On my 6th birthday, my mom and I went to the public library in my small town for my first library card. It was 1987. I would like to say that I would fill my bag full of picture books each week, but my very favorite thing to do was rent movies from the library. You could rent five at a time.
Now remember, in the 80s, the movie rating system was not like it is now, so this little six-year-old could rent a “PG” movie and learn so much about life. One of the first VHS tapes I remember renting was 9 to 5. And there she was. Dolly, in all her blond bombshell glory. It was not until years later that I learned she wrote the theme song. So not only was she a beauty but also a songwriter and a performer. She was one of the first people whom I saw do it all. And do it well. I mean, she wrote “I Will Always Love You” and “Jolene” on the same day. Incredible.
With Steel Magnolias, she stole our hearts. The way she would say her lines with that Tennessee twang and the giggle at the end of each sentence. Her smile was a mile wide, and her heart was in every camera frame. I just adored her.
Then I found that my library had CD’s and records that you could rent. That’s when I was introduced to her musical library. That’s when Dolly taught me how to sing. I would listen to her phrasing or the way she placed her voice, either in a straight tone or her signature fall-off. She never screamed her songs. She belted, but just enough to make you hear a lyric. She was regularly on my television in a holiday special, singing at award shows, or guest-starring on The Muppets. If I stayed up late enough, I could catch her on Letterman. She was everywhere in the 1980s and 1990s.
As a child and a teenager, I saw only what the cameras showed us. Of course I heard the jokes about her figure and her bust line. I saw her keep wearing what she wanted and style her hair as close to Jesus as possible. Aqua Net was in everyone’s bathroom, and it certainly was in hers. I saw her turn jokes into better ones and insults into laughter.
The summer before my freshman year of high school, my family and I went on a rare family vacation. We spent a week in Branson, MI. The “other Gatlinburg,” as some would say. My parents endured a two-hour timeshare presentation about investing in some lakefront condo just so we could get four free tickets to see Kenny Rogers that night! Kenny – The Gambler, and Dolly’s other musical half. I prayed that the night we went, Dolly would somehow be waiting in the wings and surprise us all with Islands in the Stream. While I didn’t get to meet her that night, Kenny talked about her and even did a pre-recorded duet with her for all of us.
Years later, I drove to Pigeon Forge and saw Dolly’s Stampede. From the moment you walked in, it was Dollyfied, with sights and sounds encompassing her upbringing and music. It seemed everything she did, she did with perfection. She was a dreamer most of all.
There was never a time in my generation’s pop culture when Dolly didn’t exist. I would hear one of her duets on contemporary Christian radio while at the same time seeing pictures of my friends alongside hundreds of Dollys at a drag show. There wasn’t a boutique that didn’t sell some version of a coffee mug that said “cup of ambition”. She was everywhere.
After fostering and having children of my own, I would regularly place used books in Little Free Library boxes in our city park. In any box I donated to or looked through, I found Dolly’s Imagination Library stickers.
So she was beautiful, an actor, a songwriter, performer, and a philanthropist who valued children’s literacy? My love for her kept growing.
In the last ten years, I have used a sixteen-bar musical cut of “9 to 5” for many theater auditions (and some where I booked the job). Her music is timeless.
I have looked forward to watching her social media updates. She would share a story or two, but she could make any story feel good. She would speak through my iPhone right to me. She did that for all of us. She included us.
Many colleagues and friends of mine have Dolly collections – signed pictures and even selfies. One friend of mine drives for the opening day of Dollywood every single year. Another friend is publishing a book on her life.
I got a notification on my phone the day she died. I was in art class with my 2nd graders. I felt my back pants pocket buzz. I looked down. My face must have shown my shock because a student asked if I was ok. On a break, I sent a text to my friend who has met her multiple times and visits Dollywood every year. “Thinking of you, friend,” I wrote. He received fifty-one texts that day. That’s how much she means to people.
On the way home from school, I put her music on. I heard these lyrics.
“When Saint Peter opens the gate
And you come walking in
I’ll be there just waiting for you
‘Cause you can’t make old friends”
I cried.
I read a commentary later on her life that called her the last person who truly unified all of us. I heard another call her the ultimate mother to the world.
She fought for the arts, for literacy, for vaccine research, for LGBTQ+ and Trans people, for storytelling, musical theater, caring for the sick, and for the hurting. She didn’t just write about it; she did something about it. She didn’t just sing about it; she signed checks.
I will never forget the impact she has had on my musical career, my work with special needs students, and my teaching of reading. She has been with me my entire life, and she will always be.
“My coat of many colors
That my mama made for me
Made only from rags
But I wore it so proudly
Although we had no money
Well, I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My mama made for me”
Thank you, Dolly, for everything you have given me. You didn’t just teach me how to sing. You taught me how to live.
