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It's an October evening in 1932 in Macon County, Alabama.

A flatbed truck kicks up dust as it bumps along a remote country road.

Sitting crowded in the back as a group of African-American sharecroppers,

weary from a long day picking cotton in the hot sun.

Among the passengers is 30-year-old Herman Shaw.

Herman sits slumped in the corner of the truck bed, shivering despite the warm weather.

For several days now, Herman's health has been in rapid decline.

He's been losing weight, his muscles and joints ache,

and painful sores have appeared around his groin. Herman fears that he's become the latest victim of the disease that's been rampaging through America, a pestilence that the locals around here

simply call bad blood. Herman winces in pain as the truck rolls to a stop. Gingerly, he climbs down from the

vehicle and begins walking the rest of the way home. As Herman limps up the winding dirt path towards

his wooden shack, he notices a flyer nailed to a fence post. In bold letters, it reads,

Do you have bad blood? Free blood tests available at Tuskegee Hospital.

Erman rips the flyer from the fence post and stuffs it in his pocket.

He's never visited a doctor in his life, and the prospect terrifies him.

But he's desperate, and Tuskegee is just a short bus ride away.

This flyer might be bringing good news.

Herman continues up the road, feeling optimistic that whatever he's got, it can be cured,

...