"Fear-boll, Fear-boll, Fear-boll," the French chanted as Glenn "Fireball"
Roberts roared down the front stretch at Le Mans in 1962. It marked the
first time in auto racing history that a southern stock car driver had truly gained
international racing acclaim. Contrary to popular belief Glenn did not
gain his nickname from racing. In fact he acquired the name "Fireball"
while rocketing fastballs by high school batters. It was one of many
things Glenn did well.
Sadly only a short time after his trip to Le Mans,
Glenn Roberts would die in a tragic racing accident at Charlotte Motor
Speedway. His death marked the end of an era.
And what an era it was. Beginning in the early 1950's Herb Thomas,
Tim Flock, Curtis Turner, Joe Weatherly, Junior Johnson, and Fireball
Roberts opened the doors for today's stars by creating the world's most
exciting sport, stock car auto racing.
It was this group of men who flung caution to the wind and stepped inside
slightly modified automobiles referred to as Grand National Stock Cars,
and raced at speeds over 150 miles per hour. Of course 150 seems tame in
comparison to today's 200 mile per hour plus straightaway speeds. Tame
that is until one examines the difference in cars. In the 1950's there
were no puncture proof fuel cells, no drivers side nets, no automatic fire
extinguishers, no padded driver seats, no removable steering wheels, and
no tires designed for a specific track. There were fireproof suits in
those days, having been introduced by the Ford factory teams in 1963.
However some drivers were allergic to the harsh chemicals used
for flame resistance and never "dipped" their suits.
Glenn Roberts was one such man.
Additionally most speedways in the era were equipped with a single
ambulance, and no infield care center. If a driver was hurt, he would
be lucky to receive treatment in half an hour.
Another major difference was the money.
In 1963 Fred Lorenzen won $113,000 competing in 29 races to set an all time
single season record for earnings. Yes money went a bit farther
then, but not that far. Had Fireball Roberts raced in the year 2000
he would have earned ten times the spendable dollars he earned in
the 1950's and 60's.
So why did Fireball Roberts and company choose to risk their lives in a dare
devil sport that had only regional fan support, paid less than superb
wages, and posed physical risks to the drivers? The answer is simple.
Racing was in their blood. Of course few of yesterday or today's stars would
race if they truly could not make a living, but making a living was a
secondary factor. Racing, not unlike other highly competitive sports,
lends itself toward a breed of man who thrives on winning. And perhaps
no one in racing history was more representative of that attitude than
Fireball Roberts.
When Fireball buckled his seatbelt he had one goal-- to win the race.
There was never a thought of a "top five" finish as being some
consolation for losing the race. The driver who finished second
lost, just like the driver who finished twentieth.
He likewise was not focused on winning point championships, although he
would have won half a dozen had he raced the full schedule.
Fireball liked to race and he liked to win the "big ones."
Daytona, Darlington, Charlotte, and Atlanta were the playgrounds
where he was at his best. He once confessed to his wife,
"I like to win pole positions so I can see my name in the paper."
He saw his name in the paper frequently.
Unfortunately for Fireball Roberts he began his racing career at the
age of nineteen, and by the time he had reached thirty he was beginning
to suffer from burnout. By thirty-four he confessed to friends
Banjo Matthews and Fred Lorenzen, that he had tired of racing.
He even told Ned Jarrett that he was thinking of going into broadcasting.
To others he confessed that buying a beer distributorship was entering his
mind.
The stress of the sport was starting to wear stock car racing's second
greatest driver down (see "NASCAR's Real 50 Greatest Drivers").
When he headed for Charlotte for the World 600 in May of 1964,
whispers were being heard. In recent events Fireball had spun out
while practicing on tracks he had mastered years earlier.
The boo birds were privately saying, maybe Glenn was over the hill.
Some insiders even thought it might be time for Glenn to hang up his
driving suit.
Tragically Glenn could not retire.
He had invested his money wisely, but was bound to a contract with Ford,
Holman-Moody, and a host of sponsors. In fact on the day of his tragic crash Banjo
Matthew's posed the question, "Glenn, why don't you get your ass up and go
home." "I can't do that,"
Roberts responded.
Matthews wanted to know why.
"Because all these people are here to see me race."
It was a typical comment from the often regal, perhaps even arrogant
Roberts, but in fact many people had come to see him race and he was not
going to let them down.
As he strapped into his racecar that fateful day, a friend dropped by and
handed him two dollars that he had borrowed. Glenn stuck the crumpled
bills in his shirt pocket, and finished the strap in process.
Less than four hours later Junior Johnson would plow into the
rear of Ned Jarrett's Ford, which in turn would put Fireball into the
wall. As his car burst into flames and rolled to a stop he struggled to
unstrap his belts. While
being assisted by the heroic Ned Jarrett who had observed the flaming car
after getting out of his own vehicle, Glenn called out. "My God, Ned, I'm
on fire, help me."
Glenn had suffered burns over 75% of his body, and was rushed to Charlotte
Memorial Hospital where he lied in agonizing pain for six weeks.
Glenn "Fireball" Roberts passed away on July 2, 1964 at the age of 34.
The obligations he had to other people cost him his life.
What a novel concept in the year of the renegotiated contract.
Today's superstars could learn a lot about character from Glenn "Fireball"
Roberts. He was a star on the racetrack and a man of his word.
Truly a rare combination.
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