An ode to Dolly, our community queen
In the wake of Dolly Parton’s passing on August 25, 2026, I had to write this to you - it came pouring out of me - because Dolly is a constant inspiration for my work - and for all of us. Her passing deserves mention in the context of community building too. Dolly is the blueprint for what community leadership can look like at its most caring, kind, and good.
Now, this is personal for me. I have long looked to Dolly Parton for inspiration.
Dolly has been a constant presence in my life since I was a tiny thing, galloping in my backyard in Georgia with pink plastic cowboy boots. I credit her for instilling in me the heart of community building. I’ve written and spoken about her many times before (two examples here and here).
My family comes from the same Smoky Mountain hollers where Dolly was raised. I’m two generations (and an adolescence lived in Silicon Valley) removed, but I still feel most at home in East Tennessee, in the same landscapes that she loved and eventually outgrew, like a wildflower taking to the wind.
Scenes from East Tennessee, 2021
But what is true about Dolly is what can be true for all of us when we love a place and a group of people: She kept returning to that land and to "her people" throughout her lifetime, anchoring her to something greater than fame, fortune, or flashy outfits. When she built a world-class theme park that drew visitors from around the world, she placed it there, hiring local workers and uplifting local talent. When the Smokies burned, Dolly donated millions, and gave $1,000 per month to families whose homes were lost in the fire. She created books and music and non-profits and companies that honored her upbringing.
Dolly’s rhinestones, wigs, and high heels were part of a persona that reflected her belief that we could be our biggest, shiniest selves, against all odds. And that love was always possible if we cultivate it. But we have to cultivate it.
A picture of Dolly in an epic wig inside the former Chasing Rainbows Museum
Dolly was a philanthropist, a storyteller, a caregiver to her late husband Carl Dean. She was larger than life, not because she had an ego (as so many in her sparkly shoes would), but because she knew her one wild existence could change it all. And it did.
I believe that of all the things Dolly was, she was least of all a singer. I have, for many years, harbored a suspicion that she knew her voice was simply a tool. A tool for connection and helping us small creatures feel a little less alone, which was, I believe, her ultimate goal. Around Dolly, you never made music alone. I imagine she was always humming or strumming or clicking her acrylic nails together to make a beat.
Dolly and Patty LaBelle making music with their acrylic nails.
The lesson here is, and always has been, that presence changes everything for the better. Holds the smallest miracles up to the light. Makes the ordinary explode with meaning.
Film critic Roger Ebert, in his memoir Life Itself, once described a private meeting with Dolly:
“As we spoke, I was filled with a strange, ethereal grace. This was not spiritual, nor was it sexual. It was healing and comforting.”
It’s hard to pin down this kind of presence, but we are all capable of it. Sometimes I call Dolly an angel, and perhaps in some spiritual traditions, that's exactly what she was. But she also models what is possible when we give ourselves over to one another.
Presence is the essence of community leadership, something I am always trying to break down and distill. But most people - myself included - make excuses to turn away from the opportunity to be present with others: they are too busy, too embarrassed, too scared, not important enough.
Dolly with countless celebrities, most famous of which are Kermit (Rene la Rana) and Miss Piggy
But here’s the other thing Dolly taught us: Not everyone earns that kind of presence or attention. And the more power you have, and take, the more you have to discern and carefully deploy this presence. She didn't ever let anyone walk all over her.
But she did celebrate love and goodness in all its prismatic splendor. She only ever used her power and her presence to create more peace and ease suffering, not sow deeper division.
I’ve found it deeply ironic to see leaders like Jeff Bezos praising Dolly in these last few hours. They say her generosity is a lesson to them, but they heed none of her earthly lessons. Politicians order the lowering of their flags while cutting the programs that Dolly herself created to put free books into the hands of children for the last 30 years.
She never would have faulted them for that (at least not publicly - this is the lesson in presence in action; your attention gives things and people even more power), but her true feelings showed in her everyday actions, so different from theirs.
Image of a WWDD sign from a CMJ brand photoshoot
In her song “Wildflowers” (from the Trio album, recorded with Emmylou Harris and Linda Ronstadt in the late 80s), Dolly sings:
“I never felt right
In a garden so different from me
I just never belonged, I just longed to be gone
So the garden, one day, set me free.”
So let’s think of her now, set free.
A wild mountain rose, petals carried by the wind.
And now it’s our turn. Because it’s fine for us to look for sunshine in others, to idolize people like Dolly. But the real lesson is in the living.
For me, perhaps I need to get over my sad-ass embarrassment about singing in public and start doing more karaoke or singing on stages and in groups.
What will it be for you?
You don’t have to be as showy as Dolly Parton to heed her lessons. That was never the point.
You just have to care. And be brave enough to let it show.
Till soon,
—Carrie M. Jones
