Man remembered for his poetry, compassion

Antonio Dixon was killed near Lincoln health center in January
May. 19, 2014 @ 09:31 PM

Dozens of people came to the intersection of Spaulding and Linwood streets Monday evening to honor the life of a man who was killed there in January.

Antonio “Gino” Dixon, 33, was shot and killed Jan. 14 near the Lincoln Community Health Center. Family and friends wore white T-shirts with a picture of Dixon in his memory.

“He was a joyful person to be around and I miss him dearly,” said Dixon’s cousin Kelvin Hargraves. “We made a pact we’d be favorite cousins. He truly loved kids and most definitely his sister and brothers.”

Hargraves said his cousin loved to read and did a lot of research on his own. They talked a lot.

“He was a positive brother,” Hargraves said. “He changed me a lot. I just miss him.”

The crowd formed a circle, and speakers took turns standing in the middle as they shared memories of Dixon. A train rumbled loudly as it passed nearby on the sunny evening. Immediate and extended family talked about their love for Dixon and that they must forgive the man who shot him.

Dixon’s mother, Gilda Suiter, said “he loved and adored his mama.” He was compassionate and would help everyone, she said. She urged forgiveness. Richard Johnson was charged with Dixon’s murder.

“God knows no one out here feels worse than I do,” Suiter said.

Dixon was praised as a poet and a man who loved children even though he didn’t have any of his own.

Dixon’s cousin Renoldo Harris walked into the circle holding his baby daughter.

“Gino was my favorite cousin,” he said. “He took care of my girl – all my kids. He came over to play with them. We love him. I love him dearly. I think about him all the time.”

Harris told a story about a time they were at N.C. Central University and ants were crawling on him, so Dixon was smacking them off as they got away from the ants. Another family member shared a memory of Dixon growing up, learning how to play dominoes by watching others play. Another talked about being kids and letting the water out of a pool, then filling it with mud.

“We know he’s here, in our heart, our mind and our soul,” Harris said.

Dixon’s sister Questina Rochelle said the last time she talked to him before he died was on her birthday.

“Every second, every day, I think of my brother. I wish he would call me,” she said. Rochelle said he would use a Rasta voice to say, “Sista, what are you doing today?” Nobody can take his place, she said.

“It hurts so bad I just don’t know what to do with myself,” she said. “It’s all I can do – cry all the time. I want him to call me and it’s not going to happen.”

Randell Foxe said that Dixon was his best friend and like a brother, and also helped raise Foxe’s child.

“That’s my dude,” Foxe said. When Dixon was asleep on the couch, Foxe used to wake him up to take his medication.

“We were worried about seizures, not senseless violence,” Foxe said. “I miss my homie, too.”

Dixon’s poetry included a poem shared at his vigil, called “Bad Days Don’t Last.” The first and last lines are: “Bad days don’t last forever; Good comes after the bad has reached its level.”


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