The Last Great American
- Lauren Barton
- 14 hours ago
- 3 min read
August 25 was an awful day for East Tennessee.
It was the first day of the first semester of my senior year, and I had never felt more devastated. In the middle of class, the young woman beside me sat wide-eyed, covering her mouth after glancing at the latest notification on her phone. After sitting in shock for nearly a minute, she couldn’t contain her grief any longer.
“Dolly Parton is dead.”
At first, nobody believed it. I suppose we couldn’t stand to. We searched for confirmation, and after verifying the news among ourselves, the professor led the class in a moment of silence out of respect for someone who can only be described as the last great American.
Though I’m sure Dolly herself would disagree, she was a beacon of hope in a time of division and unrest. She was the one thing we could all agree on — the one person we all adored.
Losing the great Dolly Parton feels like losing a piece of Appalachian history and heritage, an icon whose influence spanned generations. From her early appearances on “The Cas Walker Show” through a career that included thousands of songs, Dolly touched the hearts of people who knew of her kindness, philanthropy and wit.
Unlike many celebrities or politicians, Dolly kept her hands firmly in the region. She didn’t abandon us after her rise to fame. She remembered her roots and the land that raised her, and she carried us with her throughout her life, just as we will carry her through the rest of ours.
Perhaps that is what made Dolly so unique. She was unmistakably Appalachian, yet she belonged to everyone. She could be embraced by people across generations, political parties, religions and backgrounds without asking any of them to agree with one another first.
In an increasingly divided country, she never needed to be an overtly political symbol for people to believe in what she represented. She showed us that success does not have to require abandoning where you came from and that being proud of Appalachia does not mean accepting the stereotypes often associated with it.
Like Dolly said, that “old dumb blonde” was nobody’s fool.
For many of us, she was proof that you could leave the mountains, but the mountains would never leave you. Not really, anyway.
She carried us with her around the world, bringing our music, our stories and our people along the way. She never seemed embarrassed about where she came from, and neither should we. Instead of allowing the region to be defined solely by its history of poverty and the Confederacy, Dolly gave the rest of the world another Appalachia to see — one defined by resilience, pride and that good ol’ Volunteer spirit.
Although I never had the pleasure of meeting her, she has always been in the background of my life. She helped teach my little sister and me the importance of literacy through her Imagination Library, where I received two of my favorite childhood books. She also taught me what it means to love thy neighbor.
Whenever I felt ashamed of my connection to Tennessee and its politics, Dolly was there to remind me that diversity is beautiful and should be accepted.
It is easy to mourn Dolly Parton, but carrying on her legacy may prove a little more difficult. If Dolly could find a way to make everyone feel seen regardless of their differences, if she could rise from the mountains of East Tennessee without ever forgetting them and if she could use her success to give something back to her own community, then perhaps we can do the same.

We’re the only ones who can.
The next week, classes continued as usual. The shock had already begun to fade, and Aug. 25 will eventually become another day on the calendar. But the things Dolly taught us don’t have to fade with it.
We can continue her legacy — to give more than we take, embrace our differences and treat our neighbors with the same kindness she showed us.
It’s because of her that Tennessee sticks with us all — in our heads, in our hearts and everywhere we go.
Our story is still being written, even if hers has ended.





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