David Speiser, former NYC Bird Alliance Board Member | September 30, 2025

I started birding in Central Park in 1995, but I flew under the radar until one morning in 1998, when all of a sudden, I heard a voice: “What are you looking for?” I was at Tanner’s Spring, a small natural waterhole on the west side of the Park around 81st street. “I’m looking for a Mourning Warbler,” I said. 

“Well it’s not here, that was from a few days ago, he said. “I’m Lloyd, I’m in charge of the feeders in the Ramble.” Little did I know that our first brief interaction would lead to a very close relationship of 27 years. 

My next interaction with Lloyd was a few days later, as I was entering the Park at East 79th Street, and he was just leaving. I said to him the usual opening, “Anything good?” I just get a quick retort, “They’re all good, David.”

My first two interactions with Lloyd summed up his personality beautifully: He was inquisitive. He had heard there was a new, younger birder in the Park that had potential, and he made it his goal to seek me out and check me out for himself.

In those days, Lloyd very much “owned Central Park.” There was no mobile internet, just the bird register book in the Park’s Boathouse, and the very beginnings of cell phones. Lloyd was the epicenter of bird information. Everyone called him or somehow got the word to Lloyd when some bird or another was found. 

Yet they only called for the “good ones.” Or ones that Lloyd deemed as good. That can be witnessed when he started running the Metro Morning Briefs NYC rare bird alert. He had strict guidelines as to what could be reported and what couldn’t be. He would scold you with an email if you submitted something noteworthy.

That leads to my second interaction with Lloyd: “Anything good?” Well, Lloyd loved birds, but I’m not sure why. He never really explained it in all these years. He liked being outside, kind of. He liked nature, kind of. But most of all, he liked the social interaction and the attention. Birders often thought, Wow, Lloyd is here, so there must be something good. 

That’s why my “Anything good?” comment and his response was so interesting. He knew what I meant, but he liked to be contrarian. He liked to be right, and he saw things often as black and white.

Over the next 27 years, we became close, talking on the phone almost every day. In that time, I learned a lot about Lloyd—and his many stories. 

Lloyd was born in the Bronx and, at about age six moved to Forest Hills, which is where the parade of stories began. There was the town bully who slammed his head against a Cadillac, and the UFOs he saw while in college at Iowa, and the miserable time in the army reserves that forced him to cut his long hippy hair, and many more that I can’t state here. After getting himself discharged from the reserves, he tried his hand at music promotion and saw all the greats in the 60s and 70s. Eventually, he sold pants (“huuuge orders” he would say) to large chains like Kohls, Target, and Costco. He retired early in his mid-40s. The timeline always changed with Lloyd, and I never got a definitive answer as to actually how old he was when he retired.

Around the time of his retirement, his beloved wife of 50 years, Sandy, took up birding. Lloyd reluctantly took it up too, so he could encourage her passion. They travelled all around the country looking for “anything good.” Lloyd loved the attention and friendships, and he loved seeing the same people at rarity after rarity, like the Siberian Accentor in Montana, the Laysan Albatross in California, and Ross’s Gull in Maryland. When Lloyd and Sandy arrived, it meant the bird would be seen soon and quickly. 

After Sandy got sick, they stopped traveling and Lloyd became the dean of Central Park. In 2004 he reacquired his taste for photography when he bought a Canon 20D. He quickly gained a stellar reputation and, for the next 15 years or so, chased birds simple and rarealways claiming you can always do better. Lloyd loved Jamaica Bay, with its waders, mud, the smell, and of course, the shorebirds, which was probably his favorite family of birds—yet his license plate was BTB blue, his favorite warbler. We spent many hot, exhilarating hours at the East Pond.

“Don’t worry, David. I never get stuck.” He uttered that to me one faithful afternoon as we attempted to get to a group of Pectoral and Stilt Sandpipers at the Pond. One step in, and he was stuck and sinking fast. Should I help the person who never gets stuck or rescue him? I thought to myself. Instantly, however, I was there to pull Lloyd out. “I guess I get stuck sometimes, thank you,” was his quick retort, with a smirk on his face. Lloyd liked to be black and white, but occasionally there was some gray. 

Photography was huge for Lloyd. He was passionate, critical, and he liked to share his knowledge. Lloyd wasn’t studious, but if he liked something—food, cooking, photography— he invested countless hours learning and watching videos about it. He co-led the NYC Audubon (now NYC Bird Alliance) Photo Club with me for many years. We led photo workshops for years together, and he was an original founder of the Jamaica Bay Shorebird  Festival, which celebrated its 20th year in August. 

Lloyd was a true New Yorker—one of a kind, brash, in your face. He talked with a real accent. My favorite story of all time is when someone heard him talk and asked if he was British. Lloyd was proud of that! We all know how far from British he was. Lloyd was bigger than life in many ways. He was generous, giving, and caring in his own way.

My birding group is now down to one. First Dick Veit, then our beloved friend Harry Maas, and now Lloyd. He expected to be here for many decades more, and so did I. Lloyd, you will never be forgotten; there are many, many more stories and many more memories to share. The “anything good?” It was you! You’ll be missed, my dear friend.