"I didn't die in my sleep. I didn't even die at night, for that matter. I died in broad daylight, about noon, in front of God and everybody." So ends a life that began in 1887, before paved roads and computers overhauled the skin and bones of America. But his story just begins here, at his death, as he tries to make sense of his wrong turns, as well as his right ones, and why anyone would have him assassinated on the sunniest day of the year. Twenty-five years in the writing, Son of the Bogeyman inspires us to examine even the most mundane life with a whole new perspective.