The “riveting”* true story of the fiery summer of 1970, which would forever transform the town of Oxford, North Carolina—a classic portrait of  the fight for civil rights in the tradition of  To Kill a Mockingbird   * Chicago Tribune On May 11, 1970, Henry Marrow, a twenty-three-year-old black veteran, walked into a crossroads store owned by Robert Teel and came out running. Teel and two of his sons chased and beat Marrow, then killed him in public as he pleaded for his life.    Like many small Southern towns, Oxford had barely been touched by the civil rights movement. But in the wake of the killing, young African Americans took to the streets. While lawyers battled in the courthouse, the Klan raged in the shadows and black Vietnam veterans torched the town’s tobacco warehouses. Tyson’s father, the pastor of Oxford’s all-white Methodist church, urged the town to come to terms with its bloody racial history. In the end, however, the Tyson family was forced to move away.    Tim Tyson’s gripping narrative brings gritty blues truth and soaring gospel vision to a shocking episode of our history.   FINALIST FOR THE NATIONAL BOOK CRITICS CIRCLE AWARD   “If you want to read only one book to understand the uniquely American struggle for racial equality and the swirls of emotion around it, this is it.” — Milwaukee Journal Sentinel   “ Blood Done Sign My Name  is a most important book and one of the most powerful meditations on race in America that I have ever read.” — Cleveland Plain Dealer   “Pulses with vital paradox . . . It’s a detached dissertation, a damning dark-night-of-the-white-soul, and a ripping yarn, all united by Tyson’s powerful voice, a brainy, booming Bubba profundo.” — Entertainment Weekly   “Engaging and frequently stunning.” — San Diego Union-Tribune “Admirable and unexpected...a riveting story that will have his readers weeping with both laughter and sorrow.” — Chicago Tribune “ Blood Done Sign My Name is a most important book and one of the most powerful meditations on race in America that I have ever read.” — Cleveland Plain Dealer “Pulses with vital paradox . . . It’s a detached dissertation, a damning dark-night-of-the-white-soul, and a ripping yarn, all united by Tyson’s powerful voice, a brainy, booming Bubba profundo.” — Entertainment Weekly “If you want to read only one book to understand the uniquely American struggle for racial equality and the swirls of emotion around it, this is it.” — Milwaukee Journal Sentinel “Engaging and frequently stunning.” — San Diego Union-Tribune "Daddy and Roger and 'em shot 'em a nigger." Those words, whispered to ten-year-old Tim Tyson by a playmate, heralded a firestorm that would forever transform the tobacco market town of Oxford, North Carolina. On May 11, 1970, Henry Marrow, a twenty-three-year-old black veteran, walked into a crossroads store owned by Robert Teel and came out running. Teel and two of his sons chased and beat Marrow, then killed him in public as he pleaded for his life. Like many small Southern towns, Oxford had barely been touched by the civil rights movement. But in the wake of the killing, young African Americans took to the streets. While lawyers battled in the courthouse, the Klan raged in the shadows and black Vietnam veterans torched the town's tobacco warehouses. Tyson's father, the pastor of Oxford's all-white Methodist church, urged the town to come to terms with its bloody racial history. In the end, however, the Tyson family was forced to move away. Tim Tyson's riveting narrative of that fiery summer brings gritty blues truth, soaring gospel vision, and down-home humor to a shocking episode of our history. Like "To Kill a Mockingbird, "Blood Done Sign My Name is a classic portrait of an unforgettable time and place. Timothy B. Tyson is a professor of Afro-American studies at the University of Wisconsin–Madison Baptism "Daddy and Roger and 'em shot 'em a nigger." That's what Gerald Teel said to me in my family's driveway in Oxford, North Carolina, on May 12, 1970. We were both ten years old. I was bouncing a basketball. The night before, a black man had "said something" at the store to Judy, his nineteen-year-old sister-in-law, Gerald told me, and his father and two of his brothers had run him out of the store and shot him dead. The man's name was Henry Marrow, I found out later, but his family called him Dickie. He was killed in public as he lay on his back, helpless, begging for his life. I was stunned and bewildered, as if Gerald had informed me that his family had fried up their house cat and eaten it for breakfast. We did not use that word at our house. It was not that I had never heard it or had never used it myself. But somehow the children in my family knew that to utter that word in the presence of my father would be to say good-bye to this earthly life. My daddy was a Methodist minister, an "Eleanor Roosevelt liberal," he called himself in later years, and at our house "nigger" was not