THE BIRDMAN OF AMERICA

By Paul Gray

Last week intrepid birders--they don't call themselves bird watchers anymore--were combing western Washington and southwestern British Columbia in pursuit of, among other species, the black-footed albatross and crested myna. Or they were in southeastern Arizona, stalking the violet-crowned hummingbird and sulphur-bellied flycatcher, all the while praying for a glimpse of the rare eared trogon.

Because one of the feathery pleasures of a birding trip is to escape from current events, many such pilgrims had to return to civilization before hearing the news: Roger Tory Peterson, the world's most famous birder and the man who single-handedly opened up ornithology to the masses, had died at age 87.

"For many families," author William Zinsser wrote two years ago, "looking something up in Peterson is as habitual as looking something up in Webster." The analogy is apt. Peterson provided a visual vocabulary so useful and influential that it is hard to imagine how people ever looked at nature without it.

His breakthrough occurred in 1934 with the publication of A Field Guide to the Birds, which covered all the species found in the Eastern U.S. The book, which had been suggested to him by the first editor of Audubon magazine, combined two passions that Peterson had developed during his somewhat dreamy and, in the view of his no-nonsense father, lackadaisical childhood in Jamestown, New York: looking at birds and painting pictures. Since he lacked any formal ornithological training, Peterson brought to his project a refreshing dose of common sense. People could not lug folios of Audubon reproductions to where the birds were; Peterson made his guide pocket-size. He also devised what remains the easiest-to-use method of bird identification. "I grouped birds that look alike and therefore might be mistaken for each other, instead of grouping them by species," he remembered years later. "I made my paintings schematic and two-dimensional, and I drew little arrows to point out the 'field marks' that are the main information you need to identify a bird. Those arrows were my invention."

Finally, Peterson included brief, no-nonsense bird descriptions that were as minimal and sharp as his illustrations. One of his most famous captured the male common goldfinch: "The only small yellow bird with black wings." Commit that to memory, and no male common goldfinch flying by will ever again go undetected.

Only 2,000 copies of Peterson's Guide were printed at first; the publisher, Houghton Mifflin, doubted whether much of the reading public would be interested. A second printing was ordered after the first one sold out in one week, and the Peterson bird guides--he added one covering the species of the Western U.S. in 1941--have been selling, to the tune of some 7 million copies, ever since. Peterson produced, alone or with collaborators, scores of other guides on such subjects as wildflowers, butterflies, mammals and minerals. His books have been translated into a dozen languages. He received scads of awards and honorary degrees and was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.

Those immune to the appeal of birding may wonder why the tall, soft-spoken artist was so widely renowned, and is so deeply mourned. What does counting chickadees have to do with anything really important? Peterson, of course, answered that question countless times during the past 62 years. Birds are not only beautiful and fascinating but also early indicators of what is right or going wrong on this planet (think of the canary in the mine shaft). Peterson opened up the natural world to millions of people who might otherwise have gone through life seeing only fluttering shapes and colors. He conscripted through sheer skill and persuasiveness an army of amateur observers; each year, some 24 million Americans make at least one trip from home to look for and at birds. They are paying attention to the earth he cherished. They retain his guides and his guidance.