Like a kid at a lemonade stand, Peter set up shop on Augusta Street, Oxford's main street.

That first day, nobody came by. In the next few days, Peter's only customers were students on their way from school.

On Memorial Day, Peter photographed Al Sheets, a member of the American Legion, and when Al went to the Legion hall, he brought back 75 Legionnaires.

The project took off from there. When Peter was finished, he had photographed 670 Oxford residents.

Peter didn't pose anyone. Nobody did anything out of the ordinary, like jumping or doing handstands — except Clarence Schropp, who wore his wife's wig, and Calvin Colony, who brought his 300-pound pet lion.

Twenty-one years later, Peter set up his camera again. Some of the original residents had died and some had moved away, but a surprising number still lived in Oxford.

It was at about that time when Peter asked writer Stephen G. Bloom to join him. Stephen's instructions to Oxford residents were simple: Tell the truth.

Some chose to talk about religion. Others spoke about relationships gone bad. More than a few talked about spouses' infidelities. Several broke down in tears. A few waxed about first girlfriends and boyfriends.

Some of their words came out slowly, others came out in jags and torrents. The language of more than several was pure poetry. Stephen and Peter came to realize that the project had a purpose. They had become confessors to an undiscovered America.