In this third and final of Lawrence Grobel’s interviews with Dolly, the two seem to have lost the rapport and lightheartedness that permeated their previous dialogues. They were still simpatico enough that it’s mostly enjoyable, but it’s a little awkward and uncomfortable at times, too.
As explained in this feature for Redbook (and written about in greater detail in Grobel’s book You, Talking to Me), when Dolly called Grobel one night, the subject turned to an assignment he was contemplating for Playboy. When Dolly learned it was an interview with Charles Manson from prison, she became so upset with the notion that she told Grobel that him even considering such an assignment made her wary of him.
“I thought Dolly’s friendship was valuable enough to turn down the assignment,” he later explained. “That was too bad. I lost the assignment, and I lost Dolly as well. At least, the closeness that we had. But, as that song of hers goes, I will always love her.” —Ed.
Why wasn’t Dolly’s TV show a mega-hit? “I was just one little country hillbilly and nobody would listen to me,” she explains. What does she say about those rumors that she’s become anorexic? “I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been!” Here, in an exclusive interview, Dolly send the world a message: “Don’t mess with me!”
“How ya doin’?” she squealed, giving me a huge hug, an all-embracing squeeze that made me squirm self-consciously. “Boy, it’s good to see you. Sure been a long time.”
Sure had. In fact, just a few nights before I had wondered to my wife if I’d ever see Dolly Parton again. And here I was, my arms around her, actually feeling the new slender body. The last time we’d embraced, there had been more of her to hold. Her waist has since shrunk to 17 inches, her chest looked firmer, her eyes larger, her face more sharply angled. She looked and felt like a whole new Dolly.
I first met Dolly Parton ten years ago, when I was on assignment for Playboy magazine. I spent a week traveling with her to concert appearances in West Virginia and Virginia. We traveled together on her bus, stayed in adjoining motel rooms and often talked late into the night after her performance. One night, in particular, we talked until three o’clock in the morning, mostly about ghosts and spirits and things that go bump in the night. Having been raised one of 12 children in a sleepy back-roads hollow in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, Dolly’s head was filled with stories of the supernatural. And since I had spent three years in the Peace Corps living in Africa, I too had my share of stories to contribute.
Sometime around two that morning Dolly called room service and ordered a plate of fruit and cheese. It arrived a few minutes later. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Dolly patted the mattress and said, “Come sit over here and have some of this.” It was, I’m sure, a perfectly natural and innocent invitation to sample the fruits by her side, but it made me feel awkward. I remained in my chair. I was actually afraid to sit next to Dolly Parton on the bed in that West Virginia motel at two in the morning—afraid of committing a faux pas I might never live down.
Of the many celebrities I have spent time with over the years, Dolly is the only one who’s capable of taking my breath away. It isn’t just her exaggerated hair and clothes and makeup. It’s almost as if she is more than human. Her intelligence is obvious and overwhelming. Her sense of things—of knowing things about people—is uncanny. She has a certain strength and confidence that is deeply spiritual. She’s just so damn different from anybody else—a self-created creature with an enormous talent and a heart just as big.
A few years after I first met Dolly, I saw her again in Los Angeles, on the set of her first movie, Nine to Five. I was writing a magazine story about the film, and when she had finished that day’s scenes, we got into my Fiat and drove to the beach. We stopped at a diner for something to eat. While waiting for our food, she tapped her long fingernails against a water glass in time to the title song she was in the midst of composing. She sang a few verses and asked me what I thought. It hadn’t all come to her yet, but she was close. “Workin’ nine to five, what a way to make a livin’ . . . .”
After eating we decided to take a walk along the beach. Dolly didn’t want to take off her high heels, so we stayed on the bike path. The beach was empty that day, except for one large man who was sitting on a bench as we walked by. He was more than six feet tall and weighed perhaps 230 pounds. He spotted Dolly and muttered a few coarse words. Dolly gripped my arm and said, “Oh shit! And I left my gun in my purse in your car.”
Her gun? I had never been with a woman who packed a pistol before. Suddenly, I started to worry about what might happen if the man decided to follow us. Would I have to defend Dolly against this behemoth? Or would she have to defend me? And what if she had taken her gun with her? Would she have pulled it out, just to be safe? I couldn’t help wondering how far she might go if push came to shove. Fortunately, it didn’t.
“Once, in New York,” Dolly then told me, “I was walking with a girlfriend when some man came on to us. He thought we was hookers, I guess, and he propositioned us. Well, I stuck my hand in my bag, pulled out my gun, pointed it at him and told him if he didn’t take a hike, I’d turn him into a soprano. He left us alone right quickly after that.”
A few years after that walk on the beach, I received a call from my Playboy editor asking me if I would be interested in interviewing Charles Manson, the notorious ringleader of “The Family,” the cult that had gone on a killing spree in California, taking the lives of seven people, including film director Roman Polanski’s wife, actress Sharon Tate. Manson had put the fear of death into many of Hollywood’s biggest stars, until he was finally apprehended.
My editor knew that I lived in the Hollywood Hills, not far from where Manson had once lived, and he wanted me to think seriously about whether I should do the interview. “There are still a lot of his followers out there,” he warned me, “and if word gets out that you’re seeing him, you might be subjected to various attempts to get to him through you.”
Since I was married and had a small child, I had more than myself to worry about. I told my editor that I would let him know my answer in a few days. I then called friends and associates who had written about Manson to see what they thought about the assignment. Most of the men I spoke to thought it was a great journalistic opportunity and I should do it. Most of the women thought I should pass.
The more I thought about it, the more I was drawn to the assignment—even after I found out that a producer I knew who had been in touch with Manson had had his mailbox blown up by one of Manson’s followers. I think I wanted the thrill of coming face-to-face with such an evil figure, and trying to get to his very core. After all, I am a writer, and that is my job. Interviewing Charles Manson would be an ultimate test of my journalistic skills.
I was leaning toward accepting the assignment when the phone rang late one Saturday night. “Hi, guy, howya doin’? I was just thinkin’ about you and thought I’d call.” It was Dolly. I hadn’t talked to her for a long time, and suddenly, out of the blue, she was checking in. I started to tell her about the possible Manson assignment and the decision I was wrestling with when she very abruptly and very curtly cut me off.
“I don’t know what this is worth to you,” she said coldly, “but I want to tell you what I think about it. The man is pure evil. He’s the devil. His kind rubs off on anybody who meets him. If you see him, if you even talk to him, if . . . have you talked to him yet?”
“Not yet,” I said. “I’m not even sure he’s going to do it. My editor just asked me to consider it.”
“Well, consider this then,” she said. “If you so much as talk to him—even on the phone—then I will never see you or talk with you again. I feel that strongly about it. I’ve kept my life as pure as I can make it—I’ve kept away from evil and the bad vibrations that come from being around evil—and I truly believe that man is the devil. If you ever had anything to do with Charlie Manson, I wouldn’t want the vibes you would pick up to get around me. Now I know that may not be fair to tell you this, but I’m telling you from my heart. That’s the way I am. It’s your decision to make, but if you value my friendship at all, you better stay clear of that one.”
Others had given me advice, but Dolly was giving me an ultimatum. Say yes to Manson, and kiss her friendship goodbye. As a professional journalist, her words shouldn’t have had any effect on me. It was my decision to make. Yet I heard myself say, “Well, Dolly, I guess you’ve decided for me, I won’t do it.”
“Now don’t say you won’t just because I don’t want you to,” she told me. “You shouldn’t do it because you shouldn’t want to. Why let that evil come anywhere near you?”
“You’re right Dolly. I won’t even think about it anymore. And besides, your friendship is too important.”
I never interviewed Manson . . . and I stopped hearing from Dolly. Oh, she continued to send her annual Christmas baskets of jellies, candies, polished glass and herb-scented balls, but the phone calls ceased. So did her letters, which she had occasionally written until the Manson incident came up. Last Christmas, I sent Dolly a note, thanking her for her basket of goodies and inviting her to lunch. Weeks later, I received a large envelope from the “Dollywood Ambassadors” in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. Inside was a letter that began, “Dear Fan, Thank-you for your letter to Dolly Parton. Because of her hectic schedule, we are answering mail for her. The Dolly Parton Fan Club is now Dollywood Ambassadors, and we have added you as a member.” Included in the envelope was a picture of Dolly and some brochures about Dollywood and about gifts I might want to purchase, most of them variations of the Christmas basket she had sent.
Dolly, I had to assume, had changed. She had gone through some hard times, been ill for a while, had an operation and been told she could never have children. She had signed a two-year deal with ABC—worth $44 million—for her own variety show. The show was having problems. Its timeslot was moved from Sunday night to Saturday night. But the ratings were still disappointing, and I had heard that Dolly decided to take more control over the show, changing its format to one that was more “country.” Dolly had just gotten too big, even bigger than she had been when I first met her ten years ago. So when I met her for this interview—our first meeting in about four years—I assumed that any time we had together would be strictly professional.
We met in the corridor of her office in Los Angeles. Dolly was dressed in skintight jeans, a white tank-top and a faded denim jacket. She looked skinny, but more beautiful than ever.
We went out to lunch—only this time, instead of going in my Fiat, we went in her white stretch limo. We talked about how she looked; how she felt; the problems her show was having; her plans to tour this summer; her new record deal with CBS; her long-distance relationship with Carl, her husband of 22 years; her ability to juggle the many projects in her life. It was like old times—we just picked up where we left off years ago, before she had gone through her difficulties.
She started to tell me about those times, when everything seemed to have gone wrong with her, when her weight ballooned up to 157 pounds, when her body was giving her “female problems,” when people she loved and trusted were betraying her, when she had to get rid of certain people in her life because they were not healthy for her, when she started having questions about her life and career. It had been a gloomy, depressing time—a time for self-reflection and for testing her belief in God.
“For the first time in my life, I understood how people commit suicide. I understood how people get hooked on drugs and alcohol,” Dolly said. “I was that hurt. I was so unhappy for about eighteen months. I just couldn’t get myself together. I couldn’t think my positive thoughts because I was so sick. It was the worst time ever in my life. I couldn’t even watch TV because I couldn’t stand to see the human suffering on the news. I couldn’t hear sad stories and sad songs. I was that sensitive. It was hard when I found out I could never have children—knowing that I couldn’t, whether I had wanted them or not. But I’ve come to terms with that. I pray every day that God’s will will be done, and that He’ll direct me and lead me and I’ll live my life according to the way I’m supposed to. So I just assumed that it was not in His plan for me to have kids, or I would be having them.”
I asked Dolly how supportive Carl had been during the time when she was so sick. “He didn’t even know it,” she answered. “He knew I was sick but he had no idea I was in the shape I was in ’cause I wasn’t gonna worry him with the shit that I should have more control over. It was something between me and the Lord. Only Sandy Gallin, my manager, and Judy Ogle, my best friend, really knew just how sick I was. Judy has been with me for thirty-five years—ever since we were little kids—and she makes it possible for me not to need a psychiatrist. During those eighteen months Sandy and Judy were the ones I depended on most. My sickness forced me to make all the decisions that have made my life so much richer, better, more meaningful. It’s helped me to weed out the bullshit and take better care of myself.”
Dolly talked about her recent weight loss. “When I was fat, people would say, ‘You have such a pretty face. If you’d lose twenty or thirty pounds, you’d be beautiful.’ Well, I lost the weight and now they say, ‘You’re too skinny.’ So there’s no way to please people. I’m not trying to gain weight, although I did recently put on a few pounds because my weight loss has been worrying my parents. They think I’m sick. People say I’m anorexic, but I’m not—I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been! I really worked hard to get my mind tuned to losing this weight. People crucify me now for being thin, but they don’t know what a difficult thing I’ve done. Being a foodaholic is like being an alcoholic or a drug addict—believe me, it was easier becoming a star than losing that weight! When somebody tells me, ‘You’ve got to gain weight,’ I think, ‘Don’t say that! This is a fight to the finish.’ I’m afraid that if I don’t stay where I am, I’ll lose control and go back to my old habits. And I’d rather be dead than be that miserable again.”
I wondered how Dolly’s personality might have changed now that she’s down to about 105 pounds. As usual, she had an answer. “When I was fat, I ate all the time. I ate everything I wanted, and I had more personality. But I’ve noticed that since I’ve been skinny, I don’t have the same tolerance that I used to have. When you’re fat, you’re eating everything you want and you’re getting all the vitamins and minerals your body needs. Fat burns, so you got lots of extra energy. And I use up every bit of what I eat. I eat everything I want—I just don’t eat a lot of it. So, in three hours I’m hungry again. My blood sugar gets low. And if you get in my face about something you ain’t got no business being in my face for, if I’m hungry, watch out! Sometimes I will snap and bite somebody’s head off. Then, after I’ve done it, I won’t believe it. I’ll think, ‘Did I do that?’ I put forth a great effort to be nice, but there are some people who just insist on trying your patience. A lot of people think that I’m more short-tempered than I used to be because I’m arrogant and vain. They think that I act like that now because I look so much better—at least, I do to me—but they totally misunderstand me. I may not have the exact tolerance level that I used to have, but other than that, I have not changed at all.
“For the most part,” said Dolly, “I do better than most people, with the demands that are on me. But people don’t even think I work—they think it’s all glamour and smiles—because nobody ever sees me working, I work before I go to sleep or when I get up in the morning. I’m an early bird. I work for two or three hours in the morning before anybody else has even gotten up, Ninety-five percent of the time I enjoy my work, but when it comes to the other five percent, buddy, you don’t want to mess with me!”
By now, we had reached La Toque, a restaurant in Los Angeles. Dolly and I sat across from each other at a corner table and she proceeded to order lunch for the both of us—soup, potatoes with caviar, chicken salad and seafood pasta. “I don’t want to get back into my old habits,” Dolly said as we waited for our food to arrive. “I have to think about what I’m eating. When I’m halfway through a piece of pie, I have to tell myself, ‘That’s enough!’ I get irritated that I have to be that disciplined. I’m such a free and natural spirit. But there comes a time in your life when you learn that there’s a price to pay.”
“You sure weren’t tolerant with me the last time we talked,” I said, easing into the Manson episode. “I’ve often thought that was why I hadn’t heard from you. Just the fact that I was even considering doing the interview turned you off.”
“Yes, it did,” Dolly said. “I just had the worst feeling about that. I really think you’d have suffered for that—to see him that close, all that bitterness and insanity. I didn’t even want nothing to do with you if you were going to have something to do with him.”
When the food arrived, I asked Dolly about her show, which has not been the success everyone thought it would be. “I wasn’t as involved in the beginning because I had hoped I could just trust all the people who kept saying ‘Trust me.’ I was just one little country hillbilly, and nobody would listen to me much. They’d say, ‘You’ve never done a variety program. How would you know what works?’ I say, ‘Hell, you don’t have to have done one to know what’s working and what ain’t.’
“What was missing in the early stages of the show was that nobody had a real, true vision of me—who I am, what I am, what I’m capable of doing, what I should and shouldn’t be doing. Considering all the things that I’ve been up against, I’ve done pretty good. I took on a show that was going to be ABC’s big comeback, so there was all the hype and publicity to overcome. When the show was on Sunday nights, I had to contend with the movies and specials on the other channels. These people who program them don’t give a shit what Dolly Parton’s dreams and feelings are. They’re in business—they’re going to give you the stiffest competition. In addition to that, I got preempted a few times, and that was confusing to the public. And a lot of people were put off that I lost so much weight—it was like they were trying to get used to a different person. And there was all that hype about the money I was paid. People resent that. They think I gotta show something. Then we changed time slots and I got preempted again for three weeks. I knew it was gonna be hard; I didn’t know it was gonna be this hard. It’s a challenge and I ain’t down yet! My show is now about as good a variety show as I can do. If it’s still not what the people want, then it’s really true that variety television is dead.”
The question of personal failure and rejection had to be brought up. At press time, ABC still had not officially renewed the show. And yet it seemed strange that someone who was being watched weekly by nearly 18 million people could be considered a failure.
“I won’t feel like a failure,” she insisted. “I learned enough on this show to last me a lifetime, and I will apply that knowledge to other things I’m doing. I have decided that I do want to do television, whether it’s on ABC or another network. I will do television. It has given me an outlet for all the different kinds of things I love to do. It’s an outlet for my songwriting and my acting, and I love to be a host, to do concerts. So if something should happen and this variety show doesn’t work, I’ll keep going.”
Of course! When you’re Dolly Parton, hosting a prime-time variety show is only one of the things you could be doing with your time. Dolly has songs to write and record concerts to give, a theme park to visit, a book about her life to write . . . even an autobiographical Broadway musical which she is currently working on.
How does Dolly do it? How does she juggle all these things and still maintain a personal life? “First of all,” she said, “I’m not your average woman. I don’t have children. I don’t have a husband who depends on me being home at a certain time. My time is pretty much my own. I choose to do the work that I do. And I’ve always enjoyed what I’m doing, and I’m always healthy when I’m happy. It’s when I’m not enjoying it that my energy runs down.”
The dessert tray is brought, and Dolly selects two for us. She then tells me how easy her life has become now that she’s more disciplined. “It’s not hard work,” she insisted, outlining her work schedule which leaves her free four nights a week. She said that her husband Carl hadn’t been out to see her in several months because he had been suffering from back problems, but she goes back home to Tennessee as often as she can. “It’s hard for Carl to drive, and he won’t fly,” Dolly said, although he once flew to Hawaii with her. “But I’ve never been able to get him to do it again. He says he’s not afraid of flying, he just doesn’t see the need to do it. Anyway, we got a little Boston terrier, and he uses that as an excuse for staying home.”
Besides all the projects in which she’s involved, Dolly is also producing a country bluegrass album with country singer Ricky Skaggs. She’s aware of the mistakes she has made with previous albums, and has concluded that, “Rock people don’t want me to do country, and country people don’t want me to do rock. So whenever I would do country and rock it turned out to be ‘crock!’ I’m sick of it, so I’m doing pure country as part of my deal with CBS.”
Three quarters of the way through her slice of lemon meringue pie, Dolly gently placed her fork on the plate. She licked her lips and looked at what remained of the pie. “You want the rest of this?” she asked. I shook my head sadly. I weigh a lot more than Dolly does, and if she could resist the extra calories, so could I. That’s what being around Dolly is like. No matter how long it’s been, once you’re back in her positive energy field, some of it rubs off.