Let's start this story with a poem in memory of a valiant, daring soul, Sam Patch.

"Good people all, attendance give,

And list, with mournful brow,

If you have any tears to shed,

Prepare to shed them now.

Sam Patch is dead, that famous man,

We ne'er shall see him more;

He used to wear an old felt hat,

With rim all torn before;

His jacket was of iron gray,

His heart was full of glee,

They say he's killed by jumping off

The falls of Genesee.

Full six score feet they say he jumped,

And struck upon his side.

He sank beneath the roaring flood,

And thus, Sam Patch he died."

- Providence Journal, Nov. 26, 1829

America of today is used to the idea of the shooting star celebrity, a person rising from out of nowhere and grabbing the nation's attention, even if only for a short period.

It is not a new phenomenon.

The story of Sam Patch is such an example.

An image of Sam Patch taken from the children's book, The Wonderful Leaps of Sam Patch.

Born of modest origins in 1807 on a Massachusetts farm, he seemed destined to spend his life working in Eastern cotton mills. His life story would have been forgotten except he had a unique skill that would turn him into an early American legend: he could fearlessly jump into water from heights.

He was America's first daredevil, and by the autumn of 1829 was mentioned in the same breath as Davy Crockett.

He was a braggart, and exhibitionist and a natural showman. He was called "the Great Descender," the spurner of heights, and was said to be "half dust, half deity."

His meteoric rise to fame came to sudden, tragic end at the Genesee Falls near Rochester.

As a boy, he worked at a cotton mill in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, where a popular form of recreation among the workers was leaping from a bridge into the Pawtucket Falls. Some of the more daring boys jumped from the roof of an adjacent mill, a plunge of over 100 feet.

When he was older, he started his own cotton business, partnering with a man named Kennedy. But Kennedy & Patch came to an end after Kennedy skipped town with the company's funds, leaving Patch holding the debt.

He went to New Jersey and worked at the Hamilton cotton mills in Paterson.

He had just turned 20 and was becoming increasingly restless.

"What could he do to gain renown?" a 1929 Rochester Times-Union story asked. "Fight a duel? Become President? No. Leap from the chasm bridge that had just been built across the Passaic River? Yes."

Sam Patch leaping into Niagara Falls.

A new bridge was being built across the rocky gorge above the falls. Patch had boasted that he would jump from there into the river below, about 80 feet. Local police arrested him, thinking he was mad.

Upon his release, on Sept. 20, 1827, he approached the bridge. He knew that a crowd of people would be there to watch the progress on the structure.

"Unannounced and unheralded, Sam Patch appeared suddenly beneath the old pine tree above the falls, waved to the crowd and jumped off into the rolling water," a New Jersey newspaper wrote in 1963.

The crowd was at first horrified then broke into applause when Patch surfaced and swam to shore.

He ate up the applause and as he dried himself, said he would make the jump again.

He did twice more, on July 4 and Aug. 2. He had a hat passed around the spectators, earning $13 and then $15.

And he added a touch of showmanship to his performance.

The "Journal of Commerce" reported that he took off coat, vest and shoes, "and laid them carefully by, as if debating the question whether he should want them again."

He made a short speech, bowed to his left and right, before he "ran forward and leaped into the abyss."

The publicity from these jumps made Patch famous in New Jersey and New York.

On Aug. 11, 1828, at Hoboken, 500 people lined the shore as he dove 90 feet into the Hudson River from a platform erected on the masthead of a ship.

He was now the "Jersey Jumper" and he set his sights on the biggest jump of all, Niagara Falls, where no one had ever survived the plunge.

Looking to increase tourism to the falls, a local committee invited him to jump on Oct. 6, 1829. The main attraction would be the "blasting of a rocky obstacle."

Patch reluctantly agreed to jump but he hated the idea of getting second billing.

He abruptly canceled, then promised he would jump the next day.

"Some things can be done as well as others," he said, which would become his catchphrase and a slang expression used across the country.

On Oct. 7, he successfully leapt from a platform on Goat Island, then returned 10 days later for something even grander.

He had an even higher platform constructed built on top of two ladders on a cliff below Goat Island.

Despite pouring rain, Patch boldly climbed the ladder, ignoring the tearful farewells from people in the crowd.

A drawing shows Sam Patch on a platform high above Niagara Falls before his October 1829 jump there.

He stood on the small, swaying platform for 10 minutes, displaying his poise and testing the platform.

We waved his hands and kissed an American flag before plummeting into the water.

"He's dead! He's lost!" yelled the crowd before silence. Seconds later his head appeared from the water and handkerchiefs waved and huzzahs were shouted.

"There's no mistake in Sam Patch," he told the first admirer he met as he swam back to shore.

His Niagara exploits made Patch one of the most famous men in America.

"The jump by Patch is the greatest feat of the kind ever effected by man," the Buffalo Republican claimed. "He may now challenge the universe for a competitor."

His story was told in every newspaper from Maine to Florida and crowds gathered just to hear him speak. Some editors even said he should run for Congress. (Davy Crockett had done so, and he never jumped into any falls!)

The Saturday Evening Post, which had once called him a "hair-brained fellow," now said that by conquering Niagara Falls, he had "performed an act so extraordinary as almost to appear an incredible fable. Sam Patch has immortalized himself."

He told his admirers he next wanted to jump off London Bridge in the spring of 1830.

But first he wanted "astonish the natives of the west" one more time before he returned to New Jersey.

He accepted an invitation to leap into the Genesee Falls at Rochester, a 95-foot plunge.

An advertisement for Sam Patch's jump into the Genesee Falls.

He arrived in Rochester in late October 1829. He was now accompanied by a pet bear which would join his act.

On Nov. 6, all of Rochester turned out for his jump.

"The crowd collected was greater than ever before witnessed in Rochester," the Daily Advertiser reported. "The high banks and the buildings generally on each side and the flats below the Falls were crowded for a couple of hours before the hour designated for the feat. It was probably within bounds to say that there were between six and eight thousand spectators."

Patch's bear was pushed into the falls first.

"The poor animal whirred through the air, and, reaching the water, sank, but soon swam ashore, and was caught for further torture."

Patch followed the bear and made a successful leap.

He should have been done with Rochester at that point, but he decided to do one more jump there.

Accounts differ as to why. He may have enjoyed the huge crowds that turned out in the city or he may have been frustrated that the Genesee Falls leap garnered far less press than the Niagara jumps had.

Patch decided to up the ante, a 25-foot platform was built to add to the danger

November 13, 1829 (a Friday, of course) was almost a holiday in Rochester. Despite the cold weather, a shivering crowd of thousands (one account said 20,000) stood on the river bank.

Muddy roads did not stop people from coming from Buffalo, Canandaigua, Batavia or Syracuse for the occasion. Special schooners carried more people from Canada and Oswego.

Patch appeared dressed in white trousers decorated with a black silk handkerchief, a light wool jacket and a skullcap.

He took a drink of brandy offered from a friend, then had another when he reached the top of the platform.

An American Heritage magazine article in 1966 said "some spectators thought he staggered and lacked his usual aplomb."

Some thought he was "reeling drunk."

A view of what today are called the High Falls from the roof of the Genesee Brew House in Rochester.

Ever the showman, Patch put aside any nerves and delivered a grand speech:

"Napoleon was a great man and a great general. He conquered armies and he conquered nations. But he couldn't jump the Genesee Falls. Wellington was a great man and a great soldier. He conquered armies and he conquered nations and he conquered Napoleon, but he couldn't jump the Genesee Falls. That was left for me to do, and I can do it and will."

The crowd was tense. One woman cried out, "If there's anything in dreams that man is dead."

Supposedly a well-known citizen bit off the end of his own thumb.

After his pet bear made another successful forced jump, Patch prepared to leap.

Some spectators said Patch lost his balance on the platform and fell awkwardly, others said his dive looked as "straight as an arrow" at first before his body went limp and he hit the water on his side, with a "sickening smash."

The crowd was stunned.

"Such a shocking result had a strong effect on the immense crowd." The Daily Advertiser wrote. "After waiting in breathless anxiety for some time, the multitude disappeared with feelings that can better be imagined than described."

In less than five minutes almost everyone had fled the scene, "silent, sober and melancholy."

That night rescuers with torches searched the shore for any signs of Patch. His fans tried to assure themselves that he was OK, maybe this was part of the show. His body was not recovered.

Newspaper editors praised his heroism while the nation's preachers ridiculed his vanity and folly.

In Rochester, Josiah Bissell told his Sunday School students that they were "accessories" in Patch's death and "were murderers in the sight of God."

Throughout the winter of 1830, rumors had Patch popping up almost everywhere. He was seen in Albany, Canandaigua and Pittsford.

A rumor was started that Patch had discovered an eddy running under a shelving rock, where he had hidden clothes and food and was now living incognito.

One widely published story, supposedly signed by Patch himself, declared his final Rochester jump had been a "capital hoax," a dummy made of straw, stones, sand and paint had been substituted.

The grave of Sam Patch near Rochester. A proper headstone was not placed at the grave of the 19th century hero until 1948

But then, on St. Patrick's Day, 1830, a farmer chopped a hole in the ice of the Genesee River to give his horse a drink. The frozen corpse of Sam Patch bobbed to the surface.

He was buried in Charlotte Cemetery near where his body was found. A wooden board was placed there. It read simply, "Sam Patch - Such is Fame."

Patch entered national folklore. President Andrew Jackson named his favorite horse after him and there were countless poems, songs and stories written about him, like this one published in 1845:

Poor Samuel Patch - a man once world renounded,

Much loved the water, and by it was drownded.

He sought fame, and as he reached to pluck it.

He lost his ballast and kicked the bucket.

Send your ideas and curiosities to Johnathan Croyle: Email | 315-427-3958.