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Cover
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my mother Marje and my sister Christina;
my daughters Carlin and Lauren;
and to Helen Parker, who came along at just the right time.
Epigraph
“He that will write well in any tongue must follow the counsel of Aristotle, to speak as the common people do, to think as the wise men do; and so should every man understand him, and the judgment of wise men allow him.”
— Roger Ascham (1515–68)
“For the composers and musicians, when we get a brilliant idea it is like reaching glory. That’s why musicians will never retire.”
— Israel “Cachao” López Valdés (1918–2008)
“Writing a Book”
(May be sung to the tune of The Beatles’ “Fixing a Hole”)
I’m writing a book, where my brain gets in
And sorts my thoughts and memories
Where they should go.
Describing myself in a colourful way
And though it may be difficult
There’s a good flow.
And to me it really matters that I get it right
It takes so long to write
But moves along.
Conversational in tone
Careful not to whine or moan
Mention those who helped me sing the song …
Surprising myself with an excerpt or two
It’s funny when I see it now …
May it please you …
foreword by lawrence gowan
Carl Dixon and I first met in January 1985, when I opened for Coney Hatch at The Misty Moon in Halifax, Nova Scotia. That was the first official “Gowan” gig ever played, and we hit it off well with the fine fellows of the headline act. I discovered that Carl (like myself) was not only a devoted musician but also an overlooked, undrafted hockey player. This cemented our bond immeasurably. We’ve shared the ice and stage for years since that first meeting, and he’s always proven to be a pal who knows how to pass the puck as well as make a guitar do what it’s designed to do. He also sings exceedingly well and maintains a head of hair that’s well suited to his vocation (see photos on pages 1 through 10,000). He’s built a fine existence that could easily have come to a sad conclusion after he suffered a terrible accident but he chose instead not to allow that dark day to redefine him. His own definition and sense of purpose were clearly intact long before fate attempted to shut him down. How he overcame that incident is a remarkable tale, and you should read about it. This book you’re holding is a perfect place to start that process, followed by an immediate trip to see and hear him play (either music or hockey, your choice).
If I were to attempt to distill the essence of Carl’s story, it would come down to the simple yet complex phrase: Keep going. That’s likely the essence of all great stories, though I can’t be certain since I’ve yet to hear them all. Keep going, and once you’ve done that: Keep rocking. In the ongoing story of Carl Dixon, that’s one of the main reasons he’s still alive.
P.S.: He has a legendary set of balls, which I understand are still intact.
foreword by pat stapleton
My three sons were all into rock music and loved Coney Hatch. It was 1992 and my boys encouraged me to join them at a fun night of hockey with a bunch of rock stars, including Carl. Those rock stars were very competitive on the ice. They were athletic, but being musicians they weren’t fighters, they were lovers. As a hockey player I’d describe Carl as “a mean tryer.”
I really got to know Carl later when he came to my farm. We walked across the field talking, and he was so engaged; he was like a sponge absorbing everything I said — and it wasn’t anything about hockey — it was about life. He was interested in life.
We could have talked for twenty-four hours. I told him “I can’t be with you twenty-four hours a day but I’ll give you something that can,” and gave him some motivational cassettes. The message was pretty clear: “You become what you think about.” Two years later he presented me with a new set of cassettes, because he had worn them out. He was starting to expand his own horizons.
Carl is a man of tremendous willpower. He’s very humble. He’s very genuine. I will have been away from Carl for two years and my boys will say, “Have you called Carl?” When I call it’s like we only talked yesterday. Relationships are like oak trees; you grow together or you grow apart and wither. My relationship with Carl has grown stronger — we’re probably closer now than he is with my sons, who introduced us.
He is blessed with a strong will. His I-will might be more important than his IQ. That’s what I saw, his I-WILL. After his car accident, in the beginning things didn’t look that bright. Then he willed himself back on his skates. I know for sure, there’s no doubt, it is his positive attitude that pulled him through. It was his internal wisdom that allowed him to do that.
Carl had some immense personal challenges. I learned as an athlete you never let on about your injuries. When you talk about conditioning … there’s a mental conditioning: you have to master your thoughts.
Too many of us as we grow up become unfocused. Carl’s focus is sharp. Carl knows where he wants to go and what he wants to contribute to society; he’s become his own man. He’s spiritual and humble but has great belief in himself.
Carl says he comes to me for advice and wisdom, but I think I got my wisdom from Carl.
— Strathroy, Ontario, July 2014
author’s note
So we have here a book under the authorship of Carleton Anthony Dixon. It was written to the best of my ability and according to my lights at this point in my life. Perhaps next year I might write it better, or differently. However, as I’ve been pointedly made aware, next year might not come to me (or to any of us).
It is instructive and enlightening to write your own story. I recommend everyone write his or her book. I personally haven’t written anything longer than a letter since I was in high school, so it required the marshalling of all my powers of memory, description, and erudition to get my book done. I’ve read plenty of ’em, though, so I hope I have some idea what one should look like.
’Tis a poor thing, but ’tis mine own. Some of you may find it absorbing; others may find it inadequate
