Edward Glenn Roberts, Jr.

Glenn was born on January 20, 1929, in Tavares, Florida to Edward Glenn Roberts, Sr. and Doris Thomas Roberts. Glenn Sr. was raised in Sopchoppy, Florida. He met and married Doris Sr. in Tavares where he owned a saw-mill and furniture store. Glenn Jr. was the oldest of three children, then JoAnne and Tommy, in that order. The family moved to Apopka, Florida when Glenn Sr. bought orange groves in that area. When Glenn Jr. was in high school, the family moved to Daytona Beach. Glenn Sr. bought and maintained an apartment complex called “Cactus Court.”

  

Doris Montgomery McConnell

Doris was born on January 16, 1929, in rural NE Mecklenburg County, NC to Felix Reid McConnell, Sr. and Ila Daniel McConnell. She had an older brother, Felix Reid McConnell, Jr., who preceded her in death. The family lived in the city of Charlotte before moving permanently to Kannapolis, NC.

Felix Sr. worked for Colonial Stores, building their grocery stores throughout North and South Carolina and Virginia. He bought property in rural Cabarrus County and farmed the land prior to building a home there. Ila raised her children, and was a homemaker in addition to working at Cannon Mills in Kannapolis.

Doris graduated from JW Cannon High School and began working in the tabulating department at Cannon Mills. Her favorite sport was always stock car racing. Felix Jr. owned/maintained and drove his own race car several years before Doris and Glenn met. She had been going with her brother to races and keeping scrapbooks on the sport since 1947. Doris’ parents took her to the beach/road race in Daytona, in 1950.

  
Photo used for my Parents' wedding announcement.
(click to enlarge )

First Week of July, 1950

Doris had gone with her brother to a race at the old Charlotte Fairgrounds on a Saturday night. Doris and Glenn met and two weeks later, on July 22nd, they were married. They lived in Monroe, NC, in the beginning of their marriage. Speedy Thompson’s parents had a huge home made into several apartments. Speedy, his wife Jewel, Roy and Helen Jones also lived in an apartment there. They lived in Daytona Beach after the 1950 season ended, excited about the child they were expecting in April. They remained there until after Glenn ran the beach/road course in 1951. Then it was time to go racing up North.

Second Week of March, 1951

Glenn made sure Doris asked her doctor in Daytona if it will be safe for her to travel by car to NC where his next race was and Doris’ parents were. She wanted to spend time with them. After all, it was a month until her due date. Her doctor finally gave his okay, after explaining all the things that could possibly happen if she made the trip. They left Daytona on Saturday, towing the race car behind their personal car heading for Concord, NC, where Glenn was to run on Sunday. Sometime after dark, in a small town in South Carolina, a man actually fell out, into the street. Glenn slammed on brakes and Doris hit the dashboard, tummy first. She convinced Glenn she was fine, so they continued their trip north. A couple hours later they arrived at Doris’ parents in Kannapolis and slept the night. The next morning, Doris was having pains and needed to be checked at the hospital. Glenn had a job to do, so he went to the race track. At 5:25 PM, Sunday, March 11, Pamela Jane Roberts was born . . . my daddy didn’t win the race that day, but he always told me I was the best trophy he ever won.

Growing Up In Daytona Beach

Growing up, I always knew my father raced and worked in a race shop (Fish Carb). Racing was talked about a lot when there were groups of people. My parents talked about racing, they both talked to family members about racing. I knew he was good at what he did because most of the time he brought home a trophy. Even if he didn’t win a race, he usually got pole position and brought one home for that. Mother always said, “Glenn got the glory, I got the money and Pamela got the trophy.” I remember one particular trophy he brought home. It was 4½ feet tall. It took me 3 years to finally reach that height.

Me standing on the track at Daytona, July 4, 1959

Dad raced out of town quite a bit through the season, in the early years. He was home more than he was out of town though. Unless he had meetings or business to attend to, we spent most afternoons together. We both loved the beach and there were plenty of things to do there. Some days, we would take the dogs to run them. Lots of times, we just drove South on the beach and talked. When the construction of Daytona International Speedway started, we would drive out there to check on the progress at least once a month. Once the speedway was built, we would take the dogs out into the woods behind it, where he would shoot his guns to keep his hunting dog from becoming gun-shy. At times, we would go inside the track, in the infield, where he taught me how to drive.

Once I attended my first race at Daytona International Speedway, I began to have an interest in what was going on around me. You have to understand that even though I showed an interest at that point, Barbie dolls and ballet were much more important.

Dad was competitive in his every day life as well as in his profession. He was constantly challenging me to something. If it weren’t physical, it was a mental challenge. We played lots of games at night. He actually would sit in the living room floor with me and play jacks. We played all the card games from Old Maid to Black Jack Poker. He and mother would always beat me at Scrabble; there was no way I could ever win because it always became a game between them in the end. There was one thing I could beat him at though. He did an endorsement for a company that made one of the first slot car oval tracks that had a likeness of his car in it. He brought one home for us to play with, sat in the floor, put it together and mounted it on a piece of plywood for easy access. Well, believe it or not, he had absolutely no co-ordination with the slot cars. I beat him every time. After about a month, he didn’t want to do that anymore because it took no “skill.” That didn’t matter to me; “I” was the Slot Car Champion in our home.

 

 

January, 1964

For the first time ever, Dad came home from Riverside and wanted to have a family talk. Joe Weatherly had just been killed in the race the day before. As a family, we never had a discussion like this. When Marshall Teague lost his life in 1959 or when Lee Petty and Marvin Panch had their wrecks, Dad never discussed it with me. Prior to this, he only joked about being ‘too mean’ to be hurt in a wreck. He explained to me that he knew what could happen when he got in the race car, but that could also happen in our personal car. He expressed his passion and desire to be in the profession he was in. Then a request, “If anything ever happens to me while racing, please, do not ever become bitter about the sport. These people are your family and they always will be.” And they have been.

At the time, it was just a family discussion. I had no idea that in just a few months time, that memory would help me through a very difficult time. For whatever reason he decided to have that talk with me then, I am truly grateful.

My mother and I attended races through the years. Once I moved to N.C., in the mid 70’s we attended the races together that we could drive to and back from in one day. It was always fun to go to a race with her. It never failed, someone would come up and say, “Doris, what year was it that . . .?” Without hesitation, she could recall that very race in her mind and answer their question. She was a walking racing historian when it came to the era my father drove.

The Present

Through the years, my mother kept my father’s name and memory alive by attending races, charity events, and events where the early legends of racing were honored. She did a remarkable job accepting the honors when he was being inducted into various halls of fames. I have been asked why I didn’t accept these honors instead of her. My first reply was, “You obviously haven’t met my mother.” Then I explain the following to them.

After my father’s death, it wasn’t too long before they dedicated the Joe Weatherly Museum in Darlington. We flew up for the dedication ceremonies. Not too long after that, we attended a dedication ceremony for the grandstands at the Daytona International Speedway named after Dad. Those ceremonies were for the race driver, Fireball. I didn’t know that man very well. When it came to honoring my father, the race car driver, who better to accept those honors than the lady who lived that part of his life with him? Now, if they gave a posthumous award for the most loving and generous father, I would gladly accept that honor for him. You have to understand, to me, he was my daddy, not the race car driver. When asked about memories of my father, I never think about his career accomplishments first. The things I remember most are the things we did together, the things we talked about.

On May 5, 2004, I lost my precious mother to cancer. Because of her continued dedication to honor my father’s racing career, I will continue to work on projects that will also honor his career and his contributions to the sport of stock car racing.

 

 

All photographs are property of Fireball Roberts Inc. and are not to be duplicated or used without the permission of Fireball Roberts Inc. or www.fireball22.com.