The great privilege of my kind of journalism is to get the chance to meet extraordinary people – some famous, many not – and very occasionally that person is beyond extraordinary. Dolly Parton, you may not be surprised to learn, was one of them. I’ve only come across it a handful of times. It has nothing to do with extreme fame – I’ve met plenty of A-listers who are dead behind the eyes. It’s not charm or extroversion either, nor beauty, and it’s not what we’d call “star quality” because it’s less showy than that. It’s almost indescribable, but “luminous” probably comes closest. I think it’s partly innate – God-given, Parton might have said – but it also comes from living with humility, gratitude and humour. Parton was luminous, and it wasn’t just the rhinestones.
The cliche that you should never meet your heroes because you’ll only be disappointed only stands if you think famous people have somehow transcended the deep character flaws that make the rest of us human. Everyone has off days, or off years. Still, I’d been slightly dreading interviewing Parton. The machinery that surrounds a superstar interview – the holding rooms, the allotted time slots, the officious publicists – is designed to be intimidating, and it was all present on that autumn day in 2023. And then it was just Parton and me in a London hotel room, borderline uncomfortably close on a sofa, but unusually, no publicist sitting in, taking notes.
