Dolly Rebecca Parton Dean.
What’s there to say that hasn’t already been said?
Of course we know this is the natural way of things.
People get old.
There are complications.
People die, even the best of us.
But I feel strange about Dolly no longer being in the mortal realm. Forgive what follows, fragmented thoughts I’m still piecing together, as I’m sure so many of us are.
After having just a day to think about the loss, a cognitive dissonance is forming around the idea that precious few humans, every once in a while, can assume these almost mythical, immortal-seeming forms. And then, they just…go. It has left me sad, and baffled.
Naturally, “Coat of Many Colors” takes on a new hue. Dolly Parton was a living example of this metaphorical transfiguration, undeniable and treasured in the collective American memory, having formed and emerged from (and because of) humble beginnings in an isolated region so often disregarded. I’m confident that most people above a certain age, nationally and internationally, could pick her voice out of a sonic line-up. Dolly has achieved legendary levels, having carved out pathways for communities like folk hero Paul Bunyan did in so many ways, only she towered with just a 5’ frame.
And then there’s the converse irony—an immortal figure resplendent with endless stores of humanity. Beyond her obvious vocal and songwriting talent, and her criminally underrated picking skill, she maintained a staunch refusal to get too carried away with fame—a refusal to be too rich, too forgetful, too big for the britches. Though, you better not forget: the higher the hair, the closer to God. An angel.
One of my favorite anecdotes comes from Roger Ebert about the time he and Gene Siskel met Dolly Parton:
“In Dallas for the premier of 9 to 5, I had an uncanny experience, and on the plane home to Chicago I confessed it to Siskel: I had been granted a private half hour with Dolly Parton, and as we spoke I was filled with a strange ethereal grace. This was not spiritual, nor was it sexual. It was healing and comforting. Gene listened and said, ‘Roger, I felt the exact same thing during my interview with her.’ We looked at each other. What did this mean? Neither one of us ever felt that feeling again. From time to time we would refer to it in wonder.”
They saw it too.
A few years ago, my parents, my brother, and his three children took a family trip to Pigeon Forge, TN. This was the last time my family was together—reunited before what I’ll unambiguously refer to as The Fracturing. At Dollywood, we rode the rollercoasters and ate funnel cake to the point of sickness. We dealt with the meltdowns over being too short for some of the rides and spent too much money on caricature portraits that would make the kids cry. We sweated through our shirts and mom’s scooter battery died. As far as ‘family at the theme park’ tropes go, we checked all the boxes. Towards the end of our day, we received the best surprise: Dolly herself, carried through the park on a cart decked out with Tennessee’s seasonal laurels, waving like royalty through the throngs of adoring fans.
Of course, I am only a mere mortal, and my eyes immediately went to… her shoes. We’re talking 5”+ spiked heels without straps. We’re talking mules. On a 76-year-old woman. I can barely walk in Crocs without busting my ass. In that moment, my family silently bonded over what we all understood to be a divine moment. We have our stark differences, but in my family, Dolly was a continuity, a figure representing values each holds dear. For me, she’s the working class hero who has spent decades walking the walk, and fabulously on 5″ heels, uplifting her rural eastern Tennessee people. For my parents, she’s the lover of Jesus with a heart of gold, using God’s gifts for His glory. For my brother, she’s the country music star with glorious gravity-defying boobs, the voice of so many boyish gatherings with boomboxes, big trucks, and shelled oysters. For us all, she was the closest to a real angel we’d ever see.
After our day at Dollywood, I was to be in charge of dinner. This was a mistake. I can’t say how it happened, but somehow I conjured the most vile version of spaghetti you could probably imagine. Noodles like glue. Sauce? Pulpy red ocean water. It was bad enough that I simply had to record the reactions of my family: brother shaking his head in his hands, the kids with noses scrunched, mom scraping the glutinous blobs into the trash. But God how we laughed.
Despite my poisoning the family, we spent some time after with a palate cleanser: talking about Dolly Parton, listening to her music, and educating the kids about how legendary she became. We watched the 90s film remake ofThe Beverly Hillbillies, which features a delightful and hilarious Dolly cameo. In one scene, she descends, mic in hand, to a crowd of elite party guests singing in the most crystalline tones, “Happy Birthday” to Jed Clampett, played by another lost icon, Jim Varney. This scene was my first exposure to Dolly Parton as a young child, forever imprinting on my brain that otherworldly voice:
What good is wealth and fame
Fine clothes and diamond rings?
It just don’t mean a thing
If you ain’t got love
I think back fondly on that trip. It was the last time we were together and getting along. It was the last time we were all really talking. Dollywood was the vehicle. Dolly was there and we needed her to be.
We can talk about the facts—some we know, at least:
- Dolly’s Imagination Library has sent 318 million free books to children.
- Dolly gave $1 million to Vanderbilt University Medical Center for COVID vaccine research.
- Dolly contributed over $2 million to the Monroe Carell Jr. Children’s Hospital.
- Dolly was a lifelong, outspoken advocate for the LGBTQ+ community in the face of intense criticism from religious and conservative groups.
- Dolly gave $500 to every 7th and 8th grader who finished high school in her home county, resulting in a 35% decline in high school dropout rates.
- Dolly used royalty money from Whitney Houston’s cover of “I Will Always Love You” to buy a strip mall and support a Black neighborhood in Nashville.
- Dolly spent decades quietly funding band uniforms and instruments at Black high schools across the South.
- Dolly created a vast sanctuary for bald eagles to recuperate after injury.
- Dolly gave millions of dollars directly to families after wildfires ravaged Tennessee.
- Dolly had an estimated net worth of $450 million and gave away as much as $600 million to charity over the course of her lifetime.
If I had the chance, I’d wish to discuss my lingering questions, which only seem to have multiplied over the past 24 hours. We’d sit together over dinner—not prepared by me, for obvious reasons—perhaps with her own perfect happiness of a loaded baked potato, and I’d ask her:
- How do you walk in such high heels?
- Do your fingers have guitar callouses, or do the acrylics prevent that?
- Can you please never discontinue the Duncan Hines/Dolly collab cake mixes/icings?
- Will you sing me “Happy Birthday” sometime? It doesn’t have to be my birthday.
- How did it feel when you knew Carl was the one? How was it growing old together? What will you say to him when you see him?
- What was your favorite book as a child? Something tells me you root for the underdog.
- Was your poor like my poor? Tell me about your siblings.
- Tell me again how it was to hear Whitney Houston cover your song. Was it like angels calling to one another?
- If you could describe your childhood home in three scents, what would they be?
- What’s your favorite flower?
- How do you talk to Jesus? Does he talk back?
- How do we fix all this?
And:
- Can you teach me how to give it all away?
I’m still landing on the hope that we can meet up someday beyond the Blue Ridge Mountain, someday over yonder, and do a little harmonizing. If it’s dealer’s choice, I’d love to try “Bury Me Under the Weeping Willow.” Maybe it’ll be like angels calling.
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