My fondest memories of my uncle Laszlo Hodosy are from the gardens of our family’s old house in the foothills of Carpinteria. It was the early 1990s, near Toro Canyon — a time when hose water and orchard fruit was a common meal, and my uncle Laszlo could reliably be found shirtless, in the company of banana trees, with a machete in one hand, and a beer in the other. I’d get his attention with an acorn, he’d toss me a cheery, “Hey, Princess!”, and we’d hang out and talk about native plants and animals until my mom, his sister, called us in for dinner.
Uncle Laszlo was fun! He gave us kids exotic gifts, like American cheese slices and Chumbawamba cassettes. For a time, he drove a silver 1980s BMW 535i (with sheepskin seats), always cruising with the windows down, and eventually becoming the only person to ever break three tape decks rewinding “Psycho Killer” by the Talking Heads. In these luminous memories, Laszlo showed me the decadence of cheap thrills and family-shaped gardens.
Laszlo liked to steal plants. He called it “guerilla gardening” and insisted it was a gentleman’s sport. The method is simple: See a cool plant, take a small cutting, hide it in your pocket, replant before doing your laundry. He was proud of his green thumbs. Consequently, the leafier chapters of his life were propagated from grifted dendrobium, borrowed begonias, and previously unsung urns. He also kept koi fish, and he never walked away from a yard-sale strawberry pot. He had a graveyard of chimeneas, which were not for sale. He and I used to barter with one another; our last trade was a Costco roasted chicken and a eucalyptus walking staff in exchange for three of his vintage silk neckties. He was a collector of old good things, but more so, he assembled his imagination and resourcefulness into a way of life.
A gifted conversationalist, Laszlo had a skill for eschewing observations or judgments that would kill the vibe. A penchant he no doubt cultivated throughout his professional career in sales.
Laszlo was an “Ad Guy” at the Santa Barbara Independent for nearly four decades. His days in the races required on-hand likability, which Laz had in spades. He was unafraid to mix business and pleasure, and he made friends everywhere he went. Laszlo liked to drink greyhounds and margaritas at all his favorite haunts: Brophy Bros., Joe’s, Arnoldi’s, The Press Room, Paradise, Jimmy’s Oriental Garden, Don Q, and Roundin’ Third. For decades, his uniform was leather shoes, rolled-up dress sleeves, a bitchin’ necktie, and an almost-broken pair of Ray-Bans.
He went to hundreds of shows at the Santa Barbara Bowl, and flirted with all your pretty sisters. His charisma and pleasure-driven ways reflected his deep appetite for this one precious life. He was an old-school psychonaut who believed dogs and cats are angels, and that God is a woman.
Darla Jean Feldhaus and Laz on their wedding day in 1995 (left) and Laszlo and his Hodosy siblings celebrating the wedding: Ferenc (left), Anita, Sandor, and Andris | Credit: Courtesy the Hodosy Family
After retiring from the Indy in 2019, Laszlo continued his passion for yelling at the news, taking photos of nature, and playing his bongo drums. He liked to stay up late around the bonfire and could often be found watching the sunrise on his bench overlooking Devereux Beach.
When life got hard, Laszlo might have held you in his vast, clement gaze. Breaking it ever so mischievously with a bit of his indelicate humor.
He loved to pick up the phone and check on people, normally right around supper time; he’d pretend to be a solicitor, with full knowledge that caller ID had already unmasked him. He was a jokester and a nice guy to his core; he wasn’t the type to hold hostages or cuddle a grudge. In fact, Laszlo let life’s tides ebb and flow over him, wearing him down to an authentic patina.
My uncle chose to keep things breezy, all the while carrying some untimely losses in his heart. Laszlo’s wife, Darla Jean Hodosy, passed in 2016. They lived in Goleta, and instead of having children, they chose to rescue Cavalier King Charles spaniels. They once gifted me a large, red-velvet chocolate box filled with several hundred nested abalone shells, a breathtaking puzzle they collected from the Naples coastline. They were intrinsically romantic people, filling their home with lunar quarrels, loving animals, Vizma Hodosy paintings, and souvenirs from their bohemian lives.
Laszlo and his four siblings, Anita, Sandor, Ferenc, and Andris, are the children of Hungarian and Latvian immigrants Frank and Vizma Hodosy. Frank was a structural engineer, and Vizma was an artist. In 1976, as a family, they broke ground on our home in the Carpinteria foothills, land they fondly referred to as “the top of the world.”
Sadly, Frank passed away in 1981, and Vizma in 1985, leaving Laszlo and his siblings parentless, in an unfinished house. The youngest, Andris, was only 7 years old. At once benevolent and imperfect, they’ve spent their lives looking out for one another. Through it all, the Hodosys have shared countless celebrations together, tending the hearth and appreciating our vivid family-shaped gardens.
Rest in peace, Laszlo. Your family carries you in our hearts.
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