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 The full story of this phenomenal early hero of NASCAR stock-car racing can never be told because the freckle-faced redhead lived every minute of his 44 years to the fullest and had no time for memories. Robert Byron died in a Chicago hotel room November 7, 1960, an ironic death for a man who started racing when Atlanta was the hub of Dixie stock-car activity and the connection between drivers and whiskey-running was more than close. The amazing part about this Atlanta garage man was
that he beat the rough whiskey boys and their high-tailed cars with his own creations, then went on to be a NASCAR founder, a Grand National season champ and a hero of the renaissance of road racing in the United States.Originally from Anniston, Alabama, Red spent World War ll as a tail gunner in the Pacific Theater. He walked with a limp, something that never bothered his driving. He impressed a kid from Daytona Beach named Glenn Roberts so much the boy decided to stake out a career in racing, becoming an immortal in the process.  The 1948 NASCAR championship was contested in modified cars. It was a crucial year for the fledgling organization which had to prove its worth to promoters other than Bill France. Byron helped with a thrilling point duel with the flock brothers, Fonty, Tim, and Bob. It was rough competition with such as Buck Baker, Curtis Turner, the fabulous Buddy Shuman, Marshal, Teague, and veteran Bill Blair. Red bested Fonty for the title and became the organization's main drawing card. There is a story that Red was privately dubious when France announced he was crowning a strictly stock-car champion, the Grand National division. But Byron honed up an Oldsmobile 88 and easily bested Lee Petty, Bob Flock and Blair for the first Grand National crown. It was soon after that that he tapered off on racing because his health was not good, and there were now greener pastures. One greener pasture was the Cunningham project in West Palm Beach. The idea was to produce a sort of American Ferrari out of as many American components as possible. Byron's job was to aid Phil Waiters, another racing great in developing the new marque to LeMans-winning potency. They never quite made it, but Red became hooked on sports cars and, more especially, the posh sports car set of the pre-mass appeal era. He liked rubbing elbows with a Rubirosa, and he admired Porfirio's taste more than his driving. And so he followed the races when he could-which was often. His mechanical skills were never underestimated; he was a pro among rich amateurs who were willing to pay for his talent. When he died, he left a thousand uncheckable stories behind, and the world was a little bit more drab for his passing.
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