My grandfather, Theodore Miller, died at the ripe old age of 95 in 1997.

When I was born, he was well into his 50s, and when I was old enough to remember him, he was well into his 60s.

He was a wiry little guy, the youngest of 13 children.

I was reminded of Grandpa when discussing the upcoming "Down the Sawdust Trail," a historic re-enactment of the Billy Sunday crusades, with Steve Grill.

Grill, executive director of the Reneker Museum, portrays Sunday, the fiery evangelist who made Winona Lake his home.

Much of Sunday's ongoing popularity came from his dynamic personality and natural athleticism, which he used to advantage from the pulpit.

Sunday was one of the finest baseball players of his day, a star Chicago Red Stockings player at the turn of the century.

Anyway, Grandpa was Sunday's contemporary. Grandpa amazed us with his feats of strength. Not only could he still walk across the lawn on his hands in his seventh decade, he would leap off the ground, grab a parallel branch and chin himself a few times. Just for fun, to be doing something.

When he retired from GE at age 55, during which he farmed 1,000 acres every year, he started building houses - completing seven, from foundation, electrical and plumbing systems, to chimney top, by himself, in the next 20 years.

He finished eighth grade and continued to educate himself for the rest of his life, as did many people of his generation.

His vocabulary was phenomenal.

I like to show off my command of the language - words after all, are my bread and butter. However, my feeble repertoire is a puny dust mote in the universe of words Grandpa knew.

When he was in his late 80s, my family introduced him to the game "Dictionary."

In our version, one person opens the dictionary at random (we've got a 6-inch- thick Webster's for just this purpose) and takes care to select a tricky word - something like, say, "orthotopic." Then everyone writes a definition for the word while the selector writes the correct definition.

Points are awarded to the selector if no one guesses the correct definition and to the writers of the "wrong" definition if their answers are chosen.

Orthotopic means "of or relating to the grafting of tissue in a natural position," and that's the definition Grandpa would give. We would patiently remind him he had to write a wrong definition and have it chosen for points. He always "forgot" in the first round - just to show the whippersnappers who knew what.

We had to keep him entertained, too, otherwise he'd bring out the accordian. He wasn't a good player or a good singer and he performed regularily - for family, for friends, at church - wherever there was a gathering. He knew wonderful old songs, which he sang in his reedy voice. If there were three verses, he knew all those, too.

We, his darling grandchildren, would roll our eyes in despair when he unhooked the accordian to take in air, but we good-naturedly sang along if we could. That's how we were raised.

Grandpa grew up in a time when people made their own entertainment. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. That was part of the entertainment.

Anyway, back to Billy Sunday.

We don't go for much evangelistic theatrics nowadays. Our ministers are expected to be politically correct, to discuss things seriously and quietly, not to scream and wave their arms.

Remember, though, Sunday had to throw his voice out across a tabernacle full of people. If he didn't put on a physical show, too, people would have gone home disappointed and, worse, unchanged.

The proud gestures, the hollering out over the crowd, the banging, stomping and pleading, the excellently crafted sermons backed up with Homer Rodeheaver's songs and chorus were all part and parcel of days gone by.

I'm looking forward to "Down the Sawdust Trail" Aug. 25. I expect there will be a lot to remind me of Grandpa.

I just hope they keep the accordian in its case. [[In-content Ad]]