The Pursuit is a historical biography of one family’s quest for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in America. After braving a harrowing voyage across the Atlantic Ocean in 1733, Peter Ruth, the author's fifth great-grandfather, and his family landed in Philadelphia in the English Colony of Pennsylvania. Over the next ten generations—nearly 300 years—Peter’s descendants would leave an indelible mark, living, working, and dying for the America they loved.
Told through firsthand accounts by those who were there, The Pursuit is stitched together like a handcrafted quilt, each chapter recounting dramatic tales of courage, loss, and achievement. From blood shed fighting for America’s independence in the Revolution, to sacrifices made to save the Union and free enslaved people during the Civil War, to settling the heartland—and beyond—to serving and dying on foreign soil in both World Wars, the book chronicles how the Ruths journeyed great distances and overcame daunting obstacles.
This sweeping historical biography is an intimate portrait revealing more than the pioneering and patriotic spirit of the Ruth family. It portrays the faith they embraced, the aspirations they pursued, the sorrows they suffered, and the joys they celebrated. It's American History 101 told through one family's experience.
The Pursuit is a historical biography of one family’s quest for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in America. After braving a harrowing voyage across the Atlantic Ocean in 1733, Peter Ruth, the author's fifth great-grandfather, and his family landed in Philadelphia in the English Colony of Pennsylvania. Over the next ten generations—nearly 300 years—Peter’s descendants would leave an indelible mark, living, working, and dying for the America they loved.
Told through firsthand accounts by those who were there, The Pursuit is stitched together like a handcrafted quilt, each chapter recounting dramatic tales of courage, loss, and achievement. From blood shed fighting for America’s independence in the Revolution, to sacrifices made to save the Union and free enslaved people during the Civil War, to settling the heartland—and beyond—to serving and dying on foreign soil in both World Wars, the book chronicles how the Ruths journeyed great distances and overcame daunting obstacles.
This sweeping historical biography is an intimate portrait revealing more than the pioneering and patriotic spirit of the Ruth family. It portrays the faith they embraced, the aspirations they pursued, the sorrows they suffered, and the joys they celebrated. It's American History 101 told through one family's experience.
Long before I took a deep dive into my family’s ancestry, on a late Friday afternoon in mid-September of 1983, my wife, kids, and I pulled into the parking lot of the Abraham Lincoln Motor Inn in Reading, Pennsylvania. We were in town for a historic gathering of the Ruth clan in Sinking Spring, just down the road. The reunion organizer, a distant cousin, recommended the inn as one of several for the weekend event. With a young family in tow and a tight budget, I checked the list for the cheapest lodging accommodation available and booked the reservation.
After registering at the front desk, Kathy and I, trailed by our daughter Heather and son Michael, stepped into the antiquated elevator—our first inkling that something might be amiss. After groaning up several flights, the old lift finally reached our floor. We made our way down the dimly lit hallway and found our room. As we walked through the door, we were assaulted by stained walls, peeling lead paint on the windows, and beds covered with tattered spreads. The look on Kathy’s face told me we would not be spending the night at Mr. Lincoln’s Motor Inn.
Downstairs, the desk clerk in the lobby was very understanding as I anxiously fabricated a tale about an emergency back home in Maryland requiring our immediate departure. We loaded ourselves and our luggage back into the car and headed down the road, grateful to find a vacancy at the Sheraton Berkshire Inn before the reunion commenced the following afternoon. Though the rooms cost more than I had planned to spend, I would soon find out it was worth splurging for a weekend our family would never forget.
The gathering had been planned for Saturday, September 18th, to commemorate the fateful date Peter Ruth landed in Philadelphia 250 years earlier. With a buzz of anticipation in the air, at 1:00 p.m. a caravan of nearly thirty cars brimming with cousins—from as far away as California and Florida, and representing fifteen states—lined up like a funeral procession. White banners with Ruth printed on them waved from every window, eager for the grand tour.1 Within minutes, our intrepid guide, Dr. James A. Ruth of Wyomissing, led the way to three historic Ruth-family properties, making quick stops or slow drive-bys at each location. Each one held its own fascination, but these were only a warmup.
From here, heading west out of Sinking Spring, we turned off Route 422 onto an unmarked, one-lane country road. Traveling several hundred yards to the crest of a gently sloping hill, then down into a picturesque little valley, we were greeted by a large stone house and two-story Pennsylvania Dutch barn, just across a branch of the Cacoosing Creek. The rolling country lane, it turned out, was the driveway leading to one of Peter Ruth’s original homes.
Lucky for us, the current owner, Mrs. Herman Miller, allowed members of the Ruth expedition to roam the property for about an hour. Though we were not granted permission to enter the house or barn, we were able to admire the original stone structure Peter built, with chimneys at each end. Tasteful additions on both sides of the home had increased its size considerably, but the fruits of Peter’s labor were still intact and well preserved. As Tom Gerhart, president of the Pennsylvania German Society, told me in June of 2021, “When they build a stone house, they don’t move.”
The Ruth Mansion. Photo by Jim Ruth, 1983.
From the reunion handout, we learned that the “Ruth Mansion” was built on a tract of about 431 acres, land Peter purchased from Thomas Bartholomew and his wife Catherine on January 16, 1748, nearly fifteen years after Peter landed in America. The “consideration” exchanged for the purchase of the land was “the Sum of Six Hundred Pounds lawful money of Pennsylvania”2—the “lawful money” of the day being the British Pound Sterling. Today, 600 pounds equals nearly $161,000 in US dollars after adjusting for inflation. When Peter died twenty-three years later, he had amassed total land holdings of almost double: “857 acres, 21 perches,” to be exact.3 (A perch is an old English unit of measurement equaling sixteen and a half feet, taking the total to 857.131 acres.)
We further learned, taken from the 1916 History of the St. John’s (Hain’s) Reformed Church:
The present Henry Gaul farm—a Ruth homestead—deserves special attention. It lies in a broad sweep of the valley more than a quarter of a mile from the public highway. The main part of the house dates back to about the time of the Revolution. . . . Double floors, with the space between the timbers filled solid with mortar, are a feature in the construction of the house. A beautiful meadow stream—a branch of the Cacoosing—and a group of three grand buttonwood trees overtopping the farm buildings by more than fifty feet.4
With visions of Peter’s magnificent home still in my head, we made the short drive to St. John’s Reformed Church, on Penn Avenue/Route 422. The location was noteworthy because in 1793, the land for the church and cemetery was donated by Christian, Peter’s son. He had inherited the land from his father and bequeathed it to the church in his will, saying, “I give and devise one acre and a half of land as will be most suitable for the use of a new Reformed Church and burial ground . . . to the congregation and their heirs and successors forever.”5 He and four of his brothers (Peter, George, John, and Henry) are buried there along with numerous other descendants of the Ruth family. Though many of the eighteenth-century stones that remained had deteriorated significantly and were mostly unintelligible after nearly three hundred years of wind, water, and weather, it was still awe-inspiring to see their final resting places.
After leaving the church, our reunion caravan drove by several other Ruth properties before turning onto Columbia Avenue/Fritztown Road. Several miles away was the first homestead of Peter and Sophia Ruth. The log house and barn he and his young sons built were no longer there, of course, but their stone-spring house, the family’s source of fresh water and food storage, was still standing. We wandered around the old farmstead for a while, taking in the sights, trying to imagine what it was like for Peter and his family as pioneers in virgin territory all those years ago. After that, we piled back into our cars and headed for Denver, a tiny Pennsylvania town about ten miles west.
Tucked away in the middle of a cornfield, an old family burial plot awaited us. The day before, the accommodating farmer who owned the property used his combine machine to cut a wide swath through the corn rows so our line of cars could enter and circle the gravesite—a three-and-a-half-foot-high masonry wall that guarded the rectangular family burial ground. As with the church cemetery, most of the gravestones were severely weatherworn and illegible after centuries of exposure to the elements. The remains of many of Peter’s grandchildren, their spouses, and his great-grandchildren were interred here, and we were able to pay our respects. Afterward, the Ruth convoy headed back toward Sinking Spring, dispersing along the way to our respective hotels.
Later that evening, we met up again at the Blue Velvet restaurant in Robesonia, a small town nearby. Following a cocktail hour and buffet-style dinner, several speakers entertained us with interesting ancestral stories and anecdotes from the past. This was when I learned that among our ancestors, we have at least one United States Senator, Charles Percy of Illinois; several congressmen; and a slew of state legislators. But what piqued my interest the most were the whispers about a Nobel Peace Prize winner in our family tree. Later, my research revealed that Jane Addams, born in 1860 and one of the world’s most influential social reformers of her day, shared lineage from my fifth great-grandmother, Catharine Meyer, Peter’s second wife. As far as I could determine, she was also the first feminist in our extended family.
Jane was indeed a Prize recipient, sharing the honor in 1931 with another American “for their assiduous effort to revive the ideal of peace and to rekindle the spirit of peace in their own nation and in the whole of mankind,” according to the Nobel citation. Sadly, her poor health that December prevented her from attending the ceremony in Oslo, Norway.
Only four years later, in 1935, Jane died at the age of 74. The funeral was held in the courtyard of her beloved Hull House in Chicago, where she ministered to the city’s impoverished immigrant community. Modeled after settlement houses in England, Hull House offered educational programs, healthcare, childcare, and employment services. Addams also fought for child labor laws and helped immigrants become US citizens. Her worldwide acclaim as a social reformer grew through her writings and speeches promoting social reform and peace. She was a vocal opponent of World War I, often publicly chastising President Woodrow Wilson because she believed all wars sapped a country’s ability to help its most disadvantaged citizens.
I further uncovered that Jane’s father, John H. Addams, was a native of Sinking Spring who worked as a banker, agricultural businessman, and Illinois state senator. He was also a Civil War veteran and personal friend of Abraham Lincoln. Letters from the president addressed to her father always opened with the salutation, “My Dear Double D-’ed Addams.” Jane reportedly adored her father, and it’s probably safe to assume that her fiery activism for social issues, both at home and abroad, was influenced by his civic involvement. Growing up in the shadow of slavery in a privileged, politically active family, she had a front-row seat to America’s melting pot, witnessing firsthand the divide between the “haves” and the “have-nots.” She could probably never have imagined how profoundly her activism would inspire future generations of women. “What after all has maintained the human race on this old globe despite all the calamities of nature and all the tragic failings of mankind,” said Addams, “if not faith in new possibilities and courage to advocate [for] them.” Quite a pleasant surprise to find her in my ancestral line.
On the final day of the reunion, Kathy and I, along with our kids, my parents, and my brother and his family, returned to nearby Wernersville and the St. John’s (Hain’s) Reformed Church. We wanted one last opportunity to explore the grounds, particularly the old cemetery.
Perched near the top of a hill, the church and the old burial ground overlooked the valley below. Tacked to the western wall of the historic brick structure was a weathered bronze plaque. Tarnished over a span of more than five decades, it paid homage to fifty parishioners who fought for independence in the Revolution. Among the names listed were three of Peter’s sons and his grandson: Sergeant Adam Ruth, Jacob and Michael Ruth, and Michael’s son Christian Ruth. We all stood silently reflecting on how those emblazoned on that memorial tablet, along with countless other patriots throughout the colonies, risked everything they had for the cause of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in America.
The historic plaque was erected by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania in tandem with the Berks County Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution in 1931. These men, who signed oaths of allegiance to the cause and would have been seen as traitors to their former English masters, risked everything to take up arms for independence. “These brave souls took to the field of battle against the world’s greatest superpower of the age, the British Empire, in order that they and future millions would be free from tyranny. For this we can all be thankful and proud.”6
Before we left the cemetery grounds, we roamed the aging stones once more. While trying to decipher the names on the weather-worn markers, we stumbled upon one we could just barely make out: the gravestone of Peter’s eldest child, Michael. It had been dutifully marked with a small American flag and a tarnished DAR medallion.
Michael Ruth’s grave at St. John’s (Hain’s) Reformed Church in Wernersville, PA.
Photo by Jim Ruth, June 2021.
Years later, in early June of 2021, I took a road trip to Sinking Spring from my home (at that time) in Lewes, Delaware, and made a surprising and disappointing discovery: In the 1950s and early ’60s, many of the earliest grave markers along Penn Avenue were removed. They were “neglected and dangerous,” said the 200th Anniversary Edition, Saint John’s United Church of Christ, a church history published in 1992.7 The historic grave markers were replaced with open, green space now marked with several memorial stones honoring the service of veterans of various American wars, including the Revolution.
A Peter Ruth descendant told me that the decision to remove the old gravestones was highly contentious among church members, and the measure only passed by one vote. The gravestones removed were reportedly offered to local descendants of the deceased parishioners, while unclaimed stones were disrespectfully “tossed in the woods,” according to a groundskeeper I spoke with that day.
Among the gravestones apparently discarded were those of Christian and his wife, Barbara. The Wernersville St. John’s (Hain’s) Church’s historical records mention the burial ground at the St. John’s Reformed Church in Sinking Spring, stating, “Christian Ruth’s grave and that of his wife can be found side by side to the west of the church building.”8 Today, immediately to the west of the church building is the site of the green space.
The local Ruth family descendants I spoke with have no recollection of ever being contacted regarding the disposition of those historic gravestones. Christian’s “forever” gift to the congregation and their heirs rang hollow to future generations of churchgoers—a tragic end for the proud American patriot who donated the land on which the church’s parishioners have worshiped for nearly 230 years.
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When we finally headed home from the reunion, with Sinking Spring in the rearview mirror, I replayed the places we had been privileged to visit and the fascinating ancestral history we had learned. But it was the long shadow cast by Peter’s beautiful, old stone home that particularly held my interest. Though I wouldn’t return for nearly twenty-five years, that house, along with the memories of that 1983 reunion weekend, would keep a spark of my family’s remarkable American journey alive.
1983 Family Reunion Weekend
Top row: (L-R) Jim Ruth, the author; Robert, Jim’s father; Bob, Jim’s brother; Heather, Jim’s daughter. Middle row: Michael, Jim’s son; John and Cindy, Bob’s kids. Bottom row: Diane, Bob’s daughter; Kathy, Bob’s wife, with their dog Whiskey; Virginia, mother of Jim and Bob; Kathy, Jim’s wife.
You can tell on reading this book from the tone of author, Jim Ruth, that he is very proud of his family lineage, and rightly so. From the first voyage that brought the Ruths to America from mainland Europe to the present day, Ruth has been able to chart from many diverse sources, a history of his family which transposes well into a book for others, who are not of the Ruth clan, to read and enjoy.
In terms of delves into family history, it is a treasure trove.
It all starts with Peter in the 1700s and his hopes for a new life. Ruth is keen to emphasise the trials of Peter's journey: its arduous nature, its survival rate, its logistics. It was no small undertaking, filled with many uncertainties, but the prospect of something better provided Peter and others with the strength of spirit to continue. And there are lots of stories like Peter's in this book, of the paterfamilias looking beyond where his family live and what they have and looking to the horizon for whatever new land, new people and inevitably, new challenges can offer.
Of course, there are tragedies as well as successes and the linear nature of Ruth's exploration of his ancestry means that we see the part that Ruth's family play in crucial events in America's history, through revolution to independence and from there to civil war, and wars on other shores.
Sources are cited and some of the best moments are when we hear the voices of the people themselves in their own words. There is no substitute for this as this is real history: his-story as it is, not dressed up or presented in a certain way but raw and unmanufactured. I always think that family history books are incomplete without pictures and Ruth provides portraits from yesteryear, along with art, maps and quoted material to provide vision and context.
This is an interesting book in many ways. As a personal delve, the ancestors revealed are varied and because of the associations with the author, they feel more real and their stories more tangible. America's history as a nation built from the backbone of European immigrants is here and as an avenue into discovering lineage, it is invaluable as it provides places to look for sources in its delivery of a potted history of a family's troubles, fears, triumphs and losses.