Dolly and me (the green can) in the 2007 Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade
It’s been a while since I’ve dusted it off the keyboard to write a blog post, but sometimes something happens in our world that inspires me to write actual words. Dolly Parton.
Yesterday I was at Central Park in Sheep’s Meadow having a picnic with my husband. We were lying there together on the red flannel sheet I’ve had since 1985 watching the clouds float by. We couldn’t get over how quickly they were moving across the blue sky, every once in a while cloud being interrupted by a jet plane. “Where do you think they’re going?” we wondered. When my phone pinged, I habitually picked it up to see what it was I was being notified about. It was a text from my friend with just three words: “Oh no. Dolly.”
I know she was 80 years old and it’s not like anyone would ever think she died so young, but were any of us ready to say goodbye to her? She was universally loved by pretty much everyone. Somehow she had managed a 60 year career without offending or upsetting anyone.
I scrolled through social media, looking at photos of Dolly and reading posts from people who had the opportunity to consider her a friend or even just had a brief encounter with her. I scanned the Rolodex of my brain trying to remember if I ever had an encounter with her and then it popped into my head.
In 2007, I had a job that required me to dress up like a recycling can and I would go to various events in New York City representing the New York Department of Sanitation and their recycling efforts. It was a ridiculous job, but it paid well. That year, I, along with three other people in equally silly costumes marched in the Macy’s Thanksgiving day parade. I was the green can for paper products. Again, a ridiculous job, but one that gave me a chance to do something so fun. Before the parade started, when everyone was finding out the order in which they would be marching, I spied Dolly Parton about 20 feet away from me. She was preparing to step onto her float where she would be promoting her single “Better Get to Livin’” She was right there- this woman who had been famous since before I was born.
I thought about hearing her songs on the radio, like “Two Doors Down” which came out when I was 10-years old and “Love is Like a Butterfly” when I was 7. I flashed back to 1980 when I saw 9 to 5 in a movie theater with my mom. It was one of the first movies I saw that was not specifically for children. It was rated PG and I felt like such a grown-up watching it. I remember in 1982 when she and Burt Reynolds were filming The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas about 30 miles away from my high school and for some reason, the cheerleaders got to go to set to meet them and how envious I was of them.
I watched Dolly through the eye slits of my foam costume. I wanted to talk to her, hug her, wave to her, anything to let her know that I saw her. Instead, I listened to my handlers explain the pace we were to maintain during the parade walk. The thing I noticed about Dolly was how kind she was to everyone was around her. People were going up to say hello and ask for a photos. It was clear that her handlers didn’t have the patience that she did. I could tell they were urging her to move a little faster so they could do whatever else needed to happen, but Dolly didn’t rush. Instead, I saw her talk to everyone that wanted to talk to her. Oh, how I wanted to pull that costume off of my body and be one of the people she gave her attention to for just five seconds.
We all knew we would eventually say goodbye to Dolly Parton. I saw on an interview once that she said she had recorded so much music that she would still be releasing albums long after she was gone. So even though Dolly, the person isn’t here anymore, we will still have her in the way that most of us have only ever had her. Through her music. She also leaves behind her many charitable foundations that will live way beyond her actual time on earth.
I know this has nothing to do with the restaurant industry or waiting tables, but when someone like Dolly Parton dies, we realize she has a little bit to do with pretty much everything. She has been a constant for anyone under the age of 60 years old. No matter where we were or what we were doing, she was there somehow. And even though she’s gone, I do believe that’s how it will continue to be.
