Howie Hodge: A Legend Of Local Racing, A Giant Of A Friend, A Heart Of Gold

Howie Hodge (left), Travis Barrett (center) and me in 2011 (Photo: Robin Golembieski)

Howie Hodge was truly the dean of short track racing photographers across the Northeast racing scene. But his legend will be known and remembered in racing far more for the amazing person he was.

To say Hodge was a part of the fabric of racing in Connecticut would be selling the man entirely too short.

The greatness of his heart as an ambassador of racing – and simply as a person – is truly immeasurable. Saying Hodge was a friend to nearly all he met might sound wholly cliché, but there’s nothing artificial or exaggerated about that statement.

Beloved. Cherished. Legendary. Renowned. A cornerstone of the sport. The list of adjectives in the positive one could use to describe Howie is endless. He was that great of a man, that great of a giant and friend to all he touched.

As a 23-year old Hartford Courant sports reporter with no history covering short track racing, I rolled into the pits around Connecticut short tracks in 1995 with a cocksure attitude as a way to seemingly protect myself and disguise that I knew just about nothing of the subject I was covering.

And there was Howie, who was immediately able to not only see right through my front, but also disarm me of that smug swagger with a welcoming kindliness like nobody I had met in the sport up to that point.

He disarmed me with not only a massively humble charm, but an engaging and bitingly sarcastic wit that never wavered. It was like meeting the Pope of racing. There was no way you were going to cop an attitude to the Pope.

And in a sport where some level of even mild arrogance seemingly permeates all involved almost unconsciously, Howie never displayed an ounce of ego. And he could have. He meant that much to the sport. He very easily could have gotten away with being boastful about his status, and yet, that was never even the smallest slice of self-importance displayed in his personality. He was a man known and respected by all, and yet you would never have known that for a second speaking to him.

The history of decades of racing will live forever in his photographs, and he knew what that meant to those involved. And yet, his humble nature about his place within the realm of racing was simply shocking at times. Unpretentious to the infinite power.

In recent years I’ve gained an appreciation for the art that is photography. I’ve learned to look at more than just the subject, but the bigger picture of what’s being chronicled. And it was Howie’s prodding and encouragement that gave me great pride in learning the art he knew so well.

Often times at the track our conversations would swing away from racing and just touch on life. He’d joke with me about the photographs I would post on Facebook away from the track. He would tell me he was jealous. “You kids with those fancy phones” he’d say to me. “I’m not jealous you took those with your phone though, I’m jealous because they’re really good.”

It was an amazing source of pride for me, from a man I looked up to for so many amazing facets of who he was and how he carried himself.

The thought of going back to the local tracks beginning in April is now suddenly – and all too sorrowfully – an awful thought. Visiting with Howie was a ritual event. It was like eating or drinking or breathing. You went to the track, you visited with Howie and you felt better no matter your demeanor before that conversation. I will be lost without him.