New York
Two Men’s Fight to Protect the Geese at the Central Park Reservoir
Whether goslings live or die at the Central Park Reservoir could be up to two 70-something, nature-loving men who first crossed paths there this winter.
Edward Dorson, a wildlife photographer and regular visitor to the reservoir, learned in 2021 that federal workers were destroying the eggs of Canada geese there as part of a government safety program to decrease bird collisions with airplanes. He tried to stop it.
He reached out to animal rights organizations and wrote letters to various government agencies. He got nowhere.
Then in December, he met Larry Schnapf, a tough-talking environmental lawyer, who spotted Mr. Dorson admiring the birds and introduced himself. Mr. Dorson told him about the nest destruction. Mr. Schnapf, in his 40-year legal career, had mostly focused on redeveloping contaminated properties but had picked up the occasional pro bono passion project. “I told him I take on quixotic pursuits,” Mr. Schnapf said.
Now, they are teaming up to protect the eggs of a small population of Canada geese that nest around the reservoir, a popular attraction for joggers and bird watchers. The battle will undoubtedly be uphill: They are lobbying multiple government agencies during a fraught time in aviation where bird strikes are one of many concerns, on behalf of a bird often described as a nuisance because of its honking cries and the droppings it leaves on lawns, parks and golf courses.
The men say they appreciate the importance of protecting planes. But they are seeking to exempt the Central Park Reservoir from the egg destruction program so that it can serve as a sanctuary for the nesting geese. They argue that Central Park is far enough from the area’s airports that the geese do not pose a major problem.
Mr. Schnapf said he plans to send a cease-and-desist letter to the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, which oversees five major airports in the region, including Kennedy International Airport, Newark Liberty International Airport and LaGuardia Airport. The agency works with an arm of the U.S. Department of Agriculture on the safety program. “I think this is all unlawful,” he said. “These are protected animals.”
Port Authority officials did not comment on the advocacy plans of the two men. But they stressed that government efforts like those underway in Central Park were part of creating safer conditions for air travel.
“Managing wildlife risks — especially from resident Canada geese — near our airports is a life safety imperative and essential to maintaining safe operations,” said Laura Francoeur, the Port Authority’s chief wildlife biologist.
Although Canada geese are protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, authorities have obtained a waiver to control the population. The birds, which can weigh as much as 19 pounds and have a wingspan up to 5.5 feet, according to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, can get sucked into plane engines and bring an aircraft down.
Between 2008 and 2023, there were 451 aviation accidents involving commercial aircraft in the United States, with a total of 17 caused by bird strikes, producing five injuries and no fatalities, according to the National Transportation Safety Board.
New York City tightened its grip on Canada geese in 2009, after a collision with a flock caused US Airways Flight 1549, piloted by Chesley B. Sullenberger III, to lose both its engines shortly after it took off from LaGuardia. The plane was forced into an emergency water landing in what is now commonly known as the “miracle on the Hudson.”
The event prompted the Port Authority to ask the Department of Agriculture for help. In 2010, federal wildlife workers took on the management of Canada geese populations within seven miles of the city’s major airports, including in city parks.
Mr. Schnapf calls the current rules an overreach, since Federal Aviation Administration guidelines call for wildlife management only within five miles of airports. A Port Authority spokeswoman said the agency honors all federal regulations, including addressing wildlife hazards within five miles of airports. But she added that the agency will often go beyond that radius when specific threats arise.
Data from the F.A.A. shows that Canada geese strikes at LaGuardia and Kennedy Airports have remained consistent over the last two decades, with between zero and four instances per year.
Canada geese thrive in people-friendly landscapes, and their population has boomed throughout North America over the last four decades. Many geese have become so comfortable in parks and other green spaces, like the reservoir, that they have stopped migrating, becoming year-round residents.
There are about 228,000 resident Canada geese in New York State, up from 150,000 in 2002. The state’s Department of Environmental Conservation would like to see that number shrink to 85,000.
The two men fighting for the Central Park Reservoir’s resident geese were both born in the Bronx, are similar in age and diet (one is a vegetarian, the other a vegan). But the similarities more or less end there.
Mr. Dorson, 77, an accomplished underwater photographer and conservationist with a background in the arts, is a soft-spoken lover of hard-to-love animals — he helped start a shark sanctuary in Palau, in Micronesia. Mr. Schnapf, 72, is a fast-talking, fast-acting networker who is not afraid to make noise.
“I told Ed,” he said, “you’ve got to rattle the bureaucracy.”
Mr. Dorson and Mr. Schnapf are hoping to meet with officials from the Port Authority, the Central Park Conservancy and the city’s Department of Environmental Protection, which oversees the reservoir, among other decision makers.
”All we’re trying to do is get them to talk to us, so we can come up with a plan so at least some of those eggs can be hatched,” Mr. Schnapf said.
Mr. Dorson admitted that, right now, “I don’t see too many people like me who are worried about the geese.”
“But maybe 10 years from now, when there are no geese here, then people might feel the loss,” he said. “I’d like to change that.”
New York
Read the Indictment Against Nicolás Maduro
intentionally and knowingly combined, conspired, confederated, and agreed together and with each other to violate Title 18, United States Code, Section 924(c).
35. It was a part and an object of the conspiracy that NICOLÁS MADURO MOROS, DIOSDADO CABELLO RONDÓN, RAMÓN RODRÍGUEZ CHACÍN, CILIA ADELA FLORES DE MADURO, NICOLÁS ERNESTO MADURO GUERRA, a/k/a “Nicolasito,” a/k/a “The Prince,” and HECTOR RUSTHENFORD GUERRERO FLORES, a/k/a “Niño Guerrero,” the defendants, and others known and unknown, during and in relation to a drug trafficking crime for which they may be prosecuted in a court of the United States, to wit, for MADURO MOROS, CABELLO RONDÓN, and RODRÍGUEZ CHACÍN, the controlled substance offenses charged in Counts One and Two of this Superseding Indictment, and for FLORES DE MADURO, MADURO GUERRA, and GUERRERO FLORES, the controlled substance offense charged in Count Two of this Superseding Indictment, knowingly used and carried firearms, and, in furtherance of such crimes, knowingly possessed firearms, and aided and abetted the use, carrying, and possession of firearms, to wit, machineguns that were capable of automatically shooting more than one shot, without manual reloading, by a single function of the trigger, as well as destructive devices, in violation of Title 18, United States Code, Sections 924(c)(1)(A) and 924(c)(1)(B)(ii). (Title 18, United States Code, Sections 924(o) and 3238.)
36.
FORFEITURE ALLEGATIONS
As a result of committing the controlled substance offense charged in Count One of this Superseding Indictment, NICOLÁS MADURO MOROS, DIOSDADO CABELLO RONDÓN, RAMÓN RODRÍGUEZ CHACÍN, the defendants, shall forfeit to the United States, pursuant to Title 21, United States Code, Sections 853 and 970, any and all property constituting, or derived from, any proceeds the defendants obtained, directly or indirectly, as a result of the offenses, and any and all property used, or intended to be used, in any manner or part, to commit,
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New York
Video: New York City Hit With Heaviest Snowfall in Years
new video loaded: New York City Hit With Heaviest Snowfall in Years
transcript
transcript
New York City Hit With Heaviest Snowfall in Years
A winter storm blanketed the Greater New York area, leading to more than 400 flight cancellations across the region’s major airports. Parts of Long Island saw up to nine inches of snow.
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I think it was absolutely beautiful. We’re from North Carolina, so it was great to come up to New York and see the snow.
By Jorge Mitssunaga
December 27, 2025
New York
Vote For the Best Metropolitan Diary Entry of 2025
Every week since 1976, Metropolitan Diary has published stories by, and for, New Yorkers of all ages and eras (no matter where they live now): anecdotes and memories, quirky encounters and overheard snippets that reveal the city’s spirit and heart.
For the past four years, we’ve asked for your help picking the best Diary entry of the year. Now we’re asking again.
We’ve narrowed the field to the five finalists here. Read them and vote for your favorite. The author of the item that gets the most votes will receive a print of the illustration that accompanied it, signed by the artist, Agnes Lee.
The voting closes at 11:59 p.m. on Sunday, Dec. 21. You can change your vote as many times as you’d like until then, but you may only pick one. Choose wisely.
Click “VOTE” to choose your favorite Metropolitan Diary entry of 2025, and come back on Sunday, Dec. 28, to see which one our readers picked as their favorite.
Click “VOTE” to choose your favorite Metropolitan Diary entry of 2025, and come back on Sunday, Dec. 28, to see which one our readers picked as their favorite.
Two Stops
Dear Diary:
It was a drizzly June night in 2001. I was a young magazine editor and had just enjoyed what I thought was a very blissful second date — dinner, drinks, fabulous conversation — with our technology consultant at a restaurant in Manhattan.
I lived in Williamsburg at the time, and my date lived near Murray Hill, so we grabbed a cab and headed south on Second Avenue.
“Just let me out here,” my date said to the cabby at the corner of 25th Street.
We said our goodbyes, quick and shy, knowing that we would see each other at work the next day. I was giddy and probably grinning with happiness and hope.
“Oh boy,” the cabby said, shaking his head as we drove toward Brooklyn. “Very bad.”
“What do you mean?” I asked in horror.
“He doesn’t want you to know exactly where he lives,” the cabby said. “Not a good sign.”
I spent the rest of the cab ride in shock, revisiting every moment of the date.
Happily, it turned out that my instinct about it being a great date was right, and the cabby was wrong. Twenty-four years later, my date that night is my husband, and I know that if your stop is first, it’s polite to get out so the cab can continue in a straight line to the next stop.
Ferry Farewell
Dear Diary:
On a February afternoon, I met my cousins at the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. Their spouses and several of our very-grown children were there too. I brought Prosecco, a candle, a small speaker to play music, photos and a poem.
We were there to recreate the wedding cruise of my mother, Monica, and my stepfather, Peter. They had gotten married at City Hall in August 1984. She was 61, and he, 71. It was her first marriage, and his fourth.
I was my mother’s witness that day. It was a late-in-life love story, and they were very happy. Peter died in 1996, at 82. My mother died last year. She was 100.
Peter’s ashes had waited a long time, but finally they were mingled with Monica’s. The two of them would ride the ferry a last time and then swirl together in the harbor forever. Cue the candles, bubbly, bagpipes and poems.
Two ferry workers approached us. We knew we were in trouble: Open containers and open flames were not allowed on the ferry.
My cousin’s husband, whispering, told the workers what we were doing and said we would be finished soon.
They walked off, and then returned. They said they had spoken to the captain, and they ushered us to the stern for some privacy. As the cup of ashes flew into the water, the ferry horn sounded two long blasts.
Unacceptable
Dear Diary:
I went to a new bagel store in Brooklyn Heights with my son.
When it was my turn to order, I asked for a cinnamon raisin bagel with whitefish salad and a slice of red onion.
The man behind the counter looked up at me.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t do that.”
Teresa
Dear Diary:
It was February 2013. With a foot of snow expected, I left work early and drove from New Jersey warily as my wipers squeaked and snow and ice stuck to my windows.
I drove east on the Cross Bronx Expressway, which was tied up worse than usual. Trucks groaned on either side of my rattling Toyota. My fingers were cold. My toes were colder. Got to get home before it really comes down, I thought to myself.
By the time I got home to my little red bungalow a stone’s throw from the Throgs Neck Bridge, the snow was already up to my ankles.
Inside, I took off my gloves, hat, scarf, coat, sweater, pants and snow boots. The bed, still unmade, was inviting me. But first, I checked my messages.
There was one from Teresa, the 92-year-old widow on the corner.
“Call me,” she said, sounding desperate.
I looked toward the warm bed, but … Teresa. There was a storm outside, and she was alone.
On went the pants, the sweater, the coat, the scarf, the boots and the gloves, and then I went out the door.
The snow was six inches deep on the sidewalks, so I tottered on tire tracks in the middle of the street. The wind stung my face. When I got to the end of the block, I pounded on her door.
“Teresa!” I called. No answer. “Teresa!” I called again. I heard the TV blaring. Was she sprawled on the floor?
I went next door and called for Kathy.
“Teresa can’t answer the door,” I said. “Probably fell.”
Kathy had a key. In the corner of her neat living room, Teresa, in pink sweatpants and sweaters, was sitting curled in her armchair, head bent down and The Daily News in her lap.
I snapped off the TV.
Startled, she looked up.
“Kathy! Neal!” she said. “What’s a five-letter word for cabbage?”
Nice Place
Dear Diary:
When I lived in Park Slope over 20 years ago, I once had to call an ambulance because of a sudden, violent case of food poisoning.
Two paramedics, a man and a woman, entered our third-floor walk-up with a portable chair. Strapping me in, the male medic quickly inserted an IV line into my arm.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his partner circling around and admiring the apartment.
“Nice place you’ve got here.” she said. “Do you own it?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, all but unconscious.
Once I was in the ambulance, she returned to her line of inquiry.
“Do you mind me asking how much you paid for your apartment?”
“$155,000,” I croaked.
“Wow! You must have bought during the recession.”
“Yeah” I said.
They dropped me off at Methodist Hospital, where I was tended to by a nurse as I struggled to stay lucid.
At some point, the same medic poked her head into the room with one last question:
“You wouldn’t be wanting to sell any time soon, would you?”
Illustrations by Agnes Lee.
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