The Raccoon Man of Central Park: Israel Ortiz and His Wild Friends

Israel Ortiz tossed a peanut into the air. A woodpecker perched on a nearby branch immediately swooped down and caught it in its beak.

It was not a circus trick. For nearly 20 years, Ortiz has spent his afternoons feeding animals near the American Museum of Natural History. Birds, squirrels and pigeons all gather around his bench. But they are not the main attraction. The raccoons are.

Sitting on a bench beneath tall trees, Ortiz looked like someone who had spent a lifetime outdoors. He is fit and sinewy, with deeply tanned skin. A faded black Yankees cap shaded a face framed by a gray beard and curly gray hair. He wore faded blue jeans, black shoes and a faded black American Museum of Natural History T-shirt featuring a dinosaur skeleton.

When Ortiz reached into his bag for a croissant, movement stirred in the bushes. One raccoon appeared, then another. Soon four sets of brown fur emerged from the greenery. Ortiz called out to them by name.

To most passersby, the raccoons looked nearly identical, but Ortiz knew each one by sight. “They’re different in color and personality,” he said. Some approached right away, while others remained farther back. Winning their trust had taken years. “They come a bit closer each day,” he said.

He described how they first emerged cautiously from the bushes, standing on their hind legs to sniff the air for danger and the scent of butter from the croissants. Eventually, they became comfortable enough to climb fences, cross pathways and approach him directly.

One raccoon walked behind the bench. Ortiz turned around and stretched out his hand. “Give me a kiss,” he said. The raccoon pressed its nose against his fingers. “Good girl, good girl.” He rewarded it with a piece of croissant.

The animal grabbed the pastry with both paws and started to retreat when another raccoon rushed forward and bit it on the neck. “Don’t fight! Don’t fight!” Ortiz shouted. Both animals were pregnant.

Around him, about 15 pigeons waited eagerly for peanuts. One was bold enough to stand directly on his black bag, where the food was stored. Ortiz called out “Blue Blue,” and a pigeon fluttered over as if responding to its name.

He tossed peanuts onto the ground. One pigeon pecked repeatedly at a shell without success. “Let me do it for you,” Ortiz said. The pigeon ignored him.

The food attracted squirrels as well. Three or four scampered up and down the bench. Unlike the pigeons, they never stayed long. They grabbed a peanut and disappeared, only to return moments later for another.

”You can bring a truck full of food, and they’ll eat it all,” Ortiz told the West Side Spirit. “Then they’ll ask for more.”

Over the years, Ortiz has watched generations of raccoons come and go. He remembered one mother raccoon leaving a newborn near a tree. Concerned, Ortiz picked up the young animal and called park rangers. Eventually, someone came from Long Island to take the baby raccoon into care.

Another raccoon, named Light Foot, became one of his favorites. In 2010, Light Foot arrived with six babies. During the pandemic, Ortiz said, as many as 20 raccoons sometimes came for food.

His connection to animals long predates his time in Central Park. Before retiring, Ortiz worked as a building superintendent. He also raised about 300 pigeons on a rooftop. “When I retired, instead of going to Mexico to drink and spend money, I wanted to give back to nature,” Ortiz said.

He decided that nature would be Central Park. In the 1970s, he used to swim there. “But the water was clean back then,” he said.

Every afternoon around 2:30 p.m., Ortiz begins his routine. He takes the D train from the Bronx, a trip of about 45 minutes, then transfers to a bus before stopping at a supermarket near Central Park West. Birdseed, unsalted roasted peanuts and croissants cost him about $22 a day.

The animals know Ortiz. So do the park rangers and many regular visitors. People waved as they passed his bench. Tourists often stopped in disbelief at the sight of raccoons approaching a man in broad daylight. They took photographs, asked questions and occasionally contributed money toward the food. “I’ve met people from all over the world,” Ortiz said.

On this afternoon, he counted the donations he had received: seven dollars, all in single bills. The rest would come out of his own pocket.

Later, Ortiz was joined by his longtime park friend Robert Ball and Ball’s friend, Lucia Luciani. Watching the animals gather around him, Luciani smiled. “They all love you because they know they’re protected by you,” she said.

The scene reminded her of Brigitte Bardot. “She famously said, ‘I gave my beauty and my youth to men. I am going to give my wisdom and experience to animals,’” Luciani said.

”Did you give your beauty and your youth to women too?” a passerby asked Ortiz. Everyone laughed.

”Those animals, they’re better than women,” Ball joked.

A few moments later, a raccoon approached from behind. Busy talking, Ortiz didn’t notice. The animal rose onto its hind legs and placed its paws on the bench. It tugged at the wood for attention.

Only then did Ortiz turn around. “Okay, okay,” he said. The raccoon waited patiently for its croissant.