Tributes

From: Susan and Tom Brown

Susan and I have known Richard and Sarah since medical school. His outstanding life story is well documented in his obituary. If I lived another hundred years I could not accomplish as much as he accomplished. More importantly we have known him as a very fine human being, humble, kind and polite, with outstanding leadership skills and the ability to make everyone in the room feel they were important and accepted and part of the team. He has made many important marks in the world and left very impressive foot prints in the sands of time. He has been a blessing to all around him, done a lot of good for a lot of people and has left us with an outstanding role model that we can strive for but for most of us not attainable. We pray for Sarah and her family.

 

"Lives of great men all remind us

   We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

   Footprints on the sands of time;

 

Footprints, that perhaps another,

   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

   Seeing, shall take heart again."

 

—Thanks to HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

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From: Lydia Perry

My memories of my Uncle Richard are usually of his wonderful conversations around the dinner table during visits in Texas, Atlanta, or Princeton. He could definitely liven up the meals with witty and funny dialogue on almost any subject. However, he most often would not pick the subject himself but, rather, would become extremely interested in whatever someone else at the table was talking about. We sometimes joked that it was like being on 60 minutes to get “interviewed” by Uncle Richard, but really, it was quite an amazing experience for a kid, or really anyone, to have someone be that completely focused on them. I remember that he actually would turn his full attention to the speaker and seem genuinely and deeply interested in the answers.  That is a special gift of his that he freely gave to anyone, regardless of age, or doubtless, of the actual content of the answers. I can’t imagine that our pre-teen and teenage lives were actually that fascinating but he always made us feel like our insights and experiences were completely worthy of sharing and consideration.      

 

I also remember his enthusiasm for exercise, including using a stationary bike and rowing machine, way back in the early days of my childhood. I didn’t know any other adults that did such things and I was fascinated by this “bike that went nowhere” idea. He was always enthusiastic about healthy eating and exercise, and he was definitely an early proponent of these ideas, way before anyone else that I knew was even talking about such things. 

 

Above all, I remember hearing bits and pieces about his “work,” which of course I did not fully comprehend at the time and only now do I truly appreciate the breadth and width of all that he did professionally. He was always extremely animated and dedicated when talking about his work and there was no doubt that he loved what he did and that knowledge was a passion for him, always.

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From: Mark Dawson

I am sorry to learn of Richard's passing. I never got the chance to know him, however the few times I was around him he always struck me as a warm, engaging man with a gentle spirit. Interestingly, Sarah, he had so much of the same countenance as your father. I'm reminded of a hunting adventure your father, Leighton, shared with me over what must be some 50 years ago. He and Richard were walking a pasture in the hopes of jumping ducks on a nearby tank. They crested the dam just as a Canadian goose was getting up off the water. Leighton called to Richard, "Take him," and Richard did just that. When he told me the story, I don't remember ever seeing your father more pleased or proud. I'm betting they were close friends. How could they not have been? Both men, so very decent, so kind hearted, so filled with substance and character. 

 

My heart goes out to you, Rebecca, Ashley, and all your family. Richard lived his life as witness to the better angels we so long to believe in. May the peace of the Lord be with you and yours in this, and all days to come. 

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From: Don Goldmann

I am very saddened by this news. I revered Richard, and some of my most vivid and cherished memories are from my time with Richard and all of you. Where to begin?

 

You may not know that my favorite “activity” at CDC was to lounge on a couch in Richard’s office. Of course, we reflected on whatever was in the New York Times, on society and politics and the meagre restaurant scene in Atlanta. And the “Blind Man’s” shop where we bought snacks. But mainly I came to see him for his steady hand and wise counsel. I recall how on one occasion he noticed a truly profound mistake in my calculation of attack rates. With anyone else, I might have felt humiliated, but Richard never made anyone feel ashamed. Just improved. But I don’t think I made a math error ever again!

 

Rebecca and Ashley, I guess my favorite memories are from the time in Princeton and my attempts to pull the wool over your eyes with stupid “magic” tricks. I’ve always admired both of you and wish we had managed more time together. I know how proud Richard was of you, and justifiably so. I guess we won’t reflect too much on the episode when the house nearly burned down while trying to remove old paint!

 

And Sarah, our very special friend. Who could ever forget the villa in Cortona—wine, food, stolen car . . . And your grace. Your creativity. Your warmth. The marionette we have in our family room still is my favorite. Not only because it’s really evocative and original, but mainly because it reminds me of Richard and you and the many years we have known each other.

 

Richard’s passing feels like a milestone in my life. So many memories. The one magic trick I wish I could pull off would be to summon up a comfortable couch and discuss today’s events with beloved Richard.

 

Joan joins me in sending our sympathy and warmest regards.

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From: Janice and Richard Cavaliere

We felt we knew our friend and dear neighbor Richard Dixon, but after reading about his numerous accomplishments, accolades, honors and awards, talents and passions, we know now that we only touched the surface of an amazingly gifted Renaissance Man. We were blessed to have experienced Richard as a gentleman with great humility as he always directed conversation to know more about us . . . We regret we did not dig deeper into his limitless knowledge, experiences and passions. He had such a twinkle in his eye. One of my fond memories of him is often seeing the two of you cruising around Amador County in the little green Miata with the wind in your hair—and the world belonged to you.

 

We were always delighted with his chef skills along with the enhancement of your (Sarah’s) beautiful table decor - and you always treated us as if we were at the most elegant and expensive restaurant on the planet. I believe Richard touted a chefs hat during our first dinner . . . I confess we have actually copied the Dixon entertaining protocol with guests in our own home.  

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Ashley and Rebecca, Your father was a blessing to us . . . as he cooked delicious gourmet dinners for us, we enjoyed taking he and Sarah to Taste Restaurant in Plymouth, we loved sharing conversations about art and history and medicine together . . . When they were living in Georgia they offered to let us stay in their beautiful Jackson home for a couple of weeks while our new house was being finished. I enjoy two large paintings every day in my home that your mother created and sold to me as well as placemats and the art work on her letters . . . Your parents are the most gracious, lovely people I know. 

 

Sarah, I miss knowing you are just a few steps down the street and I think of you every day. I look forward to when you might allow me to fly up for a short visit and recapture some personal memories. Meanwhile you, your daughters, and family are in my heart and prayers always.

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From: Larry and Carol Scott

Loss of a friend or colleague triggers many emotions—sadness, grief for sure but also nostalgia for earlier times when we knew them well. As we reminisced within the past week since we learned about Richard, Carol and I have called up many memories. Richard was a remarkable individual and there were many details in his life story that we learned for the first time. While I knew Richard as a classmate—it was easy to do with a class of 52 when we entered medical school at Vanderbilt in the fall 1965—I perhaps knew him better through our associations with Sarah and Richard as a couple. Sarah and Carol were housemates on 19th Avenue, graduate students together, and both were speech-language pathologists. And I think both weddings were in August 1967, so the parallels are many. We’ve seen each other occasionally since, exchanged holiday greetings, and while the richness of our relationship was some time ago, the memories are clear and valued still. Richard was wise and perceptive, among many talents, but the one observation I remember him most for was the plant analogy. For plants to grow and thrive, they need to be re-potted periodically; much in the same way is a demanding career in medicine, be it patient care, teaching, research, management or combination thereof, and for Richard, if I remember correctly, “repotting” should occur about every 7 years. This, I think, was good advice although for most of us, it was a difficult and not an easily attainable goal. But Richard pulled it off, and successfully to be sure. Please know that we share in your loss and yet celebrate in having been part of your lives.

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From: Anna Marty 

Sarah, Rebecca, Ashley and your families, I am so sorry for your loss. We have all lost a wonderful person. I know Richard was a very accomplished person but I will always remember him as a very unassuming person who was devoted to Sarah, Rebecca and Ashley. I think back to all the wonderful times we had together. What wonderful memories I will always have of this extraordinary man!!

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From: Jim and Becky Powell

Nothing approaches that bond of daughter with father—what a bountiful and wondrous tribute.

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Like Ellen, my first encounter with Richard was at Vanderbilt. Affable, intelligent, curious, and well-read with a wry sense of humor and irony, he moved easily among classmates and the multiple layers of the medical school and Nashville itself. I always admired the grace and presence he brought into conversations and interactions, whether it was with student, staff, faculty or patient—a safe harbor for many—accepting what was in the moment. And as his relationship with a certain Ms. Dawson blossomed, so did he. She, a paragon of Southern charm, talent and quiet perception and determination, was a perfect partner.

 

After Vanderbilt, my wife and I have felt blessed to have your and our journeys periodically intercept and intertwine as we all crisscrossed the country and pursued our lives. From our view, visits together were too few but always relished. As we followed each other's families and experiences, it was apparent that despite any protests to the contrary, Richard enjoyed being in a house “of women.” Whenever he talked of the way he was out maneuvered by the “weaker” gender, his eyes always smiled.

 

After Richard transitioned from his last tour with the CDC, I believe he was one of the final arbiters of claim coverage for an insurance-managed care organization. His morning duties pulled him from our breakfast conversation during a visit. As I listened to part of a discussion, his independent review of case and medical literature, knowledge of prevailing medical management and managed cared trends tempered with compassion and a sense of fairness flowed fluently as he spoke. He ended that call with some frustration. When I asked him why he did not just retire if this were the prevailing pattern. he responded simply “The patients and staff depend on me.” This was the Richard I had known for years.

 

Having not heard from the Dixons for some time, I phoned—a call, to my delight, that was answered by Ashley. The news was not as desirable. It was the day before Richard and Sarah were to move to Spokane. That was the last time I spoke with Richard. Our conversation was much different than previous ones—but his essence peaked through. As Hafiz penned in his Ode, it seemed as parts of him had quietly slipped away to explore other shores and adventures not confined by our realm. Little did I realize that he would soon follow.

 

Sarah, Rebecca, Ashley and families, we are holding you gently in our hearts, sorrowful yet grateful for all that Richard—and you as family—have manifested and shared with us and others. Blessings and love from us both.

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​From: Christina Mellott

I am so terribly sorry for your loss. I didn’t know Richard, but I do know he was a wonderful father to my sister-in-law, Rebecca. My deepest condolences to your family for your loss.

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From: Bob Fisher

As a fellow physician like Richard, I live more in the professional than personal world, but in that world I recall Richard as being a giant. Running a huge multi-specialty medical group and working in the CDC (back in the days when it was universally respected—they could use his infectious disease expertise now) always seemed to be very important. I am sure that he will be missed by his patients and medical colleagues. Not everyone makes a difference and helps people, like Richard did.

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​From: Martha Newfield

Richard!!

My happiest memories of Richard were at family gatherings particularly at Christmas. My sister, Sarah, and I loved to meet at our parent’s house at Christmas time as it was such a joy for all. Our parents loved seeing the grandchildren, the kids joyed in being together and being doted on by their grandparents. For us young parents it was a time to hang out together, share ideas, funny stories, as well as trials and tribulations that often made us laugh too. Everyone enjoyed having Richard there then as he was free from office concerns and could relax and be charming and erudite, which was not a stretch for him! He added a ‘joive la vive’ to the festivities in which all could join in with laughter and holiday merriment. Even now our daughters agree Christmas time in TX was the best of times and sharing it with the Dixon family added to its wonder and delight!

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​From: Jack Newfield

It is strange that so many memories of Richard entered in this site have seemed to contain elements from a time period that I had also selected—a summer visit to Princeton in 1987. One evening we were all gathered in a small room on the front of the house where Richard presented his brand new "disk" technology on which he had produced a training session from a grant he had obtained while also working a full time in a very demanding job as Chief of Staff at a Hospital in Trenton. Ashley, Rebecca, and our three girls, Amanda, Lydia, and Claire made a "tough audience" but Richard patiently tried. We did not make it very far into the opening scenes. But there was Richard in London carrying the infamous pump handle that a much later book (Ghost Map: The story of the London Epidemic . . . 2007) popularized. That evening summed many of my memories of Richard. A tireless, committed, brilliant, dedicated, medical scientist with an understanding much ahead of the times also knew when his audience of five cousins had reached the end of preteen attention spans.

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​From: Ellen Hrabovsky

Sarah, I grieve for your loss. Richard was my favorite Vandy classmate. His warm smile and the twinkle in his eye were infectious. My fondest memory is when he came to me with “a very important question." He said he had met “the one” and wanted to get her the perfect birthday present. As the only woman in our class he came to me. I didn’t have a clue but we had a long discussion over how to handle this and for the life of me I have no idea what he came up with. But he got you for life. What a gift. I am saddened by the loss of such a wonderful person but very thankful to have known him.

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​From: Ashley (Dixon) Saleeba

Being the daughter of an infectious disease specialist was a bit challenging at times. My sister and I often lamented that we would need to be on our deathbed for dad to blink an eye or, god forbid, consider prescribing medication. Rather, whenever we complained of feeling sick, he would quickly look us up and down and say, “Just give it time. You’ll be fine.” But there was that one instance when I really was sick. The afternoon we discovered a bright red rash in the shape of a ring on my stomach, dad immediately leapt to his feet. Alarmed at his urgency, I froze. Oh no, am I dying??!! I thought. With great excitement, he then exclaimed: “Ash, hold still! Let me get my camera! That is such a classic Lyme Disease ring! This photo will be a perfect case study for my students!”

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As a young student, whenever I was stumped on a homework problem, I had to carefully consider whether I wanted to ask for dad’s help. My most important consideration: Did I really have the time to ask? Most often, I desperately needed his help, so I would begrudgingly enter his office and pronounce, with great urgency and confidence: “Okay, dad, I don’t have a lot of time, so in one sentence or less, can you tell me the answer to [insert any topic here]?” Without fail, an hour or so later, I would finally emerge from his office having received a complete college-level seminar on whatever the topic happened to be. 

* * *

Dad was exceedingly generous and committed to being a good father—characteristics I sheepishly admit to taking advantage of, at times, during my early teen years. Whenever I wanted to order something from the latest trendy catalog, I would creep into his office—where he could be found day or night, typing away, with Miles Davis or John Coltrane playing on the radio. Using my sweetest voice, I would ask if I could please place an order. He would glance up and say: “Ash, tell me, is this a ‘need’ or a ‘want’? We can only order this if you really need it.” Without skipping a beat, I would quickly respond: “A need! A need! It’s definitely a need! I absolutely need new jeans, dad!” Looking back, I have to assume that he saw right through me and knew that he was being overly generous by letting me place an order whenever I deemed the item a "need" (which was, I'm sure, 99% of the time). It's just that his heart was enormous, and he always wanted the absolute best for me and Rebecca. 

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Dad loved to complain about being the only guy in a home full of women. “I don’t understand you all!,” he would cry out, exasperated whenever we did this or that. During my middle school years, he was most perplexed by my claim to be able to do homework while listening to music and talking on the phone with friends. He would frequently barge to my room or pick up the other phone receiver and bark: “Time to hang up!” or “How can you focus on your math while listening to Top 40 music?” Having already learned a thing or two from him, I decided that I needed to prove to him that I could, indeed, focus on schoolwork while listening to my music and talking to friends. Thus, for my 6th grade science fair project, I devised a plan to test my friends’ ability to memorize a pattern with music playing vs. the control group, who attempted the same task in silence. Surely amused by my determination to use scientific evidence against him, dad dove in and helped me develop a very sound study. And you guessed it, the results proved my case. This endeavor would not only earn me a prize in the New Jersey State Science Fair, but more importantly, from that point forward, I had earned dad's permission to do homework while listening to my music and talking to friends. Lucky for me, dad knew not question science.

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Dad loved to write and he took my sister and my writing very seriously. Whenever we had an essay to submit for school, it first had to pass through rounds of dad’s edits. No matter how pleased we were with our writing prior to this step, it was always returned to us covered, start-to-finish, in red edits. But to this day, whenever people compliment me on my writing, I just smile and think to myself: Thank you, dad. And I still cherish my dog-eared copy of Shrunk & White’s Elements of Style, hands-down one of his most important gifts.

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