Sunday, January 21, 2001
Barre Cox/James Simmons addresses
the press
By ANTHONY WILSON
Reporter-News Staff Writer
 DALLAS
-- Barre Cox failed to scuttle the skepticism about his disappearance,
offering scant details in his first public statement Saturday
about his tale of a vicious beating, a case of amnesia and a life
lost.
The former Abilenian, now known as the Rev.
James Simmons, summoned reporters to his church's sanctuary to
retell the story of how he resurfaced last month after 16 years
and to answer the many doubts of his account.
Asked at one point how he reconciles his
former life as a family man with his new one as an openly gay
minister, Cox said, "I'm doing that even as we speak.
"I don't know if I would believe it
myself if I heard this story," he said during an hour-long
press conference. "I only know what happened to James Simmons.
I don't know what happened to Barre Cox. I can only speculate
as you can what Barre went through."
Cox's story has piqued both interest and
skepticism across the nation.
He disappeared near Abilene in 1984, seemingly
the victim of a violent end. But a chance encounter here last
month led to the discovery that Cox was alive -- with a new name,
a different lifestyle, the same passion for the ministry, but
no recollection of who or what he had been.
His wrenching tale of an amnesiac with no
past has since been found riddled with holes. His first public
words were expected to plug gaps -- and maybe yield revelations.
They did not.
Pressed by reporters, he said he is wrestling
with many of their questions.
"I don't have those answers,"
Cox said at one point. "I feel confused, afflicted, surprised,
frustrated. I'm sure there will be questions the rest of my life."
A mystery unfolds
Until July 12, 1984, Wesley Barrett Cox
had lived a nice if unremarkable life: Panhandle native, high
school honors student, bachelor's and master's degrees in art,
teacher at a tiny Tennessee college, and employee at Abilene Christian
University.
Barre (pronounced "Barry") Cox
arrived in Abilene in 1981 to work as an adviser to an ACU camp.
He joined the full-time staff the following year as an admissions
counselor and director of semester activities.
It was at ACU that Cox met his future wife,
an attractive young woman named Beth who was working as a special
projects coordinator.
The young family moved to San Antonio in
the fall of 1983, shortly before the New Year's Day birth of their
daughter, Talitha. Cox had taken a job there as a youth minister,
a realization of his long desire to preach the gospel.
But on July 12, 1984, Cox's comfortable
life swerved suddenly.
While driving from Lubbock to Abilene, where
he was stopping to visit old friends before heading home, the
33-year-old father, husband and minister vanished. His Oldsmobile
was abandoned and ransacked on a country road north of Abilene;
his wallet was scattered on the ground. But there was no trace
of Cox or of a motorbike that had been in his trunk.
A massive manhunt, conducted while the young
wife held vigil in the Jones County sheriff's office, found nothing,
even after marshaling the help of tracking dogs and cropdusters.
In the end, lawmen reached the conclusion that Barre Cox was no
victim.
"He's hidden because he wants to be,"
then-Texas Ranger Sid Merchant said.
Cox sightings were occassionally reported
around the country, but nothing panned out. In 1991, Cox was legally
declared dead and his marriage dissolved.
He returns
On Dec. 10, James Simmons, a seminary employee
living near San Francisco, delivered a sermon in east Dallas while
auditioning for the pulpit of White Rock Community Church. Afterward,
during a question-and-answer session with the congregation, Simmons
told a wrenching tale of his having no memory of his first 33
years of life.
Simmons told the parishioners his first
memory was of awakening in a Memphis, Tenn., hospital in July
1984. He said he was told children had found him viciously beaten
and comatose in the trunk of a car.
Though he survived, the attack had erased
all memory of who he was, he said.
On Saturday, he blamed the fog in his mind
for his inability to provide greater detail about his recuperation,
including the name of a family that helped nurse him.
He further said he senses -- though he can't
recall -- that he grew frustrated with failed attempts to identify
him, so he left a clinic on a quest to find out who he was. He
hitchiked to Virginia, adopting his surname from a hardware store
billboard along the way, he said. He took his first name from
the Bible's book of James, he said.
Though he said he couldn't remember his
name, he said he could recite Bible verses verbatim. His passion
for the ministry led him to a string of church jobs and then to
Golden Gate Baptist Theological Seminary in Mill Valley, Calif.,
where he earned two divinity degrees and worked as the housing
director.
The White Rock congregation was moved, but
none more than Blaine Hufnagle.
A truck driver who grew up in Barre Cox's
hometown and occasionly attends the church, Hufnagle said Simmons'
face "tickled my memory." His story triggered a full-on
panic. "It hit me like a brick wall," Hufnagle said
of his recognition of Cox. "It was a sudden click: 'Oh my
God! I think I know him!' It was terrifying at first."
The sighting led to a New Year's Day reunion
with his 80-year-old mother, a brother and a sister, people Simmons
said he didn't know, but to whom he feels eternally bound. (He
learned he lived 45 minutes from his sister in California.)
He also phoned his former wife, who never
remarried, and 17-year-old daughter, who said always believed
her father would resurface on her birthday. The trio will meet
for the first time within the next 10 days, Simmons said.
At Beth Cox's request, Abilene Christian
University on Jan. 8 spread the word of her husband's miraculous
resurfacing. Recalling the missing man with much warmth and fondness,
Cox's Abilene friends rejoiced.
Questions arise
The miracle has lost some luster in the
two weeks since.
The media scramble found that:
-- Memphis law enforcement and hospitals
have no record of a John Doe found comatose in a car trunk in
the summer of 1984.
Also, graduates of Freed-Hardeman University,
the Tennessee school where Cox taught, insist they would have
recognized Cox if the Memphis media had published his photo. They
say thousands of Freed-Hardeman alumni live in Memphis, which
is 85 miles east of the school.
Cox couldn't offer an explanation Saturday.
-- Cox had adopted the name, birth date
and Social Security number of a Panhandle rancher who lives 60
miles from where Cox was raised. Like Cox, the rancher is a Texas
Tech alumnus.
On Saturday, Cox said a caretaker sought
the Social Security number -- and he used it -- so he could work.
He couldn't explain why she called Tech, other than to say she
noticed he seemingly had a slight Texas accent.
He got his own Social Security number in
1989 after telling the federal government about his amnesia. The
Dallas Morning News reported Saturday that the Social Security
Administration is looking into how Simmons obtained his new Social
Security card. The agency, the newspaper said, is also looking
into whether Beth Cox was overpaid for his death benefits.
-- Doctors characterized Cox's amnesia as
virtually impossible. Brain trauma severe enough to obliterate
33 years of memory would disable a person from functioning normally,
they said.
They speculated that if Cox suffers amnesia,
it was sparked by psychological turmoil. Unable to cope with the
struggle -- given his strong religious beliefs -- he found a way
to restart his life without the burdens, they supposed.
-- White Rock Community Church ministers
mostly to gays and lesbians. That revelation sparked speculation
as to why Cox might purposely vanish. He counters, "Why come
back to Texas if I was trying to get away from it in the first
place?"
His family doesn't care why he's back.
"I know you have lots of questions,"
said George Cox, his older brother. "Think of how many I
have. I have a million of them.
"It's not my place to judge. We all
do it, but I wish we didn't."
The church also backs its pastor publicly.
On Saturday, about 50 members gave him two standing ovations,
even after he announced he was postponing his first sermon a month
to give the church and himself time to sort through their issues.
"I believe everything he's told us,"
said deacon Jeffrey Brown, who led the search for a new pastor.
"We live our lives by faith. We've seen God's hand in this."
On Friday night, though, the flock seemed
strained by the minister's arrival.
For more than three hours, the congregation
grilled Simmons about his background and his story. Afterward,
parishioners whisked past reporters declining comment. The one
parishioner who agreed to answer the Reporter-News' questions,
on the condition that his name not be used, said the congregation
seemed split between those who don't believe Simmons and those
unconcerned about the questions. Disappointed that the minister
brought no documentation to prove his story, the man questioned
whether he wants to remain a member of the church.
Cox began his comments Saturday by reciting
John 9:1-3, which seeks to explain a man's blindness by saying
the affliction happened so "the work of God might be displayed
in his life."
He concluded by seeking the prayers of others.
"I'm just a man, sinful and imperfect,"
Cox said, "trying to live the best I can."
(See related Special
Report)
Contact city editor Anthony
Wilson at 676-6730 or wilsona@abinews.com.
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Copyright ©2001,
Abilene Reporter-News / Texnews / E.W. Scripps. Publications
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