It’s not uncommon to see a cluster of balloons and flowers commemorating a lost life. But a memorial that recently cropped up in south Minneapolis is something new. There are turkey figurines, a turkey painting and turkey photographs, along with an original four-stanza poem paying homage to the neighborhood mascot, recently found dead in the street.
A neighbor passing the memorial at 54th Street and Logan Avenue S. chatted up a family taking pictures. “We loved him,” she said of the wild bird, recounting how he’d saunter through the intersection, forcing cars to stop, unmoved by their honks.
Neighbors who delighted in turkey sightings over the past year or so had named him: “Gregory Peck,” “Tom,” “James” (presumably for the avenue where he roamed), “the Bachelor Turkey” (he was always alone). They called him a “community fixture” a “neighbor,” even “part of our family.” Following online announcements of the bird’s death, tributes poured in, including turkey video footage set to Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel.”
But among the kind words and cute emojis (“Will live forever in our hearts ❤️🦃”), internet chatter suggested Mr. Peck may have been intentionally harmed, and that an animal control officer was investigating.
Springtime and the approaching breeding season can trigger aggressive behavior in male turkeys. Because city folk are unaccustomed to the birds’ behavior, those being harassed can struggle to resolve the situation. And in some ways, the case of Gregory Peck was a study in what can go wrong.

Gregory — and his demise — is a sort of proverbial canary in the coal mine: a warning of increasing conflict between wild turkeys and their human neighbors.
Turkeys are North America’s largest game bird, a species that lost the national-symbol contest by one vote. But due to hunting and habitat loss, wild turkeys had all but disappeared from Minnesota by the time 29 birds from Missouri were released here in the 1970s. The state’s wild turkey population has since exploded to more than 70,000, many of which inhabit our cities and suburbs.
Urbanites are often captivated by the novelty of wildlife living in the concrete jungle. Minneapolitans were recently awed by (and fearful of) surveillance video that captured a cougar prowling a Lowry Hill driveway.