

The parrot was my editor's idea. She knew you can't really 'interview' a parrot, but felt it was in the spirit of this unconventional article. I was skeptical, but eager to try it.

I found a couple in Chelsea with two parrots. One, Rachel, an African Grey, was probably quite chatty. I spent the better part of an hour sprinkling her with almonds, talking to Walter Mullin, one of her owners, and occasionally asking the bird questions like, “What do you think it's like outside?”

Rachel didn't give me anything useful. She didn't even say anything until I was getting ready to leave and the other parrot, Toby, started screeching. “Quiet,” Rachel said again and again.

Fortunately, I had many sources that were more forthcoming, something readers responded to when the article was published this month. It was a good reminder that even if your topic can't speak for itself, there are still plenty of people you can talk to.