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When you’re a Hollywood icon, everyone in town has a story about you. But with Dolly Parton, so do visitors of a 160-acre Tennessee theme park.
I waited for what felt like my entire life to see Dollywood. As a theme park journalist, it was the absolute summit of my professional bucket list — always close yet somehow out of reach. Pigeon Forge, Tenn., like many regional gems, thrives from its proximity to nearby towns but is a haul and a half to get to from Los Angeles. (Consider it no coincidence that Delta Airlines canceled our flight there on two separate occasions.)
After a failed attempt in 2025, my crew of friends rallied to at long last make the successful pilgrimage to the country crooner’s compound earlier this spring. Once we checked into our Lincoln Logs rental cabin and reality hit that we’d actually made it — cowboy boots on the ground! — we realized all four of us were unusually clueless about what came next.
As Disney obsessives, my friends and I know theme parks, but had no barometer for what to expect from … a celebrity-themed one. Would it feel worn-down and somewhat sad? Would they smell the coastal elite media bias on us? Was the cinnamon bread actually that good?!
Of course, it was all perfect. Gloriously lush, vast and yet somehow deeply quaint, it was jarringly unexpected in the best of ways.
Mornings at Dollywood were spent wandering the now-relocated bald eagle sanctuary and crafting village, afternoons were spent riding black bears, coasters and log flumes. We watched candle-dipping artisans at work with wide eyes, heard the screaming whistle of the authentic steam locomotive train, and perused each room of the Dolly Parton Experience museum with glee. By the second day, one friend was walking arm-in-arm toward the cinnamon bread grist mill with its cashier. There was a palpable kindness that emanated throughout, as though every employee was working in her honor, whether performing in a show alongside her blood relatives or selling bedazzled tank tops.
And then there were the rides. As for enduring monuments, Elvis fanatics have Graceland, Beatles obsessives have Abbey Road, but Dolly? Dolly acolytes have a wooden-steel coaster so intense it can pop your boob right out of your bra. (In retrospect, my friend’s incident was a perfectly unintended homage to the busty star.)
With funnel cakes in the shape of her beloved butterfly and fashion exhibits with eye-popping heels and wigs, Dolly Parton’s theme park has history, entertainment, reverence. She was inviting us into her figurative and literal home — the tour bus she resided in for over a decade, with an overzealous guide to boot. In fact, most employees couldn’t wait to talk about Dolly, and neither could we. To be here is to be close to Dolly Parton, but to work here seems almost spiritual.
At some point between the blacksmithery heat, second loaf of cinnamon bread and feeling my soul leave my body aboard a haunted coal mine coaster, it hit me that this simply will never happen again. The splintering of mass media, the confluence of a cultural icon whose priorities are so admirable — the zeitgeist will simply never again support someone so pure of heart. Who else could pull off an eponymous theme park without it feeling brazenly self-serving?
After all, Dollywood isn’t just a pile of rides in the Great Smoky Mountains. Rooted in authenticity, service and philanthropy, they’re honoring Appalachian culture by forging iron and blowing glass in their Craftsman’s Valley, while inviting you in to do the same. The Imagination Playhouse, a live musical staging of children’s books, promotes her literacy initiative and its work gifting hundreds of millions of free books. Even the property’s most expensive hotel room is a low-key fundraiser for the Dollywood Foundation. In the era of budget cuts, corporate consolidations and layoffs, it feels like a respite from the fiscally overwhelming sides of America’s other theme parks these days, but that’s always been its objective. Dolly’s original investment in Silver Dollar City, the park’s predecessor, was purely to give back to the community and support jobs in the area.
Until her death Tuesday at age 80, Dolly was the closest thing we had to a modern day Walt Disney mixed with Mr. Rogers’ kindness and Miss Piggy’s flair. A true Renaissance woman who pulled herself out of a state of poverty that for many seems unimaginable (until, of course, you overstay your welcome ogling the exhibit of her two-room Tennessee Mountain childhood home, which I obviously have).
Dolly Parton was a living testament to what’s important in life: treating others the way you want to be treated, while also looking hot as hell. How unbelievable it is to have been alive at the same time as such a remarkable woman, and to have a place we can forever visit to celebrate her.
All I can do after the end to such a historic run is to urge you: Don’t wait as long as I did to experience Dollywood’s magic firsthand. Make the pilgrimage. Go there and see it yourself, in her honor.
And maybe, just maybe, wear a more supportive bra on Lightning Rod.
The post There will never be another human like Dolly Parton — or a theme park like Dollywood appeared first on Los Angeles Times.
