I hadn’t noticed Fireball when he came to Columbia Speedway on June 6, 1954, when I was there for the Grand National Race. He was not the man my Uncle Bobby pulled for and as a 7-year-old in attendance, I pulled for my Uncle’s favorite. Fireball finished 13th that night. I have no personal recollection of September 28, 1956, when Fireball once more drove at Columbia Speedway and finished fourth in a Pete DePaolo Ford. On June 20, 1957, Fireball was back at Columbia Speedway in his own Ford and this time I noticed him for sure because I watched him maul the field at Darlington just over a month before. He managed a fourth place finish that night. He ran Columbia Speedway once more in 1957, on September 9th, and finished 15th driving his own Ford. But let’s talk about Darlington.
In 1957 Darlington was the only superspeedway in NASCAR. Fireball had run the very first Southern 500 in 1950 and finished 3rd. In 1951 he was 5th. In 1952 he finished 49th out of 66 starters and 1953 saw him once more end up out of the race early, recording a 45th place finish. In 1954, Fireball would record a 7th place finish in a Leland Colvin Ford. In 1955 he crashed on lap 30 and was credited with a 66th place finish out of 69 starters. In 1956 he crashed his Pete DePaolo Ford on lap 166 which gave him a 51st place finish out of 70 starters. So, in a nutshell, that was the record of Fireball Roberts on the tricky Darlington oval.
The 1957 season saw Darlington Raceway introduce a spring race for convertibles. Convertibles, at the time, had their own division in NASCAR, and Darlington sought to capitalize on the topless vehicles on the superspeedway. That was my first trip to Darlington and I watched the race from the infield fence entering turn three. Early in that race, there was a huge accident in turn one that took out 9 cars. But the racing went on. To say I was fascinated by Darlington would be putting it mildly, but to say I was impressed by the blue and white Ford convertible driven by Fireball Roberts would be a gross understatement. Fireball would lead all but 39 laps of the 300 mile event and win by two laps over second place.
I had never been to a track over a half-mile and Darlington was as another universe to me. Although I was only 10 years old, I could easily judge that the track was very tough to drive. It seemed almost all the drivers were having difficulty negotiating turn three. All drivers, that is, but Fireball Roberts. He was as smooth as honey each time that Ford came roaring through the turn before my eyes. He had the track mastered. Looking back over the years at Darlington, and I was there from that spring race of 1957 through every race run on that track until 2004, it is my opinion that only three drivers ever mastered the track to perfection. Those three are Fireball Roberts, Buck Baker, and David Pearson. Oh yes, I know Cale won there several times, but to watch Fireball, Buck, and David drive the track was like watching the Vienna Waltz performed to perfection. In 1958, Fireball would win the Southern 500 driving a year old Chevrolet and taking the lead on lap 169 and never being passed again to finish the race 5 laps ahead of second place. With that win, Fireball would have led 1030 laps on superspeedways (Darlington about the only one) since 1950, which was a record.
I could go on listing statistics about all the accomplishments of Fireball Roberts. How he owned Daytona International Speedway but was deprived of wins there in 1959, 1960, and 1961 in the 500 due to car failure. In 1962, it was that beautiful black and gold Smokey Yunick Pontiac number 22 that could not be caught. That was my first Daytona 500 and I remember standing by the pit fence watching the Pontiac being pushed into place for the start. That car looked fast just sitting there. When the green flag fell, it was all black and gold for the afternoon. The car did not let him down in 1962 and Fireball claimed that Daytona 500 going away.
Now please allow me to get into the personal part of this story. In 1963, prior to the Southern 500, the local Ford dealer in Columbia, Pulliam Ford, brought Fireball to their showroom for a day. It was advertised in the paper that Fireball would be making an appearance from 10:00 a.m. until 3:00 p.m. Of course, without question, I was going to be there. Thirty minutes prior to the appointed starting time, my brother and two of my friends went with me to meet Fireball. Back in those days, about the only advertisement on any “uniform” was the Smokey Yunick “Best Damn Garage in Town” patch on the white shirts worn by Yunick. Even so, I was not prepared when Fireball showed up in a dark suit, white shirt and tie. A dapper gentleman to say the least.
After about an hour of hanging around with very few other folks who showed up, the rest of my contingent left for other pursuits but I stayed with my never-ending desire to be close to anything racing. As it worked out, it was soon Fireball and me, sitting in chairs in the corner of the Ford Showroom, talking racing. I have very little recollection of exact words that were exchanged between the two of us that day, but I do remember him telling me of early racing before NASCAR and how he got really hooked on the sport. Of course, I let him know of my desire to be a driver and although he didn’t show great enthusiasm for my doing so, he did say something to the tune of “if that’s what you want to do, do it”. I can only imagine by the end of the two hours I had spent with him, Fireball was ready to go anywhere out of my presence as I hounded him for every bit of information I could get. Not many days after that visit, I was back in Darlington for the 1963 Southern 500.
The 1963 Southern 500 was a race that belonged to Fireball. There were no caution flags and Fireball literally ran the field into submission. Of the 41 cars that started the race, only 16 would finish. I had left my vantage point against the third turn fence with about 10 laps to go so I could see Fireball in Victory Lane, having just spent almost an entire day with him. The lavender Holman-Moody Ford rolled up that ram into Victory Lane and soon Fireball was on the hood with Johnny Reb and a beauty queen. By this time I had worked my way into the pits and was standing by the exit gate where Fireball would exit and board the convertible for the ride to the press box. As he came through the gate, several hands were extended for shaking and Fireball did the best he could at acknowledging those hands. When he saw me, he surprised me by taking my hand in a really firm grip and looking me in the eyes, never saying a word, but to me that was all I needed was a handshake from the winner of the Southern 500.
Later in 1963, November 17th to be exact, the NASCAR boys went to Augusta, Georgia to run on the newly constructed road course. Many big names from other series were there to try their hand at the mammoth track. Fireball ran a steady pace that race, not the usual go to the front charge and took the lead with 11 laps to go to win the race. He was the first and only (at that time) two-time winner on a road course, having won a 100 miler on December 30, 1956, at the road course (airport) track in Titusville, Florida. Seems as though Fireballs skills were not limited to flat-out hard charging racing on the high banks.
On the Saturday before the 1964 World 600, my cousin Eddie, my brother Ricky, my Uncle Bobby, and I, spent the day installing a roof rack on Uncle Bobby’s 1956 Ford Station Wagon he had purchased for “racing trips”. To the roof rack we mounted a ¾ inch thick 4X8 piece of Plywood on which we could stand to see the race. Very early on Sunday morning we headed out to Charlotte Motor Speedway and arrived in a crowd of fans. We pulled in the infield by way of the access road which, at that time, crossed over turn one, as that is how the NC Highway Patrol directed us. Once inside the infield, the traffic was mass confusion so my uncle pulled over behind the pit fence, on the little hill that was there at the time, and that is where we established our vantage point for the race.
I immediately climbed onto the plywood platform and was surprised at the view. I could see almost the entire track with the exception of part of the back straight going into three and most of turn four. Man were we ever ready for the race. The green flag flew and the blur of color was amazing as it roared before us. I was turning around and around on the platform watching my favorite to see how he was going to do when, on lap 7, my uncle punched my shoulder and pointed to turn two. I saw the blue Ford of Ned Jarrett and the yellow Ford of Junior Johnson spinning and then the lavender Ford of Fireball Roberts enter the picture. All the cars slid to the inside of the back straight and even over the roar of the engines I could hear a horrendous crash and explosion of unknown origin. Within seconds, a huge column of black smoke arose from the track and after a few minutes we heard it was Fireball’s car on fire. Not long afterwards, the wrecker pulled what was left of the number 22 through the infield to the garage area. The crash damage to the car was bad enough, but the fire had removed any semblance of what the car had been before the crash.
Now I will tell you honestly that I did not believe Fireball was seriously injured. He was, after all, Fireball Roberts, a super hero and to many fans, me included, a superman. We left the track very happy that day because Jim Paschal had won driving a Petty Plymouth and Richard Petty had finished second so we were raising cain, as they say, leaving the track. It was not until we saw the newspaper the next morning that we knew the seriousness of Fireballs injuries. We followed his progress daily and when there was nothing in the news, we would call the hospital in Charlotte for a report. This was before the days of HIPPA and it was easy to get reports. Everything we heard was sounding promising and we were all secure in the knowledge that Fireball would be well and would probably be back to defend his Southern 500 win from the year before.
The 1964 season was the first full season of my parent’s interest in stock car racing. They had decided we would take vacation in Florida for the week of the Firecracker 400, staying actually in St. Augustine, about 50 miles from Daytona. We actually checked into the Caravan Motel on Highway A1A on the afternoon on June 29th and the plan was to vacation in St. Augustine until the Fourth and then attend the race at Daytona and head back home.
The first afternoon at the motel, a boy my age and his two younger brothers, who lived a couple blocks behind the motel, came over to use the swimming pool. Of course the motel manager who was familiar with these pool interlopers saw them and came out and told them to leave. Me, being me, told the manager these guys were friends of mine we had come to see. As we were staying a week in his hotel, he graciously consented to allow the boys to swim with us. It was after the manager’s intrusion that I actually learned the names of the boys. The one my age was named Wayne and by the time the sun went down that night we were fast friends. Wayne appeared the next morning for swimming and after we had spent quite a bit of time in the pool, he suggested we go bike riding.
So the next few days were spent swimming, bike riding, and hanging out with my new friends. They were also race fans but not as rabid as I was. We had talked about the race and had talked about Fireball not going to be there but the last thing we had heard before leaving home was that Fireball was recovering.
On the morning of the 3rd, there was pounding on our room door early, I mean really early, like 6:30 a.m. My Daddy was not one who liked being disturbed when he was sleeping so I sprang out of bed to the door in an instant. When I opened the door, Wayne was standing there with tears in his eyes and a news paper in his hand. He couldn’t even speak, he just pointed at the paper. The headline, if I can recall it was “Fireball Roberts Succumbs to Injuries”. I closed the room door behind me and Wayne and I went to sit at one of the tables by the pool. I don’t remember what was said, I don’t even remember what happened immediately after that. The next thing I do recall is being at a very hot Firecracker 400 and knowing there would be no more superspeedway victories for Fireball Roberts. It was almost like a nightmare. Being a 17-year-old invincible kid made it seem ludicrous that Fireball Roberts was gone. But it was true.
As I sit here today, I think about that day 50 years ago when I got that news from my St. Augustine friend. I think about the May 24, 1964, day when the crash happened. I attended every race at Charlotte Motor Speedway from the very first World 600 in June, 1960, through the 1995 races. I have been a couple of times since, took the three grandsons in 2011. Every time I enter that track, I can still see that black smoke rising from the back straight. I guess that image will never leave me because it signaled the end of a legend for Fireball was truly the first “superstar” of NASCAR. He became a superstar at the exact time NASCAR needed one and his status was not manufactured by NASCAR, but earned by his exploits on the tracks where he raced.
A couple of years ago, I encountered on-line, a young man named Matthew McDaniel. While discussing racing he informed me he was the grandson of Fireball Roberts. For some reason I cannot explain, I never doubted his statement although my memories did not include any grandson being mentioned in Fireball’s life. As time passed, Matty, as he likes to be called by his friends, and I became good friends. When it was announced that Fireball would be inducted into the NASCAR Hall of Fame, Matty asked me to attend the ceremony with him and the family. I honestly could not believe that was happening, not that I doubted Matty, but just that I was not a likely one to be a guest of NASCAR at such a function. But when the date came, I drove through the snow and ice on the South Carolina highways to get to Charlotte. From the instant I met Matty face to face, it was as though we were family. I had an absolutely unbelievable time that day and evening as I participated in the banquet and the induction ceremony. That is a time I will remember for the rest of my life. Thanks, Matty.
So, Fifty years have passed? Seems like yesterday in many respects but seems like a dozen lifetimes ago in others. I look back on my afternoon with Fireball at the dealership and realize how very lucky I was to have gotten to know at least that much of him. Fireball Roberts was a true icon of the sport and is justifiably in the NASCAR Hall of Fame. It really bothers me to think there are young fans out and about that may not know who Fireball Roberts was or what he represents to the sport. Fireball was a racer! A racer with talent and class. He was there when racing needed a hero, and he was there to share an afternoon with a 17-year-old kid who has never forgotten that honor.
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Fireball Drawing[/caption]
