When Hurricane Irma tore through the Middle Keys, it left behind a path of chaos—roofs torn away, homes buried under splintered wood and twisted metal, trees ripped from the earth, and lives turned upside down. In the weeks after, phone lines buzzed with urgent calls between friends and strangers alike, all asking the same question: “What do they need most?”
When Keith Ludwig called me, my answer was simple: “Heavy equipment and strong friends.”
His reply came without hesitation. “I don’t have a lot of friends,” he said, “but I do have a truck and a Bobcat tractor.”
That was all it took.
Keith took leave from his job at the U.S. Geological Survey—several weeks and counting—and hooked his Bobcat to the back of his white F-350. He drove a couple hundred miles toward the Keys, not knowing if authorities would even let him through as a non-resident, and with no place lined up to stay. At the time, many parts of the Keys were still without power.
He wasn’t going for recognition. He wasn’t going for money. He was going for people—friends of friends, or complete strangers—who needed help.
By sheer luck, John Mulder, a man who had never met Keith, heard about what he was doing and offered him the use of his vacation home in Marathon. That’s where Keith set up base camp. From there, he went out every morning into neighborhoods where hurricane debris still choked the streets and yards—hauling away massive tree limbs, lifting shattered walls, clearing paths to front doors.
He worked at my place, Rick Hoover’s in hard-hit Little Torch, then headed next door to help Bruce and Rose Byrnes. After that, he stopped by Tim Thieman’s place on Ramrod. He even planned to help at Square Grouper for Lynn Bell, but a burst hydraulic hose sidelined his Bobcat that morning. Still undeterred, he shifted to Sugarloaf, spending several days digging out the home of Beau Woods.
That’s just the short list—the people I personally know about. Keith also cleared storm wreckage for families in devastated Big Pine, an elderly commercial fisherman in Marathon, and countless others who crossed his path.
Through it all, his phone died. He lived alone. He beat his Bobcat nearly to death. He received devastating news about a close family member. But every day, he kept going.
And here’s the part that still stops me in my tracks: Keith has done all of this for nothing. Not a cent. He’s never asked for money, never hinted at it, never accepted a dime. He’s just there because, in his words, “it’s the right thing to do.”
So if you’re ever in the Keys and you see a tired-looking man with a white F-350 and a Bobcat, sitting at a bar or grabbing a bite at a local restaurant, do me a favor—send him a beer, give him a handshake, and maybe a quiet “thank you.” Because guys like Keith don’t do it for the applause. But they sure deserve it.
