Camellias. Every time I hear the word, every time I see the bloom, memories of Bob Edwards reminiscing with Red Barber come flooding back to me.
Strange that a flower would do that, but Bob often inquired of Red whether his camelias were in bloom "down there in Florida." Then the mellifluous flow of analysis and nostaligia would begin.
Baseball has long been a love of mine. But the game always had more meaning -- more texture -- more class when Red was relaying stories about Mr. Rickey fighting segregation and Pete Rose finding redemption.
It has now been fourteen years since Red died. But I cannot see one of these hardy blooms )and they are everywhere this week) without remembering what Red added to every Friday of my life -- and still does.
