This is North Vernon, Ind., hometown, small-town, Bible belt heaven, exactly halfway between Cincinnati and Indianapolis, a sort of geographical limbo to which Mr. Fox commutes daily. A good and fitting place for him to rebuild what used to be his life.

        We could never do anything worse to Mr. Fox than what he has already done to himself. From the moment the Xenia police turned their red light on the erstwhile No. 1 disc jockey in Cincinnati, arresting him in April 2000 and charging him with soliciting a minor, Mr. Fox has been questioning, wondering, despairing, repairing.

        “When I saw that (police) car, I said, "My life as I know it is over,' ” Mr. Fox recalls.

        He can fix his life, make it over, start it again with a purpose fortified by religion. He can return to the public life he once had. Given time, he might even approach the nearly $200,000-a-year salary he was taking home as the morning-drive co-host on WUBE-FM (105.1), better known as B105.

Fox

        But Mr. Fox can't take the past and erase it like a homework assignment on a blackboard. “It's like heart surgery” is how Marty Pieratt, Mr. Fox's boss at WJCP, explains it. “He's going to get better. But there's always going to be a scar.”

Busy but lonely

        Here is what happened the first week of April 2000:

        Mr. Fox drove his Ford Explorer to a parking lot in Xenia, to meet a 14-year-old he knew only as “Curious-N-Cute” from their chats on the Internet. He took a box of condoms, some beer and a blanket to spread on the floor of the Explorer.

        On the way, Mr. Fox debated with himself. “I knew it wasn't right,” he says. At least twice, he contemplated turning around, but “the excitement of the fantasy took over.”

        He was lonely. This is what Mr. Fox says now. He had no social life. Between the hours he kept at B105 and the numerous promotional appearances the high-profile job required, Mr. Fox had no time for himself.

        He'd begin his day at 2:30 a.m., scanning the Web for information he could use on his show. He'd leave the radio station by noon, often to attend a lunch. Mr. Fox was a fixture at celebrity events. He served as master of ceremonies for concerts, was a frequent guest on local TV, spent a week at a time doing his show in Nashville.

        “To the outside world, it looks like I was a big celebrity. How can you say you're lonely when you're around all those people? But that was not my free time,” Mr. Fox says.

A time of torment
       
        He turned to the Internet. It was quick, easy and accessible. Mr. Fox started chatting, first with people who helped him navigate the Web, then with others to whom he'd share life experiences. It only took “three to five” online talks with Curious-N-Cute before they were arranging the meeting in Xenia.

        “She told me she liked older guys,” says Mr. Fox, who is 52. “She said all her friends had had sex with college guys.”

        Mr. Fox drove through the parking lot, seeing no one. “This is stupid,” he told himself. “Go home.” Xenia police stopped him on the way out. A Xenia detective had been posing as Curious-N-Cute in an Internet sting.

        For three days after his arrest, Mr. Fox watched himself on TV “and didn't recognize who I'd become.” He couldn't sleep. “I remember thinking, "This is what hell must be like. You're tormented, conscious and there's nothing you can do to relieve it.' ”

        Close friends “kept a vigil” at his home, Mr. Fox said. One took away a gun Mr. Fox kept in his house. “I beat myself up pretty good,” he says. “I lost confidence, self-respect and a feeling of who I am and what my purpose is.”

Changing minds
       
        The court ordered him to attend counseling. Mr. Fox already was seeing a psychologist, so headded a counselor. He figures he spent $25,000 on his mental health. What he learned was, “You have to forgive yourself, but not excuse yourself. I haven't asked people to feel sorry for me, only for them to look at how I'm living my life now.”

        The first song Mr. Fox played at WJCP was by Toby Keith: “How Do You Like Me Now?”

        It wasn't Mr. Fox's choice. Programming consultants tell stations what to play. But how ironic.

        Jim Fox says he is a good, changed man. He attends church regularly. The only thing he really knows about his blown-apart life is that he will never do again what he did two Aprils ago. “For the rest of my life, I'll be a better person than I was when I was arrested,” he says.

        The frustrating, terrifying thing for Mr. Fox is, his fate is out of his hands. It belongs to us now. You, me, anyone who goes through life with opinions and judgments and minds hardened to a particular way of thinking.

        How do you like him now?

        What, exactly, is the statute of limitations on sideways glances at Jim Fox? What's the limit on tongue clucks? Has it been reached? Will it ever be?

Second chance
       
        Seven months after his conviction, Mr. Fox was on WLW, doing 9-to-midnight, for what was called then a three-week audition. He lasted one night. Callers to Bill Cunningham's show the next day were so repulsed, the station reconsidered.

        Mr. Fox said thanks a lot, sorry it didn't work out, then went to work at an east side golf course, mowing fairways and greens for $8 an hour, wondering about the peculiar ways of redemption, and if they'd ever visit him.

        Mr. Pieratt called him several months ago. The former WLWT (Channel 5) reporter presides over four small radio stations in the Tristate. After he left Channel 5, Mr. Pieratt worked at Cincinnati Bible College, teaching and doing public relations work. He considered entering the ministry.

        After calling a multitude of Mr. Fox's acquaintances, Mr. Pieratt decided “this was a one-time dumb thing he did.

        “I thought the guy deserved another chance. His family had forgiven him, his church had forgiven him, he says his god has forgiven him. Far be it from me not to forgive him.

        “I don't want to come off as holier than thou. But if I'm going to tell people I'm a Christian, I better be able to forgive.”

Earning forgiveness
       
        The nature of forgiveness doesn't come with rules. It's not cut-and-dried. We tend to respect those we feel have earned forgiveness. All Jim Fox can do is keep trying.

        “I may never work in this town again,” he says. “I know people are cynical. People are skeptical.”

        We met for breakfast in a Hyde Park restaurant. Mr. Fox chose a booth by the kitchen, in the far corner. He says people who see him in public are cordial. And yet, things will never be the same. Mr. Fox traded part of his soul for the promise of an illicit good time. That's the scar Marty Pieratt talked about.

        How long does the retribution last, Mr. Fox wonders.

        “I'm just looking for a fair shake,” he says.

        Contact Paul Daugherty by phone: 768-8454; fax: 768-8550; e-mail: pdaugherty@enquirer.com.

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