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Gloria Jean Richardson was fourteen when she first heard
B.J. Thomas sing on the radio. The song "Mama" filled the room and she shivered as confused thoughts and feelings assailed her.
"Gloria, will you help me to ... "
"Sh-h-h-h-h!" Gloria snapped at her friend, Marie.
"Oh, come on, Gloria, that's awful. You never
listen to anything but hard rock and roll."
"Sh-h-h-h, Marie ... I mean it!"
As the last strains of the song faded into a commercial,
Gloria stood motionless in the middle of the room. "I don't believe how he sings," she said, a tinge of wonder in her voice.
"What are you talking about? You can't stand that
kind of music," Marie said, her expression mocking.
"It was his voice. It wasn't the song, and it sure
wasn't because I feel anything for my mother," Gloria said, her voice low and far away. "The last time I saw mama was four years ago when she beat the hell out
of me one last time before leaving for good."
Gloria turned eighteen during three weeks spent in
Houston Memorial Hospital following an auto accident. "A cracked jawbone, missing teeth, a broken kneecap and four hundred facial stitches is a pretty high price to
pay for a ride with your boyfriend," said the nurse, as she checked Gloria's pulse.
"He wasn't even my boyfriend," Gloria replied
softly. "He was just a friend who needed someone to talk to."
"Who are you going to stay with when you're
released?" the nurse asked. "It's going to take you a while to get back on your feet."
"I've written every family member I can think of,
telling them I have no money and no place to go. I'm sure one of them will help out." Gloria's tear-smothered voice whispered from behind the bandages covering her
entire head and neck.
"Jeeze ... you look like the mummy herself!"
Pam exclaimed. "They wouldn't let me see you until today. I don't believe it. I don't believe this could happen, just when you were finally starting to make it on
your own." Pam's voice was compassionate but couldn't hide the shock of seeing her best friend in such bad condition.
Gloria attempted to hold back tears. "I don't have
any money to pay for my half of the apartment rent, Pam."
"I know. Yesterday I told the landlord we'd be
moving out. I can move back in with my folks, but what will you do?" Pam was apologetic.
"I don't know. I'd rather sleep in the park than
move back in with my father and be his punching bag again," Gloria replied unsteadily. Through the bandages, her eyes narrowed. "I'm going to make it. I'm going
to make it."
In the sterile hospital room, Gloria faced her fears and
assessed her future. The facial injury was her primary concern. She was beautiful. Although not tall enough for high fashion photography, she had become successful
modeling for Houston department stores and newspaper ads. Her independence was based upon her appearance, which was now in question.
The pleas for family assistance went unanswered and
Gloria left the hospital knowing she was on her own. The doctors gave her a bottle of aspirin and prescriptions for antibiotics and pain medication. The prescriptions were
never filled because she simply didn't have the money. Her friends offered moral support, and Kimberly, a high school girlfriend, let Gloria stay in her apartment.
Six weeks after the accident the final facial bandages
were removed. "I'm a mess," Gloria said to three of her girlfriends, who were assembled at the apartment for her "coming out" party. "If the scars
aren't bad enough, I'll be limping for months and I still have teeth to be dug out." The tensing of her jaw betrayed her deep frustration.
"You look great and we're going to get you back out
into the world," Kimberly said. "Tonight, we're all going to Van's Ballroom."
"Only if I can sit in the darkest corner,"
Gloria replied. She managed a small, tentative smile.
The Van's Ballroom marquee read "B.J. THOMAS"
in huge black letters. As Gloria and her friends entered the crowded hall, she recalled her previous reactions to B.J.'s voice. Perplexing emotions surged through her mind
as she followed her friends through the maze of people to a table in a dark area close to the stage. The house band was playing at earsplitting volume.
"Ladies and gentlemen, will you please give a warm
welcome to B.J. Thomas." The announcer's voice crackled through the din of the crowd. There was a momentary hush followed by boisterous applause. The man in the
spotlight was tall and skinny, with curly brown hair. He scanned the room, smiled, nodded, and began to sing "Eyes of a New York Woman."
"God, he looked right at me," Gloria thought,
embarrassed and confused by the intensity of her emotions. She crossed her arms and attempted to avoid his gaze. "This is ridiculous, he can't see me in the
dark." Kimberly raised her eyebrows, licked her lips and squeezed Gloria's arm. Gloria smiled in response, masking her inner turmoil with deceptive calmness.
Later that night, in bed at Kimberly's apartment, she
thought about her reactions. "It was my first night out in so long. I'm nervous about how I look. But I don't look bad. Thank God the scars won't match my fears."
The following morning thoughts of B.J. Thomas were lost
in Gloria's concern for making a living. "I can clean and cook," she told Kimberly. "And until I can get back out and hold down a job, I can fix the girls'
hair. Before the accident, Key magazine was paying me a little to write fillers. I can still do that."
"Let's go back to Van's tonight, before going to
the Appleton party," Kimberly said enthusiastically, a week later.
"Will B.J. be on stage?" Gloria asked.
"No, it's somebody else. I don't remember who."
Gloria and Kimberly crossed the dance floor and were
about to sit down at a table when a man on her left said, "What are you doing here?" She squinted at his silhouette, her eyes not yet accustomed to the dim light.
"B.J. Thomas?" Gloria asked, hesitatingly.
"I didn't think you were singing tonight."
"I'm not, I'm just here with friends," he
replied. "I thought you were my sister."
"Do I look like your sister?" Gloria asked, a
note of sarcasm in her voice.
"Not really," B.J. replied, coming closer.
"Same height and hair color, that's all. But you seemed so familiar."
"That's a good line."
"No, I mean it," he laughed. "Want to go
to the Appleton party with me?"
"I'm already going, so I'll just see you
there," Gloria said, feeling her confidence returning.
"Why not go with me?" B.J. prodded.
"If you're looking for a show horse, you'd better
find another stable," she teased before turning serious. "I just went through a windshield, my teeth are knocked out and I'm not ready for this."
The group left Van's together. Outside, B.J. walked up
to Gloria, took her arm and guided her under the street light. "I really couldn't see what you looked like in there. You're beautiful!"
"Thank you," Gloria responded. "I'll see
you at the party." Her voice shakier than she would have liked.
The party was large and crowded. It was over an hour
before she saw B.J. again. "Two different guys have told me they are here with you," he said, more a question than a statement. "When you get your story
straight, why don't you come and tell me."
"I can't help what somebody else says. I came by
myself and I'm leaving by myself," Gloria replied, boldly meeting his eyes. And she left.
An hour and a half later B.J. was knocking on the
apartment door. "It took me this long to find you," he said. The underlying sensuality in his voice captivated her, and she couldn't keep from smiling.
"Good evening, Mr. Thomas, nice to see you again."
It was November 1967 -- the beginning of a relationship
roller coaster ride. December 9, 1968, B.J. and Gloria were married in Las Vegas, Nevada, as "Hooked on a Feeling" was on its way to becoming his second
million-selling record. Thirteen months later their daughter Paige was born. "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" was topping the charts and the pressure was on.
The faster the money came in the faster they spent it.
As success multiplied, so did B.J.'s drug intake. After his performances he would disappear. They decided life in Manhattan was to blame for the wrecked cars, fights, and
accelerating drug abuse. So they purchased a beautiful stone country house in Connecticut on four and a half acres of landscaped lawn with a fifty foot pool.
B.J.'s drug escapades intensified until he finally
admitted, "I guess New York wasn't the problem, was it?"
"Oh, B.J. there has to be a way not to hurt so
much," Gloria cried. "You've got to get some help. If not for yourself, for Paige and me."
Gloria set up an appointment with a psychiatrist. B.J.
saw him for a year with no signs of improvement. When Gloria challenged the doctor, he explained, "If B.J. can accept his anxieties as being normal for him, he can
adjust better to the world around him." He handed Gloria a prescription for tranquilizers as she left the office.
Instead of adjusting, B.J. got worse. His
"starstruck" psychiatrist was always there to bail him out of jail and rationalize his failures.
"Why don't you leave him?" Gloria's friends asked.
"I couldn't," she would cry. "We both
have the same emotionally deprived backgrounds. We need to be loved by each other.
"As long as B.J. has a problem, I have an
obligation. It's my problem too," Gloria told her friends. "We'll find a way. We'll get help."
For six years, the Thomases vacillated between being
drunk with love and inflicting hate upon each other. The problems with drugs and money continued to escalate until 1974 when Gloria packed enough clothes for Paige and
herself, and moved to Fort Worth, Texas.
In the eight months that followed, Gloria and B.J.
missed each other so much they forgot their pain and reconciled. The Connecticut house was sold and Nashville became home, but nothing was solved by the separation -- the
following year was more difficult than any before.
"Just take care of B.J., Gloria," the staff
and promoters would plead. "He's got to perform. You've got to make him."
"He can't perform. He's close to killing himself
with drugs!" Gloria would cry.
"You need the money. If he doesn't perform they'll
sue, and we can't take another lawsuit," they would counter. "No matter how sick or crazy he is, he can still sing."
In April 1975, B.J.'s recording of "Hey, Won't You
Play Another Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song?" scaled the charts to become another million-seller as Gloria sank into depression. Dazed and hardly functioning, she
left again, returning to a rented house in Fort Worth. "I swear I'll never go back to that drug-crazed world again," she cried, over and over. B.J. left
Nashville soon after and leased a home in Los Angeles.
Barely able to function, existing in a trancelike
stupor, Gloria found a woman to take care of Paige, wash clothes, and cook the meals. Fainting spells followed the depression and culminated with Gloria awakening in the
hospital unable to remember what happened. "I can't pay you for eight days in here," she told the doctor. "My husband may be B.J. Thomas but he isn't
sending me any money."
"If you'll turn your life over to Jesus Christ,
Gloria, everything will work out," said a stranger who befriended her. With the support of her only Fort Worth friends -- born-again Christians dedicated to her
conversion -- Gloria began to pull out of the depression. She found herself once more worrying constantly about B.J. -- especially when it was more than a week between
phone calls.
"Something has to happen soon," she said to her friends.
"Our entire church is praying for you and B.J.," they would reply.
"God, please -- please help me," Gloria
sobbed, alone in her bedroom and unable to sleep. As she prayed, the torment eased and faded until a spirit of peace filled her to overflowing. "I give myself to you,
God. Without reservation, I surrender everything . . . Paige, B.J., our marriage, my future."
"I'm different, B.J.," she explained on the
phone. "I really can't explain what happened to me, but I feel like a new person. It's as if the whole world was lifted from my shoulders."
"You sound different," B.J. replied.
B.J. admitted to a premonition that time was running out
for him. He knew he couldn't take drugs forever and sensed he was approaching a final crossroads in his life. "I just don't have any will to live," he said.
"I take it one day at a time, not caring if I survive or not."
"Will you come to Fort Worth to visit?" Gloria
pleaded. "Paige prayed to God to bring her daddy back to her."
January 1976 -- B.J. arrived at the Dallas/Fort Worth
airport. He was emaciated, carrying only 130 pounds on his six-foot frame. Their initial nervousness with each other soon passed. Although both were wary and careful in
their responses, the old love surfaced again in the days that followed. They both felt it. Gloria was a living example of her faith and before the month was out, B.J. also
gave his life to God.
It was the end of drugs and the beginning of a new life
in Texas. But it was not the end of their problems. Instead of personal conflicts, B.J. and Gloria now focused their attention on B.J.'s career. Irresponsible management
had to be replaced and many bad contracts needed to be resolved. Gloria accepted responsibility for this part of the business, freeing B.J. to concentrate upon performing
and recording.
B.J.'s acceptance of Christianity opened new doors and
his inspirational albums sold well. The concerts now included a mixture of secular and spiritual songs. Although it wasn't a problem for the majority of his fans, many of
the born-again Christians would loudly protest and walk out of the auditoriums when he sang "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" or any of his other popular songs.
"The Born Agains won't accept me without a
cross-examination," he complained to Gloria. "Sometimes I'll say, 'I know I'm a Christian and so does God, whether you or anyone else believes it.' Then they
accuse me of hostility."
He received volumes of hateful mail from Born Agains
condemning him for charging money to attend his concerts ... for singing secular songs ... for not projecting a more loving look on his album covers. "We don't get
critical letters from non-Christians," Gloria pointed out. "The poison-pen letters all come from church people."
If the fans were a problem, it was small compared to the
Christian promoters. They signed concert contracts and then would not pay, claiming they didn't have the money. B.J. learned early to insist on being paid in advance.
"But isn't this your ministry?" said one promoter.
"No, this is a business," B.J. answered.
"I didn't leave my family behind, travel halfway across the United States, pay for my band and people to come with me, so that I could have church with you. I need
the money our contract calls for before I go out on that stage."
"You don't have much of a relationship with the
Lord to walk out on a concert."
"You must not have much of one either, because you
want to cheat me," B.J. snapped in response. "You're charging people in that auditorium to attend and you even charged them ten dollars to park their cars."
B.J. held his ground, and in all but three instances,
the promoters came up with the money they claimed did not exist.
"Since the day I accepted God in my life, I have
never doubted the relationship we share," B.J. explained to Gloria. "But I can't accept limited, judgmental attitudes."
"I agree," Gloria replied softly. "Let's just live our lives, our way."
B.J. wanted another baby. Gloria was fearful of
pregnancy. While in Taiwan for a concert, Gloria was introduced to a twelve-day-old Korean baby girl -- an orphan in need of a family.
"Are you crazy?" B.J. responded when Gloria proposed adoption.
"Well, you've been saying you want another child. I
didn't think it would matter where it came from. It's up to you, B.J."
For weeks they talked about it. "Can we give a
child like that the stability she needs?" B.J. asked.
"I don't know," Gloria answered honestly. "All we can do is try."
"We still fight a lot," he mused.
"And we're getting better all the time," Gloria countered.
Soo-me Park was renamed Nora. And from the day she
arrived in Texas, she enriched the lives of B.J., Gloria, and nine-year-old Paige. Two weeks after Nora's arrival, Gloria found out she was pregnant. On June 4, 1979, Erin
Micah Thomas was born by the Lamaze method. B.J. stayed with his wife, coaching her through the delivery.
Although far from living a life of harmony, the Thomases
began to work together on one problem at a time. Two children in diapers limited Gloria's availability for much needed business involvement. Years of bad management
resulted in disastrous judgments from the Internal Revenue Service. B.J. and Gloria had identity problems, acceptance problems, and organization problems ... but month
after month, year after year, they remained together through the ups and downs. Slowly, life got better. B.J. won five Grammy awards between 1976 and 1983. Gloria began to
write songs -- good songs which B.J. and other artists recorded.
The Thomases credited part of the improvement to an
ever-expanding philosophical awareness. Their personal experiences with the born-again Christians demonstrated the limitations of that faith. It had served them well as a
transitional phase, but offered little potential for growth. In his twenties, B.J. had studied Edgar Cayce and Paramahansa Yogananda. Reincarnation is the basis of these
philosophies, and B.J. and Gloria began to see how metaphysics correlated with the writings of the Bible. Gloria began studying cause and effect, and responded to the
justice and logic of karma as a philosophical basis of physical reality.
Since we live in Malibu, California, my wife Tara and I
have our share of celebrity friends. But over the years, I've been generally unresponsive to requests from famous people for meetings to discuss reincarnation, or for
private past-life regressions. I usually have my staff reply, suggesting a past-life regressionist I feel will do a good job, and we offer them a pass to a forthcoming
seminar. If they attend, we provide a false name tag to disguise their participation, but for those with famous faces this seldom works. I can understand celebrities'
reluctance to expose themselves to public gatherings.
During two periods of my life, I have worked as a
past-life therapist, counseling individuals. But today, unless onstage communicating to a seminar audience, I prefer a reclusive existence of working with my own
publishing company staff on tapes and communications projects. Or, even better, to sit at home in front of my word processor, writing books or magazine articles about
metaphysics and New Age philosophy.
June 1984: "B.J. Thomas' staff contacted the
office," I explained to Tara over dinner." He and his wife are going to be in town and would like to meet with me." My wife was once a Hollywood model who
later worked for Warner Brothers and Columbia movie studios. She often turned down acting opportunities in favor of her position in studio security. The studio experiences
left her generally unimpressed by celebrities.
Tara thought for a long moment. "I think you should
see them," she said.
"Why?" I listed names of famous people we'd
turned down. "Why B.J. Thomas?"
"I don't know. It's just a feeling. Besides, you
like his music," Tara said.
My office cleared the meeting with the Thomas office in
Arlington, Texas, and gave them our unlisted home phone number. A few days later the phone rang, "Richard, this is B.J. Thomas ..."
As much as I dislike communicating with strangers over
the phone, B.J. was one of the easiest people I had ever talked to. There was an instant affinity -- like talking to a long-lost friend. He later admitted that he shared
my aversion to phone conversations as well as the sense of easy familiarity during that first call.
The Thomases arrived in their touring bus after driving
all night following a concert. The six members of the band were still asleep in the hotel when Tara and I picked up Gloria and B.J. after lunch. The sense of familiarity
was even stronger in person, and the four of us shared an afternoon of enjoyable conversation about many things, including reincarnation.
Neither B.J. nor Gloria had experienced past-life
regression, so I explained the hypnotic process, set up recording equipment and for two hours guided first B.J., then Gloria through several shared past lifetimes. The
past incarnations offered some cause and effect explanations relating to their present relationship and Higher-Self advice for the future. Long after dark we drove them
back to the hotel where the staff and band were preparing the bus for the road.
Since our initial meeting, we have vacationed together
as families with all our kids on the tour bus. Gloria uses our spare bedroom as a West Coast hideaway when in Los Angeles, working on songwriting projects. Tara and Gloria
stay in regular contact by phone, and in February 1987, B.J. called to say he would be in town to appear on the "Hour Magazine" TV show. We arranged to have
dinner at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel after the show taping.
"I'm writing a new book about predestined love for
Simon & Schuster. Are you willing to be in it, B.J.?" I asked during the meal.
"Sure, man," he replied without hesitation.
"Since Gloria and I combined metaphysical awareness with our faith, life works better than ever. It even helped me recently stop smoking. But I picked up twenty
pounds right here." He patted his stomach. "Check with Gloria, she's been working with a local psychic and has some interesting new information."
B.J.'s Past-Life Regression: The first impressions B.J.
received were of himself as a young boy in Switzerland in 1742. He was walking with his grandmother to their cottage. (It was later discovered that Gloria was his
grandmother in that life. "I loved him, I pampered him, I was very sweet to him ... I took care of him," she explained in a cross-verification regression.)
When projected forward in time, he perceived images of
being a bank accountant who was very worried about money. "I mishandled the money," he said sadly. Further questioning uncovered his use of drugs. Then a room
with no doors or windows formed into a bank vault, and as he drew back from the cramped environment, he saw himself lying on the floor with a gun in his hand.
From a Higher-Self level of awareness, B.J. explained
that his money problems in this life are a direct carry-over from his mishandling of money in the Swiss incarnation.
The next lifetime we explored was in France. B.J. saw
himself with long hair, dressed in beautiful clothes. His name was Cerril and his wife (Gloria) was Antoinette. The marriage was good, but he described the lifetime as
"frivolous." As an aristocrat, he commanded a great deal of power. When instructed to move forward to an important event, he saw himself older, with white hair.
"I've just won a horse race," he said proudly. "Everyone is looking at me. But, of course, they have to."
In a third life exploration, B.J. was an opera singer in
the 1800s. His voice was widely acclaimed and he described himself as being "grand." Further questions and answers disclosed that he always had plenty of money
and was waited on hand and foot. "I didn't know how to love myself," he explained from Higher Self. "I was terribly fat -- blowing myself out of
proportion."
"What is the primary lesson to be learned from the lifetime?" I asked.
"To learn the importance of giving of myself,"
was his immediate reply.
Finding no connection to Gloria in this regression, I
called her in May 1987. "Were you involved in B.J.'s life as an opera singer?" I asked.
"He didn't say anything about it in his regression,
but it's strange that you should ask that now, Richard. Shirley J. Smith -- a psychic here in Arlington -- recently said to me, `Did you know you worked in the music
business with B.J. a long time ago? You used to write opera.'"
"And Shirley knew nothing of the regression?" I questioned.
"Nothing!"
Gloria's Past-Life Regressions: Gloria's first
impressions were of a young girl named Rebecca riding in the back of a covered wagon. She was tending her sick and pregnant mother, and described an older boy (B.J.) who
was outside pulling the cattle. While her father was away from the wagon, hunting, Rebecca helped her mother give birth to a baby boy who quickly died. By the time her
father returned, her mother was also dead.
When projected forward to an important time in the
future, Rebecca was twenty-six and giving birth to her first child. She had married the boy accompanying the wagon, and did not want to be pregnant. "I was so afraid
of pregnancy I refused to have sex with him for years," she explained. "It was the only way I knew not to get pregnant." The birth of their daughter went
well. "But after that I just turned my head and lived the social image of a wife," Gloria explained after the regression. "It was our agreement that he
resolve his sexual needs somewhere else. We lived in a small town, and B.J. took care of everything. I didn't have to worry about anything but the house. After crossing
over into spirit, as an old woman, I realized it was a very timid life. I was a sweet person but I hid from things. B.J. died three days after me in that incarnation."
In a second regression, Gloria found herself in an
ancient Greek lifetime. "I have blond hair and blue eyes, and my name is Colire," she explained in a sweet voice. B.J. maintained an important position in the
society. "I serve, honor, and worship him," she said, before proudly stating, "And I've given him fourteen fine children."
During our May 1987 phone conversation, I asked Gloria
if Shirley J. Smith had uncovered any information that might provide additional understanding.
"She told me of a lifetime B.J. and I shared in
Egypt. He was an entertainer in the palace. I was a beautiful woman and of a higher social position. We were secret lovers, but I was very flamboyant and just toyed with
people's lives. The scars I carry on my face today are a karmic balance relating directly back to that lifetime.
"Shirley says I returned with B.J. in this life to
learn to be responsible and to deal with some hard issues. B.J. and I are here to learn to harmonize and attain a vibrational attunement we've set as a spiritual goal.
Plus, we're paying back a lot of karma. Karmically we arranged it so there is no way to run away from ourselves or each other. You know our background, Richard. As hard as
we've both tried, it's been impossible for B.J. and I to get rid of each other. There have been times when neither of us wanted to be around the other, yet neither could
leave. And if we did it was never for long. Did you know I was once in extensive therapy for co-dependency because I thought I was crazy? I thought, 'I'm a very sick
person acting out her life.'
"But when you asked for copies of the past-life
regression tapes, I listened to them again and realized how much progress we've made in three years. We've been working on the things we most need to learn. And as we
learn, life gets better."
"Wisdom erases karma," I said lightly.
"Both B.J. and I will buy that." She laughed.
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