My great-great-grandfather Ruel Barrus was only a few years younger than I am now when he first entered the Tooele Valley in 1857. He was not a pioneer in the way most people think of Mormon pioneers.

For one thing, he was a bachelor coming from southern California. For another, he had lived, by all accounts, a fairly itinerant life, seeking his fortune wherever it pleased him. His main trades were carpentry and soldiering — which brought respectability when he rose to the rank of second lieutenant in the Mormon Battalion. He was once convicted of counterfeiting gold coins in Los Angeles, and one mention of him in the early annals of Grantsville history has him being censured for drunkenness and swearing — misdemeanors for which he repented publicly.

As both a counterfeiter and a staunch Democrat, Grandpa Ruel would be lightly tolerated by Tooele County society today. But back then, a man could still redeem himself in a place like Grantsville. Grandpa Ruel used up every drop of life allocated him over 96 years, had nine children after the age of 40, and died a pillar of the community.

But, above all, my great-great-grandfather’s greatest accomplishment was that he was a true pioneer. In one of the driest corners of the earth, he planted a family that thrives to this day.

I enjoy the 24th of July, and the idea of celebrating our pioneer heritage. But I could never really get behind the stereotype of all pioneers as bees in the hive, marching forward mile after mile with a song on their lips and a far-off gleam in their eyes. Real pioneers, even today, are innovators. They may try to march in step for awhile, but always end up veering off course. Their accomplishments are personal, unique. In the end, the only way you know them is by the legacies they leave behind.

Pioneer Day has always been special for my family for reasons beyond our heritage. It was the day when my dad won the first Deseret News Marathon. The year was 1970, when modern marathons were still in their infancy, and there were no aid stations along the route. That meant no water for 26 miles. Nobody had a clue how to train or diet for such a race, and running shoes were primitive by today’s standards.

My dad was one of the top distance runners in the world, an NCAA All-American, yet he had never run a competitive race longer than six miles. Around the 18-mile mark, he had such a large lead that he walked most of the rest of the way. He limped across the finish line with badly blistered feet, dehydrated. I was 1 year old, waiting for him with my mother. In victory, he held me and his trophy aloft at the same time.

My dad was only one in a series of Barruses that pioneered. That includes my grandpa Albert Barrus, who helped to found the Grantsville Volunteer Fire Department and built dozens of buildings as a contractor. In the year since he passed away, I’ve spent a lot of time missing him and considering his legacy. Like Grandpa Ruel, he worked across the country, from Hawaii to New Jersey. He was also a Democrat and I remember him swearing once or twice — though he never repented of either publicly.

My grandpa too was a pioneer. He strengthened the family Ruel Barrus planted a century and a half ago, began our family’s sporting traditions, and raised the runner who himself became a pioneer in Utah sports.

I love this line of men, my ancestors. I gave my first son my grandpa Ruel’s name, and my second son, Darius, was named for Ruel’s son, my grandpa’s father. I always liked the idea of these names being jumbled back and forth across the generations.

Perhaps that’s because when I think of these men they’re never in chronological order, like a handcart line. Rather, they encircle me, like the Tooele Valley we’ve all lived in. At one time or another, any one of them might come closer, materializing out of an old newspaper article, or a family story, or a place I shared with them, or a memory.

For me, being a pioneer isn’t about being a saint. I don’t want my ancestors turned into myths of dogged industry and perseverance. I like them close and human, flawed men all, who nonetheless left behind legacies of greatness. 

jbarrus@tooeletranscript.com