Part 1: The Signer in My Blood – Discovering John Hart’s Brave Stand for Liberty
By Lee Allen Miller, TFCL Publisher
Growing up in East Texas, I always knew my roots ran deep. But I didn’t fully appreciate just how far back my family’s story reached – until I traced it to the very founding of our nation.
I am the five-times great-grandson of John Hart, one of the 56 signers of the Declaration of Independence.
That fact humbles me. It also challenges me.
John Hart was not a famous man in his time. He wasn’t a general or a lawyer or a wealthy planter. He was a farmer, a husband, a father of thirteen, and a devout Christian. He was a man who lived simply but believed deeply in liberty, faith, and the dignity of every individual. And when the time came to choose between comfort and conviction, he chose conviction.
He signed the Declaration of Independence in 1776 at the age of 65, knowing full well it could cost him everything. And in many ways, it did.
Who Was John Hart?
John Hart was born around 1711 in Hopewell Township, New Jersey. He lived a quiet life for much of his early years, working as a farmer and miller. He was not a man of privilege or position. He didn’t write books or seek the spotlight. But in the eyes of his community, he was known as “Honest John Hart” – a man of integrity, deeply respected by his neighbors for his sound judgment and unshakable faith.
He entered public service slowly, first as a justice of the peace, then in the colonial legislature of New Jersey. But as tensions with Great Britain grew in the 1770s, Hart’s convictions pushed him forward. He aligned with the growing Patriot cause, even as it became clear that opposing the Crown would cost many their livelihoods – or worse.
In 1776, at the age of 65, John Hart was selected to represent New Jersey in the Second Continental Congress, replacing a delegate who opposed independence. That July, he joined 55 other men in signing one of the most revolutionary documents in history: the Declaration of Independence.
It was a bold move, especially for a man in the later years of life. Unlike some of the younger signers, Hart wasn’t chasing glory. He was sacrificing everything he had – his property, his reputation, even his life – for a future he might never see. And indeed, he didn’t.
That same year, British and Hessian forces invaded New Jersey. John Hart was forced to flee his home. His property was raided. His farm was looted. He hid in the woods and slept in caves, while his family scattered. During his time in hiding, one of his daughters died, and he was unable to return to bury her.
After months of evasion, Hart returned to public life in 1777 and was elected Speaker of the New Jersey General Assembly, where he continued serving until his health gave out. He passed away on May 11, 1779, just three years after signing the Declaration.
He never saw the full fruits of the liberty he helped secure. But he never wavered.
And yet, because of him – and men like him – we stand today in the shadow of that liberty. Free to worship. Free to work. Free to lead. Free to build something that will outlive us.
John Hart’s courage didn’t end with him. It passed down through generations.
My Lineage from Liberty
John Hart’s courage didn’t end with him. It passed down through generations – etched into the backbone of my family and stitched into the values we still live by today.
His son, Edward Hart, took up arms under the command of General George Washington in the New Jersey Campaign, fighting not for glory but for the idea that freedom was worth defending. From him, the spirit of sacrifice and service traveled westward, as the Hart family helped shape the young frontier of a growing nation.
One of Edward’s descendants, Pleasant Hart, became a respected figure in Missouri, serving in the 22nd Missouri Infantry during the Civil War. He stood alongside his son, Robert Calvin Hart, who joined him in uniform and fought to preserve the Union. Their bravery was so distinguished that they were mentioned in official military citations, noted not only for their courage but for their calm leadership in the face of enemy fire.
From war-torn fields to dusty farmlands, the Harts built lives rooted in faith, hard work, and perseverance. They weren’t aristocrats or politicians. They were farmers, teachers, soldiers, and servants – quiet leaders whose lives told a story of resilience.
Eventually, our family’s journey led to Christian County, Missouri, where six generations of Harts are now buried under the oaks of Wise Hill Cemetery. It was there that my great-great-grandfather Elcany Hart, son of Robert Calvin Hart, raised his family. He was a man of character, shaped by a lineage of men who stood firm when others folded. His daughter – my grandmother, Mary Lea Hart Smith – grew up immersed in these stories. She didn’t just inherit their name; she inherited their spirit.
She passed that legacy on to my mother, and my mother passed it on to me.
What It Means Today
As I write this on the eve of Independence Day, I feel both the weight and the wonder of that legacy. Not with pride—but with purpose.
It’s easy to celebrate the Fourth of July with fireworks and flags. But for me, it’s something deeper. It’s personal. Because I carry the blood of a man who signed his name on a piece of parchment that put a target on his back. A man who lost his home, lived in hiding, and buried a child he couldn’t mourn in public—all because he believed that ordinary people should be free.
That’s not just history to me. That’s inheritance. And that inheritance doesn’t come with entitlement. It comes with responsibility.
Leadership isn’t just about ambition. It’s about sacrifice. It’s about showing up when it matters, speaking truth when it’s hard, and doing what’s right even when it costs you. It’s about planting trees you may never sit under—like John Hart did when he signed a declaration he didn’t live to see fulfilled.
In today’s world of instant gratification and shallow popularity, that kind of leadership is rare. But it’s still needed. Desperately.
And that’s the kind of leadership I aspire to bring to my work, my businesses, my relationships, and my walk with God. Whether it’s helping a family navigate legal challenges, guiding East Texans toward energy independence, mentoring young entrepreneurs, or simply being the kind of husband, father, and grandfather who leads with consistency—I want to be the kind of leader who builds lasting impact, not just short-term influence.
That’s what John Hart did. That’s what every generation of my family tried to do in their time. And that’s what I’m committed to doing here and now, in the Pineywoods of East Texas—where faith is still strong, freedom still matters, and families still believe in something bigger than themselves.
Over the next few days, I’ll be sharing more of this story—about the Hart family, their trials and triumphs, and how their leadership still shapes mine today. I hope it inspires you to reflect on your own legacy, and the kind of freedom worth passing on.
Because leadership doesn’t start in Washington. It starts at home. In the soil. In the church pew. At the kitchen table. In how we raise our children and how we honor our elders.
And for me, it started in the heart of a man named Hart.
Coming Tomorrow (Part 2):
“Pioneers, Patriots, and Preachers: The Generational Courage of the Hart Line”
