On a drizzly December morning, Jacqueline Emery pointed to a grassy embankment near the northeastern corner of Central Park and said, “This is where we stood.” Her reverent tone suggested religious ceremony, but Emery was referring to the scrum of birders, photographers, cyclists and tourists who often gathered to watch Flaco, a 13-year-old Eurasian eagle-owl, as he perched in an oak tree just west of the Museum of the City of New York. She described the hubbub, the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd and the excitement bordering on frenzy over the park’s celebrated visitor.
“He was a daily presence,” Emery said. “People connected with him.”
From the night Flaco escaped his snug enclosure at the Central Park Zoo in February 2023 until the day he died, a little over a year later, of complications from rat poisoning, he demonstrated a magnetism and majesty befitting his 6-foot wingspan.
And New Yorkers did what they do when locals defy expectations: They turned him into a celebrity.
Crowds followed Flaco. Social media embraced him. Articles, memes, T-shirts and tattoos celebrated his liberation from the zoo and speedy adaptation to the natural world. And, on March 3, 2024, hundreds attended a memorial service for Flaco beneath the oak tree where he’d kept a fiery orange eye on the bustling city beneath him.
Now that discerning gaze is immortalized in “Finding Flaco,” a photo book by Emery and David Lei, two of his earliest and most ardent supporters.
Their pictures show Flaco in every phase of his adventure — from Central Park to the East Village to the Upper West Side — alongside contributions from a handful of other photographers. The book’s captions balance information and humor, as do mini-essays in which Emery and Lei reflect upon various stops on Flaco’s grand tour. They show his big moments — the first time he dangled a dead rat from his talons, for instance — and less momentous ones, when Flaco preened, displaying his distinctive ear tufts, on fire escapes, water towers, ledges and cornices.
Emery, 46, chair of the English department at SUNY Old Westbury, and Lei, 36, a real estate investor, estimate that they spent hundreds, if not thousands, of hours documenting Flaco’s free bird era.
They’d been regulars on the Manhattan avian scene for years, crossing paths on bird walks while snapping pictures of black-capped chickadees, white-breasted nuthatches and tufted titmice. Photography was a natural extension of bird watching for both of them; as Lei said during a tour of Flaco’s haunts, “You want to be able to share what you’re seeing.”
The pair grew closer early in the pandemic, when the serene park was a paradise for winged creatures and their fans.
“Birds are objects of imagination because they have the ultimate free will: They can fly,” Lei said. Of course, Flaco took liberation to new heights: “We all appreciate a rebel. We hear somebody is disobedient and it speaks to our cultural values in this city of immigrants.”
While the owl struck out on his own, Emery and Lei did the opposite.
“We became a couple just a few months before his release from the zoo,” Emery said.
The pair developed a routine: They’d meet after work and head into the park, equipped with binoculars, cameras and a thermal monocular that allowed them to see Flaco after dark. They’d wait for him to alight from wherever he’d been dozing during the day, then follow him on electric bikes as he navigated around the park or city streets. They called this their “hoot route.”
Like any couple, Lei and Emery bickered about when it was time to go home.
“I’m a night owl, pun intended,” Lei said. He loved being out and about at all hours and hated to miss a moment of the Flaco show. “That’s how I saw him hunt for the first time.”
One night, not long after Flaco evaded capture by zoo authorities, Emery left the park in a huff. She needed to walk her dog, Tillie; she was annoyed with Lei for backing out of their dinner plan. Later, he said, “The message I got was, ‘Are you still with that damn owl?’”
For the most part, though, Flaco was the glue that bonded Emery and Lei. Encounters with him became quieter, more intimate, as he became a Manhattan regular and crowds dispersed. The two of them watched Flaco from a respectful distance, enjoying both the peace and thrill of being in the presence of a wild animal. They liked to think he recognized them.
There were no owls to see on a rainy winter day in Central Park. Strolling through the fields where Flaco stalked his prey, Emery and Lei listened for the keening sounds squirrels make when a raptor is nearby. They debated whether a soaring bird was a red-tailed hawk or a crow. They spotted a white-flecked pellet on the ground — mostly likely the product of a small owl — and admitted that they’d disagreed about whether to include pictures of regurgitation in their book.
He was all for it; she had reservations. Lei prevailed.
There are two owl pellet photos — one showing an intact rat skull — in “Finding Flaco.” But, for the most part, the book consists of stunning shots of Flaco exploring the city. There he is, resting on construction equipment; bathed in the gentle glow of traffic lights; flexing his wings, DeLorean style, before soaring over his kingdom. Not only does he appear to be at home, he also looks quizzical, skeptical, tranquil and, yes, wise.
“He enjoyed his freedom,” Lei said. “He was making the most of it. We could see him figuring things out.”
Emery and Lei self-published “Finding Flaco” with the help of a Kickstarter campaign that raised almost $58,000. A portion of the proceeds will go to causes that benefit birds and other wildlife.
The introduction is by Ed Shanahan, who covered Flaco’s life and death for The New York Times. “Some saw him as an underdog, others, as an immigrant, still others as an outlaw,” Shanahan writes. “More than a few, I imagine, saw him as all those things rolled into one.”
The last time Emery and Lei saw Flaco together, they were on a friend’s rooftop on West 86th Street. With a pigeon clamped firmly in his talons, Flaco flew from a nearby water tower to a spot directly above Emery and Lei. There he lingered, closer than he’d ever been, hooting. He peered down at them between bursts of song.
“It was magical,” Emery said. “I’ll never forget that.”
She paused, too choked up to continue, then added, “He looked so peaceful and happy. We shared that moment with each other.”
Lei said, “It was almost like he was saying hello. And goodbye.”
Published in The New York Times. Reprinted with permission.