A different kind of hero

In 1954, tiny Milan High School defeated the powerful Muncie Central Bearcats in the Indiana High School Basketball State Finals. Milan became "Hickory" and the team's story became the movie "Hoosiers." Just five years earlier, a tiny school in Auburn, Ind., had also made it to the finals, but the Red Devils lost, and their story remained untold. I knew a bit of the history because my dad, Ted Miller, played for the 1949 Red Devils. He never talked much about it, and I assumed this was out of a sense of modesty.

After he died, I found a 1989 newspaper article about their trip to the final four. It gave just enough detail to whet my appetite and quoted Roger Wertenberger, one of Dad's teammates, who described him as "scrappy." I was curious and decided to contact some of the players, several of whom were still in Auburn. One teammate and his wife, Don and Nancy Derrow, were especially enthusiastic about talking to me and invited me to Auburn.

The visit started as I had expected. Don and Nancy showed me lots of memorabilia and articles about the team. I saw pictures of my dad celebrating the trip to the final four and being honored. Next, we got in the car and drove by the gymnasium where the team played. When we arrived, I saw a wrecking ball and a pile of bricks. "You just missed it by a few weeks," Nancy said. "You can take a brick home if you want."

Don interrupted. "For goodness' sake, he doesn't want a brick."

I barely heard any of it. Instead, I looked at the pile of bricks and realized that history was disappearing before my eyes.

At dinner, Roger, who'd been invited to join us, told me, "Your dad's best sport was football." This seemed a strange thing to say. I said I remembered hearing Dad say he played football as a freshman at Michigan State. Don and Roger looked at each other, then looked at me. "Well, he got knocked around quite a bit up there," said Roger in a tone that told me he didn't want to let me down too hard.

"What about basketball?" I asked.

"Well, your dad was ... small," said Nancy kindly.

"Yeah, I figured he wasn't the star. He was a sixth man or something, right?"

"Sixth man might be stretching it," said Don.

Roger chimed in. "Twelfth man was really more like it."

Finally, as though it was all too much, Don said, "Your dad wouldn't have been on the team if your grandpa wasn't principal." I looked at Roger hoping his recollection would differ, but after a pause, he confirmed it. "Your dad was just too small."

I was deflated. The image of my dad as sports hero was now forever altered. I almost regretted opening up this window into the past, and yet I yearned to know more and sought out other players on the team.

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