Group’s Inner Harmony Is Source of Its Pride

Joaquim Dixon stands as straight as a board in front of the other choir members, cups the microphone in both hands and begins to sing.

His voice, rich and deep and full, plants a smile on every face in the room. He shuts his eyes behind thick glasses and tilts his head back, bellowing the words with the heart of a true professional, not a 35-year-old autistic savant who was 14 before he uttered a single word.

He sways gently and twirls the microphone cord like he is performing for thousands, not a handful of visitors in the small recital room of an Anaheim school for developmentally disabled adults.

“I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain,” he sings. “I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end . . .”

Dixon is one of five a cappella singers at Creative Identity, a nonprofit program that uses music and other arts to help adults with disabilities learn work skills and improve their self-esteem. Because their lessons are art-infused, the students find creative outlets to help them set goals and grow, said George Gilliam, the school’s director.

“These are men who are all over the board in abilities and social skills, from cerebral palsy to autism to epilepsy,” he said. “On a daily basis, their worlds are so small, like right here and no further. But music opens it all up for them. The world becomes a lot clearer.”

The group, called Pride, was born when Gilliam heard the men sing together in a routine music session several years ago. Even without formal music backgrounds, he said, their blended voices moved him in a way he still has trouble describing. Since then, they have performed at churches, schools and malls, drawing such positive and encouraging feedback that Gilliam has decided to produce a 10-song CD of their work.

“You have to hear them to understand,” he said. “They truly are a gifted group.”

Hours before hosting an annual holiday recital at the school Sunday, four of the choral members--group member Jay White was not at the rehearsal--sang a selection of their favorite songs, relying as usual on Dixon to get them singing in key.

“Give us a D there, Joaquim,” said Steve Rhodes, 30, who is epileptic and legally blind and most proud of the Amy Grant Christmas album he recently bought. “James and I are going to do our Elvis tune.”

This gets the attention of James Rowell, who is also blind and has cerebral palsy and can declare exactly what he had to eat on any given day of his life, including that Sunday in March when he had a corned beef sandwich with his sister, Janet.

Rowell, 43, lifts his buzz-cut head and shouts: “Everybody make yourselves at home, now, you hear?”

Everyone does, including Peter Garrett, 39, an autistic savant who has a generous smile and is happiest, he says, when he is playing solitaire on the computer, which he will do all day long and never lose. He also has an exceptional memory, which is a characteristic common in autism but one his mother, Lola Garrett, said still takes her by surprise.

“Lately he’s been scolding me for being late picking him up someplace in April of 1972,” she said. “He keeps asking, ‘Why were you late? Why were you late?’ and I have no idea what to tell him.”

But she said the quirks and personal disabilities and special needs of these performers are forgotten in an instant, the very moment they begin to sing. She watched them practice Sunday with Gilliam, who strapped his guitar across his shoulder and shook his head as all four voices fused so sweetly together, nearly melting the room.

“Some days are diamonds, some days are stone. Sometimes the hard times won’t leave me alone. . . .”

“It’s a perfect song for them, don’t you think?” Gilliam said. “Their lives are not perfect, and they know it. They deserve more diamond days. Lots of them.”