Reporter-News Archives Other articles in this investigative series Sunday, April 1, 2001 Lingering Questions ... Missing Memories Beth Cox describes years of believing husband was dead, shock of his reappearance By Loretta Fulton Reporter-News Staff Writer A Reporter-News exclusive, © 2001 NASHVILLE, Tenn. — It wasn’t the sudden jangle of the phone on a quiet July night that startled Beth Cox, even though she was alone with an infant. It was the matter-of-fact statement from the officer on the other end that yanked a memory from the back of her mind and dumped it squarely in front. “We have found a car and we need to get some verification,” the officer said in no-frills fashion. Fourteen years earlier, right after Cox had graduated from high school, her mother got a similar call on a July evening. That call was to inform Cox’s mother that her husband had been electrocuted at a construction site. Beth Cox, then Beth McCasland, was left without a father at age 18. The second call came the night of July 12, 1984. Cox was then the 32-year-old wife of Wesley Barrett “Barre” Cox, whom she had met while working at Abilene Christian University. The caller first asked to speak to Barre Cox, and Beth was hesitant to say he wasn’t home. She didn’t want anyone to know she and the couple’s 6-month-old daughter, Talitha, were alone. But the man identified himself as a police officer from Anson and spoke the words that hurtled Cox back 14 years to another July and another phone call. “That made flashbacks to the night we were waiting for my dad,” Cox said. “It was very eerie.” It was also the beginning of a nightmare of sorts for Beth Cox, an attractive, unassuming 32-year-old woman who would have preferred to remain a wife, mother, church worker and occasional dinner hostess. Instead, within the past three months, Cox’s life has taken dramatic twists and turns as her husband, who disappeared from Jones County in July 1984, resurfaced in December. Barre Cox, 50, was recognized as he auditioned for the pastorate of a gay and lesbian church in Dallas under the name James Simmons. He claimed to have suffered amnesia the past 17 years after waking up in a Memphis, Tenn., hospital. The story of Barre Cox’s reappearance was announced Jan. 8 at a press conference at ACU. Questions immediately arose about the veracity of his claims of amnesia. Four days later, Beth Cox held a press conference in Nashville, near her home in Franklin, Tenn. It was her first exposure to a national press corps, an experience that left her composed but drained. Last week, she held her first in-depth interview as she talked with the Abilene Reporter-News. She is scheduled to tell her story later this year to CBS News anchor Dan Rather. It’s a story of a traditional, faithful woman whose life suddenly was jolted when her husband disappeared, only to re-emerge 16¤ years later under a new name, claiming amnesia and professing to be a homosexual. It’s a story she never would have scripted for herself. ‘Doesn’t look good’ The eerie night that Beth Cox learned about her husband’s car being found abandoned in Jones County would turn into weary days and nights of searching for the missing man. His ransacked Oldsmobile was discovered on a farm road in northern Jones County. Cox had called his wife the night before to tell her the car was packed and he would be leaving Lubbock after a Wednesday night church service en route home to San Antonio via Abilene. Cox was finishing a doctoral dissertation in art education at Texas Tech University while holding down a job as a family minister at MacArthur Park Church of Christ in San Antonio. He planned to stop overnight in Abilene to visit friends before heading home to his wife and child. The conversation was routine and joyful. Cox had bought a stuffed animal and mobile for his daughter’s 6-month birthday. He and Beth talked about whom to invite to Sunday dinner. “And that was it,” Beth Cox said. But her husband never made it to Abilene. Eventually, hundreds of friends, law enforcement officers and volunteers scoured Jones County’s rugged terrain and even distributed fliers to Churches of Christ all over the country. Rumors of sightings of Cox on a small motorbike purported to have been in his trunk never bore out. Beth Cox’s mother came from California to comfort her daughter, remembering the night she got her own agonizing phone call. They traveled to Anson with church friends to aid in the search. Almost immediately, that old ominous feeling came back to Beth’s mother. “This doesn’t look good,” she said. A private investigator was hired, Beth’s brother and stepsister, who were attending ACU, joined the search, and a friend volunteered a helicopter to check out abandoned well sites and ditches. From the legendary Texas Rangers to four psychics with visions of Cox in a mine shaft, seemingly everyone joined the search. Eventually, the obvious hit home. Barre Cox was not going to be found, dead or alive. In 1991, seven years after Cox’s car was found with only a Bible and the contents of his wallet left at the scene, Cox was legally declared dead. To Beth Cox, he was only a memory and a mystery. She assumed he fell victim to foul play, perhaps at the hands of a hitchhiker on the lonely back roads her husband favored. “If there was a hitchhiker out there, I guarantee you he would have picked him up,” Cox said. ‘Barre has been found’ In January 1985, six months after her husband’s disappearance with no signs of a breakthrough, Cox moved from San Antonio to California to live near her parents. She and Talitha stayed there until 1992, when Beth felt it was time for a fresh start. Her husband was legally dead. A $150,000 life insurance policy and proceeds from the sale of her house in California would finance a move. A friend recommended Franklin, Tenn., a 15-minute drive south of Nashville set in rolling hills and plentiful trees. Beth and Talitha immediately fell in love with Franklin. It was close to Lipscomb University, a Church of Christ school in Nashville, and numerous churches of that denomination to choose from, a requisite for Cox. Talitha loved her new home with its openness and small-town atmosphere. “She liked the fact there were no fences,” Cox recalled. “That was such a novelty to her.” Beth Cox watched her daughter grow into a teen-ager, typical in many ways, but also disturbed and angry over the mysterious father she never met. But life was generally pleasant for the two, who found a ready support group in their church. Over the years, Beth dated a few men but never chose to remarry. She continued to work at part-time and full-time jobs, including being a counselor for Weigh Down Workshop, a nationally known Bible-based weight-loss program with headquarters in Franklin. She now puts her domestic skills to work assisting a friend with a gift basket and catering business. Beth never completely stopped wondering about her husband, but she had settled into a new life and was pleased with what she had found. “I felt like I would really never know the answer,’’ she said, “and I had peace with that.” That peace lasted until Dec. 30, 2000, nine years after Barre Cox had been legally declared dead and Beth Cox had accepted the fact that she would never fully know what had happened to her husband, trusting that his fate was in God’s hands. On that Saturday morning, two days before the new year and Talitha’s 17th birthday, the phone rang again. This time there was no flashback, no sense of dread. It was Beth’s mother, who 2-1/2 years earlier had moved with her husband, Beth’s stepfather, to Murfreesboro, an hour’s drive from Franklin. They were coming for a visit. Shortly after their arrival, Beth knew something was amiss. Her stepfather had a legal pad with him and numerous notations, which seemed odd for a Saturday morning visit. The three of them went upstairs, leaving Talitha in the kitchen. Beth remembers her mother looking at her and saying bluntly, “I have something to tell you. Barre has been found.” After 17 years of believing her husband was dead, Beth Cox had no ready response for such news. “I laughed and joked,” she said. “And then I looked in her face.” She knew her mother wasn’t joking. Immediately began the emotions that she struggles with still. She pointed downstairs to where Talitha waited innocently for the news. “What about her?” Beth asked, through tears of frustration, despair and anger. Composing herself, Beth called her daughter upstairs and told her about her father’s reappearance. He had been recognized in a Dallas church where he was auditioning as a minister under the name James Simmons. Talitha accepted the news without hesitation. “She looked at me and she knew it was real,” Cox said. The family cried and held each other. There were so many unanswered questions — and they were just beginning. Amnesia story questioned James Simmons claims to know nothing of Barre Cox and his disappearance from Jones County in 1984. Simmons says he has suffered amnesia since waking up in a Memphis hospital in the summer of 1984 and being told that he was found in a car trunk, beaten into a coma. He says he later took the name “James Simmons” based on the biblical book and the name of a store he once saw. He says he moved about the country, working in Virginia before eventually being accepted to seminary in California, fulfilling a dream to become a minister. From the beginning, Beth Cox and her parents questioned the story. “We all kind of agreed amnesia sounded kind of strange,” she said. “But we didn’t know.” Since that December day when Simmons was recognized by a hometown friend from his days as Barre Cox, many have questioned his story. He resigned as pastor of the church that hired him after the audition, White Rock Community Church, because he failed to get the two-thirds vote of confidence he sought. In two face-to-face meetings, Beth Cox said her former husband told her he is seeking other employment in Dallas and has bought a home there. He remains a member of the White Rock church, although he is no longer pastor, said Wacil McKnight, church secretary. Simmons did not return a call to the Reporter-News. By the time Beth Cox got through the trauma of having her husband declared legally dead, only to have him reappear nine years later claiming amnesia, she thought she was inured to any future shocks. She was wrong. White Rock Community Church is a 700-member congregation that ministers primarily to gays and lesbians and Simmons acknowledged that he is homosexual. Asked at a January press conference how he reconciles his former life as a family man with his new one as an openly gay minister, Simmons said, “I’m doing that even as we speak.’’ His wife and daughter from a previous life were left stunned and confused. Talitha perhaps handled it better than her mother. She was angry that her father had taken time to visit his mother and other family members before her. “She wanted him to come running to her and see her,” Beth Cox said. The fact that her father was gay didn’t seem to bother Talitha, her mother said. Her only resentment was that it took so long for him to actually meet with his daughter. For Beth, the range of emotions is huge. Anger, hurt, rejection, depression, guilt — all fill her soul. “I wish there was just one clear-cut emotion,” she said. But an emotional journey free of zigs and zags doesn’t seem to be in the cards for Cox. She’s been on that path since the night of July 12, 1984. Chance meeting Before that night, life had been pretty routine and pleasant. Born in Carlsbad, N.M., Beth McCasland moved with her parents and a younger brother and sister to Buena Park, Calif., when she was 8 years old. Her dad, an electrician, got a job there and the family moved into one of the first subdivisions in Orange County. Just a couple of months after graduating from Buena Park High School, Beth was left without a father. She left that fall for Magic Valley Christian College, a junior college in Idaho that no longer exists. After two years there, she had a decision to make, one that turned out not to be too difficult. She was the product of a devout Church of Christ family. Her mother had grown up in Abilene and her grandfather, W.C. Humphreys, played football for Abilene Christian University in its formative days, when the school was known as Childers Classical Institute on North 1st Street. So it was off to Abilene for Beth McCasland, with a lot of changes in store. Her mother had remarried and Beth suddenly had another brother and sister. She began her new life at ACU filled with promise and expectations She stayed at ACU two years before transferring to Pepperdine University, a Church of Christ school in Malibu, Calif. There, Beth put her domestic talents to work and earned a bachelor’s degree in home economics in 1972. She immediately went to work managing the home division for a major department store in Southern California. Life was fine, and Beth had no need or desire for a change. But in 1982, 10 years after graduating from Pepperdine, Beth got a call from Dr. William J. Teague, a former elder who had served alongside her stepfather at church. Beth recalled with joy the days that she and Teague’s wife, Peggy, worked together planning parties, banquets and showers — something they both loved. Teague remembered how adept Beth was at organizing social events. He was about to become president of Abilene Christian University and he suggested she apply for the job of special events coordinator. Intrigued with the offer, Beth traveled to Abilene and interviewed for the job. She was 31, single, with no attachments. A change of pace might be good for her. ACU’s Christian environment was appealing, as was the job description. She moved to Abilene in January 1982 and jumped into a whirlwind job. Her first assignment was to coordinate Teague’s inauguration as the university’s new president. That coincided with ACU’s annual Bible Lectureship, an event renowned in the Church of Christ and attended by several thousand people each February. Senior luncheons were also on the horizon and Beth would be responsible for planning them. Life was fast-paced and grand. “I pulled a few all-nighters, but it was fun,” she recalled. “I really have often said I wish I could have kept that job.” One morning, Beth casually talked to a co-worker about the previous night’s lecture and expressed surprise and disappointment that no mention of Scripture was made in the talk. A young man, Barre Cox, happened to overhear the conversation. Cox was waiting to talk to Beth’s boss before heading back to his home in Lubbock. A graduate of Church of Christ-affiliated Harding University in Arkansas, Cox was in town helping ACU establish a new summer camp on campus. Cox had experience in that field as a counselor at Blue Haven Camp, a Church of Christ facility in New Mexico. He was intrigued that the attractive coordinator of special events at ACU had paid such close attention to the previous night’s lecture. He didn’t hesitate to ask the young woman if they could continue the conversation over dinner. “We went out for a hamburger that night,” Beth remembered. “It kind of mushroomed after that.” Whirlwind romance The courtship turned out to be the same whirlwind Beth’s new job had been. Right away, the couple knew their relationship was special. By September, just seven months after sharing their first hamburger, Beth McCasland and Barre Cox were married in Garden Grove, Calif., where her parents lived. Soon after, Barre was hired at ACU as a recruiter and continued to work with the summer camp he helped establish. That was as natural a fit for Cox, a native of the Panhandle town of Perryton, as it had been for his wife. His family’s ties to the Church of Christ dated back generations and his parents had attended ACU. Life was sweet for Barre and Beth Cox and it got even sweeter in March 1983 when Beth learned she was pregnant. But, just as it would later, Beth’s life suddenly took an unexpected turn. She developed a blood clot during her pregnancy and was hospitalized 10 days. Doctors discovered a tumor on an ovary and feared it was malignant. They decided to wait until the fetus Beth was carrying was 4 months old before removing the tumor. The tumor proved to be benign, but Beth was exhausted from the pregnancy, surgery and the stress of not knowing whether the tumor was malignant. She decided to go back to California where her mother could tend to her during her recuperation. About the same time, Barre Cox took a new job as youth and family minister at MacArthur Park Church of Christ in San Antonio. When Beth was well enough, she joined her husband back in Texas, just three months before Talitha was born on Jan. 1, 1984. The move was a tonic for Beth. Talitha was born healthy, Beth’s own health was restored and once again life looked good for the Cox family. “I got back into the swing right away,” Beth recalled. “Everything was great — we were entertaining and enjoying getting our house fixed up.” By the summer of 1984, Cox had decided to take a leave of absence from the church and finish his doctorate in art education at Texas Tech. Beth and Talitha stayed in San Antonio and occasionally met her husband at his parents’ home in Canyon. The last reunion was in early July 1984, about a week before the phone call came that flung Beth Cox’s life into a tailspin. As the weeks and months passed, the once-distant thought that her husband might not return began to settle in and take hold. ‘He was so godly’ By January 1985, Beth decided she should return to California with her 1-year-old daughter. MacArthur Park Church of Christ continued to pay Barre Cox’s salary until the end of 1984. Beth’s parents had offered to help her with the down payment on a house in California. She made the move and started a new phase of her life. To make ends meet, Beth kept children in her home. As time passed, Beth’s life took on some normalcy, but her daughter’s did not. On the advice of a friend who was a child psychologist, Beth always was straightforward with Talitha about her father’s disappearance. She told her that no one knew for sure what had happened to him. By the time she was 8 years old, Talitha started to understand, her mother said. “She became very angry at me because she didn’t have a dad,” Beth said. Eventually, Beth decided she needed a fresh start and moved to Franklin on the recommendation of a friend. By the time Talitha was 13, her anger and confusion had accelerated, and Beth sent her to a boarding school in Oregon for 18 months. Now at 17, Talitha attends high school in Franklin and leads a fairly normal life. Her mother keeps her as sheltered as possible from the continuing saga, but Talitha is touched by it nonetheless. She accompanied her mother to the Nashville press conference in January and talked about speaking on the phone with her father for the first time on Jan. 1, her 17th birthday. “It was hard, but I dealt with it,” Talitha said at the news conference. For a fleeting moment in December, it seemed that the father Talitha had so much wanted in her life had emerged. But that was just the beginning of more frustrations and questions for both Talitha and her mother. “For me it was more resolved in December than it is now,” Beth said. “I had more closure in December than I do now.” Barre Cox’s reappearance was more shocking to Beth than his admission of homosexuality. “I’d already had that dropped on me a couple of times,” she said. Not long after the official search ended for Cox, MacArthur Park Church of Christ hired an investigator who discovered that Cox was involved with a number of gay people. Beth was both stunned and perplexed. That possibility didn’t jibe with the man she knew and loved — the man who was her husband, a Church of Christ minister and father to her child. Just as she began to accept it, a new thought would come to mind. “But wait a minute,” she would tell herself. “He was such a good person. He was so godly. He married me. We have a child.” She wishes her husband had leveled with her about being gay. Her own belief, and that of her church, is that the Bible teaches that homosexuality is a sin. She also believes people can change their sexuality through prayer and counseling. She is hurt that her husband didn’t give her the chance to support him with his struggles. In retrospect, Cox said there may have been signs, although there were never any suspicions raised to her by others. “Hindsight is much clearer,” she said. More frustrations than anything Whatever struggles Barre Cox was going through during his 16+ —year disappearance, it was just as tough on his wife. She remembered bouncing from one emotion to another. She would get angry thinking that he was gay and ran away from her and their daughter rather than admitting it. Then she would feel guilty and think that wasn’t true and that he had been killed. “Then I beat myself up,” she said. The emotional roller coaster, the questions, the stress still haven’t ended for Beth Cox. She has many questions about her former husband’s amnesia story. The two personal meetings she has had with him were awkward with few revelations. She has chosen not to challenge the details of his story, she said, waiting instead to see what happens. “I have more frustrations than anything,” she said. The future is far from clear for Beth and Talitha Cox, as well as for James Simmons. Already, Beth has been threatened with having to reimburse the government for the Social Security payments she and Talitha have been receiving. Her attorney and friend, Ed Bailey, intervened and helped convince the Social Security Administration that Beth was not involved in her husband’s disappearance and re-emergence. They have not been contacted by the life insurance company that paid Beth Cox $150,000. Bailey said the company conducted its own investigation and concluded that Beth was not involved. “If they have a claim, it’s not against Beth,” Bailey said. James Simmons is faced with answering questions about using the Social Security number of a rancher in the Panhandle with the same name as well as continuing questions about his claims of amnesia. But questions that James Simmons may face from investigators don’t matter to Beth Cox right now. She wants answers from Barre Cox for herself and her daughter. She wants the normalcy and total peace that have escaped her since a late night phone call in July 1984. She has faith that eventually those things will come to her and Talitha. “It’s just going to take time to see where things are going,” she said. “I know there’ll be a conclusion sometime.” Contact staff writer Loretta Fulton at 676-6778 or fultonl@abinews.com Other articles in this investigative series Send a Letter to the Editor about This Story Start or Join A Discussion about This Story Send the URL (Address) of This Story to A Friend: Enter their email address below: texnews reporternews local news features Copyright ©2001, Abilene Reporter-News / Texnews / E.W. Scripps. Publications