There once was a boy. He was a boy born of privilege but also of extremely poor health. A rich, sickly boy. Temporarily blinded as a child, a stomach condition that left him in pain most days, back pains that would persist his entire life. It being the late 1800’s, the medical profession was less than helpful.

As he grew older, his health got worse and he began to struggle with depression and thoughts of suicide.  Because his father was wealthy and had influence, he was enrolled into Harvard Medical College. Willing to try anything rather than live as a suicidal invalid, he signed up for an anthropological expedition to the Amazon rainforest. He contracted small pox in the jungle and nearly died.  

The young man managed to return home to a disappointed father, nearly 30 years old, still unemployed, a failure at everything he had ever attempted, with a body that betrayed him and wasn’t likely to ever get better. Despite every advantage and opportunity he had been given in life, he had failed them all. The only constants in his life seemed to be suffering and disappointment. The man fell into a deep depression and planned to take his own life.

But first he decided to try one last thing before biting on a pistol.