For those of us old enough to remember Pearl Harbor, that awful December day in Dallas’ Dealey Plaza, or where we were on 9/11, it’s been a tough summer. As someone who worked for Ted Turner, interviewed John Wayne, Bear Bryant, George Wallace, Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, Arnold Palmer, Ben Wright, and others, this has been another reminder there’s lots more road behind me than in front.
My legends list is growing at the expense of my rapidly dwindling list of living legends.
Dolly Parton’s passing has triggered a profound sense of loss here in Tennessee, but the bigger-than-life (yet smaller than you’d imagine) singer, songwriter, actress and all-world philanthropist left a lasting imprint on more than country music. Her passing, according to The Babylon Bee, was a sign of the impending apocalypse as “Last Remaining Universally Beloved Human Being Passes Away.”
A humorous exaggeration. Mostly.
But if you remember the formerly dirt-poor Smoky Mountain area that’s now home to America’s favorite amusement park (for a fourth straight year) before Dolly’s amazing drive and vision coupled with her infectious enthusiasm and not inconsiderable personal wealth turned a threadbare “Silver Dollar City” into Dollywood, you know she was much more than her memorable music.
She wasn’t just universally beloved. She was smart, funny, had business savvy and was still tough enough to have occasionally been called the Iron Butterfly.
My grandkids are disconsolate over her passing. They learned to read with books from Dolly’s Imagination Library. They weren’t alone. The Imagination Library has distributed more than 360 million books, all absolutely free to recipients through age five. Globally.
After disastrous fires ravaged Sevier County in 2016, Dolly started the My People Fund. It gave $1,000 to every county family who lost their primary home. Not once. For five straight months. Charitable contributions enabled another final $5,000 payment. For many, the unexpected $10,000 made the difference between choosing to rebuild or being forced to relocate. She also gave $200,000 to local fire departments for important equipment and firefighter training.
She might have been short, but she cast a very long shadow.
The first time I saw her, I had no clue. But even in 1961 everyone knew the effervescent female singing alongside Porter Wagoner had the only personality in the duo. She was interesting, but I was being entertained watching Speck Rhodes clown around and Buck Trent play the banjo. When you’re nine and looking forward to popcorn and a cold drink at the intermission, future-casting isn’t a priority.
While her musical celebrity grew, my musical interests migrated down Lebanon’s Depot Street to the Club Cherry where I’d sneak in the back to hear “Little Stevie” Wonder, Ike and Tina Turner, Al Green, Otis Redding and other great black performers. Further down Main, Club 68 and the Golden Horseshoe offered Tommy James and the Shondells, Gary Puckett and the Union Gap, the Four Seasons and other great white groups.
Lebanon, at least five days a week, had about 5,000 residents. Come Friday and Saturday nights, it swelled to at least twice that. As the only “wet” town between Louisville and Knoxville, it was a booming spot on 1970s weekends.
Those clubs and the cooperage that made and charred whiskey barrels are long gone. The town has changed and so has my perspective. Looking back, I realize I was fortunate enough to have grown up there. It was quite an education for a country boy.
As I listen to today’s “whiskey hipsters” share their Google expertise about bourbon, I occasionally share that as a high schooler I helped dip the red wax onto Maker’s Mark bottles. Or recount coming home from college on weekends, buying discounted “locally manufactured products” and taking them back as fuel for fraternity parties.
Business-wise, my only competition were the Vietnam vets coming back to college. They bought at the Fort Knox PX at very low prices, but their quantities were limited. Occasionally, we collaborated. It was a great business education.
Sorry if I’m not offering a reflection on hunting or fishing, despite dove seasons opening in most states and the bass bite finally picking up. Like Paul Erhardt, I missed the dove season opener. Again. And it’s still too hot (to me) to fishing.
That means it’s an old writer’s reach for an outdoor-appropriate ending. For that, I thank AccuWeather and their fall leaf forecasts.
According to AccuWeather’s prognostication, New England and upstate New York are expected to see the most vibrant colors of the fall. Wetter weather through late spring and early summer, along with the arrival of cooler fall nights is promising a big display. FYI, if you haven’t already booked leaf-peeping there, you are, essentially, out of luck. Late September and early October are their projected peaks. That’s my prediction, not AccuWeather’s.
If you’re looking forward to a golden Rocky Mountain fall, you may be disappointed. Between forest fires and an oppressively long, hot summer, the vegetation is stressed. That’s weatherspeak for dull leaves.
Ditto the lower Mississippi Valley and Southeast, although a sudden wet, cold snap might help, at least a little. Not that many leaf-peeping-dependent destinations are going to say otherwise.
Here in Tennessee, we’re already raking significant piles of dull, brittle leaves from our oaks, dogwoods, and maples. AccuWeathersays that’s a product of weather stress.
That may be so in most of our region, but I prefer to think otherwise here in Middle and East Tennessee. Here, I think that even the vegetation’s feeling the loss of a beloved neighbor and our most tireless advocate.
Go rest high on that mountain, Dolly. Your light won’t go out anytime soon.