My First Interview With Dolly Parton: Coming Face to Face With the Country Queen Who Soundtracked My Life

In 2001, I found myself seated on a couch in a Manhattan hotel suite, two tape recorders poised on the coffee table, preparing to meet one of my lifelong idols. A familiar whistle drifted from behind the French doors—it was Dolly Parton, humming the unmistakable melody of “9 to 5.” I remember thinking, “What is my life?” as the doors swung open to reveal her in a pink cashmere sweater and a matching tweed miniskirt, her heels towering as high as her signature bouffant. She greeted me warmly, bypassing a handshake for a hug, and smelled faintly of candy. As we pulled apart, she offered a reassuring smile, and we settled side-by-side on the couch for what turned into an hour-long conversation.

That interview marked the beginning of a two-decade-long series of conversations with Parton, conducted for publications like US Weekly. At the time, she was promoting “Little Sparrow,” her 37th studio album and the second in her bluegrass trilogy. My fascination with Parton began in my 20s, long after my Queens, New York, childhood in the ’70s and ’80s, where disco reigned and country music was an afterthought. It wasn’t until 1996, when she released a cover of Cat Stevens’s “Peace Train,” that I truly discovered her. Dancing to remixes of that song at gay clubs sparked an obsession—I devoured everything I could about her, from her humble beginnings in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, to her self-built empire. Parton often joked about her look, quipping, “It costs a lot of money to look this cheap,” with her elaborate hair, makeup, and figure inspired by the town “whore” from her childhood. Yet beneath the rhinestones and cosmetic enhancements, she remained remarkably authentic and grounded.

Parton’s ability to connect with people was unparalleled. Talking to her felt like catching up with an old friend, and she had a knack for memorable quotes. At the 2011 GLAAD Awards, where she presented an award to then-NBC Universal executive Robert Greenblatt, she told me she’d love to collaborate with Lady Gaga. “Maybe we should do something together—GooGoo and Gaga!” she joked, referencing the Nashville candy bars. Her concerts, which I attended over a dozen times, were equally intimate, whether she played for 150 people at Joe’s Pub in New York City or nearly 18,000 at the Hollywood Bowl. Her storytelling made every performance feel personal, as if she were singing only to you. Songs like “Coat of Many Colors” reminded me of my own mother’s sacrifices—she worked a second job as a cab driver to support us—while “9 to 5” resonated with anyone who’d ever despised a job or boss. And “I Will Always Love You” became a soundtrack to countless heartbreaks.

Parton even played a role in my love life. In 2011, during a concert at the Hollywood Bowl, I received a text from my future husband, Fabian, saying, “Look behind you.” We’d only met a few times through mutual friends, but Parton was our unofficial matchmaker—we started dating weeks later. Though the marriage ended in divorce, we remain on good terms. Her song “Better Get to Livin'” carried me through difficult moments. When I asked her in 2001 if there was a song she still wanted to cover, she instantly replied, “Led Zeppelin’s ‘Stairway to Heaven.’” She wasn’t joking—her haunting rendition appeared on her 2003 album “Halos and Horns.” If anyone has earned that stairway, it’s Dolly Parton. Rest well, Ms. Parton. I will always love you.