He stood naked at the edge of the river.

It was morning, but the July sun had already warmed the stones beneath his bare feet.

His clothing was piled up behind him, a suicide note held down by the weight of his silver

personalized pocket watch.

As he stepped into the cold water of the Ohio River, he brought nothing with him except

a small burlap sack.

Holding it up above the surface of the water, he turned northward and walked against the

current, heading a good distance upstream.

And as he did, his thoughts were consumed with the loss of his wife, Caroline.

Her illness had arrived suddenly, and before anyone was able to help, it had snuffed

out her life.

They had married in April of 1895, and yet two months later, Caroline was gone.

So now, with no reason to stay, Johann was making his own dramatic departure.

Upstream he found a pile of stones, clearly manmade, and against them rested a small wooden

boat.

Inside it, a pile of freshly folded clothing waited for him on the small seat.

After placing the small sack inside, Johann climbed in, dressed himself, and then began

to row into deeper water.

After a few moments, he stopped and emptied the contents of the sack into the dark water,

letting the river carry it away.

And then he grabbed the ores, and did the same with himself, moving the boats into the

stronger current, which slowly put distance between himself and the small town of Wheeling,

...