I know, I know. The world probably does not need another tribute to the late Dolly Parton, who passed away on Tuesday. There have been so many fine tributes already, penned by so many good people.
But damn it, I have a few things to say myself.
I enjoy telling people that my father was born in Kosciusko, Mississippi, the same town in the Delta where Oprah Winfrey was born. In the days since Parton’s death, it occurred to me that she and Oprah Winfrey had a lot in common. Both were born into poverty in rural America (Pittman Center, Tennessee, in Parton’s case). Both were strong, smart, creative women growing up in a working-class Southern culture that emphasized traditional roles and female submissiveness. Yet both, by virtue of their talent and sheer grit, became cultural icons—household mono-names, like Cher and Liberace—beloved by millions. And they got fabulously rich in the process.
Both women also overcame various physical disadvantages. For Winfrey, it was the mere fact of her ethnicity—her blackness—which made success in the deep South that much more difficult. For Parton, it was (paradoxically) her almost absurd beauty. Specifically, her famous voluptuousness, which seemed so exaggerated that it might easily have made her a kind of joke-act—the bombshell blonde who could also sing. But instead of downplaying her sexiness, Parton emphasized it. She leaned into it, as people say nowadays, wearing curvy, rhinestone-encrusted outfits, big wigs, and long fingernails. Essentially, she created the glittering persona of a smart, shrewd, sexy brothel madame—a role she eventually played, to great effect, in The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.
This persona allowed her to be honest and down-to-earth in a way that very few other musicians could ever manage. She was like the scarlet woman in town whom everyone secretly admired and enjoyed talking to. She was smart and funny, full of life. Better still, you could tell her anything, and she wouldn’t be shocked.
It didn’t hurt that she had a thousand-watt smile.
Of course, this persona would never have worked had Parton not been a fabulous singer, song-writer, and musician. “Jolene” is still one of the finest country songs ever recorded. And Parton was also a great guitarist—a finger-picker in the tradition of Lindsey Buckingham.
But the real thing that made every love Dolly Parton was her nobility. Her obvious kindness and generosity, which manifested in both large ways (her vast philanthropy) and small (e.g., her gentle but spirited defense of Elle King after the young singer appeared inebriated on-stage).
I have a weird, mystical, admittedly woo-woo theory about human consciousness. I believe that, like icebergs, 90% of our being exists beyond this physical plane, invisible to normal perception. Yet, we can all sense a person’s larger essence—whether a person is secretly very good or a real bastard or whatever. It’s like an aura that everyone can feel but no one can adequately describe.
With Dolly Parton, we all sensed her great and unerring goodness, as a person, a spouse, a celebrity, an influencer, and an entrepreneur. She exuded a fineness of character that, for obvious reasons, we desperately need in these dark days. She will be missed very, very much.
Godspeed, Ms. Parton….!!!
(P.S. Here is a great Miley Cyrus cover of “Jolene” that I stumbled upon a few months ago and really enjoyed.)
Ash Clifton, Writer 