I’m standing in a lower-level room with Jim Ludwig in his incredible Russian Hill home. He suggests we start the interview here while Patsy, his wife of three years, is occupied with the phone installer upstairs. It seems Patsy has relegated some pieces of art that don’t fit with the recent remodel to the depths of the home, so he suggests we slip downstairs before she notices.

Friday, Jim and Patsy will be honored at the 40th Anniversary of Zoo Fest for years of fundraising and service. He’s been on the board since 1953, just a year after arriving in town to open the then new Saks Fifth Avenue at Grant Avenue and Maiden Lane.



Scrapbooks and photo albums record Ludwig family history from the founding of a successful New York City dry goods store in 1881, to Jim Ludwig’s stint in World War II, to his copious civic work in the city. Newspaper clippings and photos document groundbreakings, ribbon cuttings, and gala openings. Whether it’s bringing Rudolf Nureyev and Margot Fonteyn to San Francisco dance with the ballet in 1967 or the creation of the African Savanna at the zoo in 2004, Ludwig has had a hand in it.

Near the rows of framed photos and leather albums is a long, wooden vessel, just one of numerous tribal pieces filling the home. “It’s called a big pig bowl,” he says. “In Tonga, cannibals would serve humans in these.”

“Have you ever eaten anything from it?” I ask.

“Not for a while,” he jokes, eyes glinting just like his GI photo. “Now, let’s go upstairs.”

The house is a modern gem, built as a one-story dwelling by San Francisco architect Henry Hill (he added a second story later) and skillfully renovated by another local, Sandy Walker. Behind the sleek, but unassuming metal-and-glass front gate lies one of the best tricks the California modernists had to offer: a large, tree-shaded courtyard. It’s hard to imagine someone building one now in the heart of the city, with space at a premium and square footage bringing top dollar, but these courtyards allow for walls of windows that simultaneously let light in and create a seamless transition from indoors to out. The walls shelter the courtyard from wind, and the tile patio reflects the warm rays of the sun. To stand in the middle of the space is to know the California dream that sparked a building boom in the ‘50s, when this house was built.



Through the large, sliding-glass window walls is a compact, open-plan living room and dining room. The colors are quiet—white walls, blonde wood, and light-colored furniture—allowing the artwork to shine.



Along one wall, on a shelf at baseboard level, is a line of spectacular tribal and oceanic statues and masks. Mirrors back the shelf, allowing a viewer to study every aspect of the works. Above it is a long row of windows looking out at treetops and the bay. Paintings by Manuel Neri and Squeek Carnwath and sculptures by Ruth Asawa and Stephen de Staebler fill the room in a way furniture cannot.

“A real estate agent showed me this house in 1957, and I couldn’t afford it. I told her I wasn’t interested,” says Ludwig. “She called me and said the price had been lowered and asked me to make an offer. My dad refused to lend me the money. I went to my father-in-law and my employer for it. I bought the house for $60,000.”

Ludwig has been divorced, widowed, and has raised three daughters in the house. A little more than three years ago, he ran into Patsy in the parking lot of a Peninsula country club. He was just getting out of a bridge game; she was chatting with a friend after her book club. He walked up and asked her where he could buy garbage bags. Her friend thought it was a line. It wasn’t; the housekeeper needed them. He ended up asking her to dinner. The next thing you know, they were staging a surprise wedding before his birthday bash at the Pacific Union Club and planning to remodel his San Francisco house.

“It was very dark in here,” says Patsy. “The walls were mahogany paneling. A big wall divided the living room and the dining room, so we couldn’t see the fire when we were eating. One of the first things we did was to take that wall down.”

Sitting next to her husband in the circular window seat and bar area at the end of the living room, it’s clear why they got married. They are as charming as newlyweds, and he obviously adores her. “We had to sit here, by the windows, to get any light,” she says.

Ludwig attributes his love of tribal art to two things: advice from Stanley Marcus (of Neiman Marcus fame) on collecting and his love of animals and Africa. “For some reason, they used to let my father feed the animals at the Central Park Zoo. We would walk there and feed carrots to the camels,” he says. “One of the reasons I’m dedicated to this zoo is that we educate so many children. They learn about animals and endangered species.” (When asked about the recent tiger attack, Ludwig says that he believes that “things will settle down” and the zoo will continue to operate as a place where animals can be viewed and species can be preserved.)



The Ludwigs' stairway doubles as a gallery with modern art hanging on the walls. A walk up or down allows visitors to get a close look at their collection of paintings. The blend between ancient tribal art and contemporary painting is a good one. The primitive lines and rustic forms of the masks and statues from Africa and Papua New Guinea jibe perfectly with abstract modern lines. The Ludwigs aren’t the first to notice the symmetry; artists Pablo Picasso and Enrico Donati both collected (and were inspired by) tribal art.



The second level is all about light and views. Patsy’s curved office niche looks over to Telegraph Hill. Mirrors in the sophisticated master bath are placed in front of obscured-glass windows, creating a diffuse light. The upper floor may not have courtyard access, but it has something equally as delightful: a two-level deck overlooking the city.



A headless metal sculpture stands on the highest deck looking out over the bay. When asked about the piece, Ludwig says: “The artist’s name was Vulcan, but he changed his name a lot. I’m not sure what became of him, but he was an unusual fellow. He was always doing things like feeding LSD to his dog. He didn’t want to make any money off of his work; he wouldn’t let me buy anything. One night, he chucked this over my fence.”

In the distance, a cable car clangs and parrots squawk overhead. It doesn’t get any more San Francisco than this.

The Ludwigs will be honored at Zoo Fest on Friday, April 25. For more information, visit sfzoo.org.