Put on practical shoes, my imaginary friends, we’re about to take a long walk on the short pier that is memory lane…
I suppose you’ve seen the front=page story today about how Dolly Parton’s Dixie Stampede is closing. It made me nostalgic about the two days I spent out there seeking quality time with Dolly herself when the place had its grand opening in 2003. I was recounting it at some length for my boss and my podmate Heather and the boss says, in her typically enthusiastic way, "You have to blog about this." She has the misguided notion that people like to hear about the behind-the-scenes glamor of what we do.
Well, when your boss tells you that you have to do something…
This is what’s burned into my memory:
Dolly has a security detail that rivals the president’s. I had been promised by a local PR firm (three names, starts with a "Y") that I would be able to hang out and observe Dolly checking out the new place and have some time for an interview. This wasn’t exactly the case.
What I ended up doing, for pretty much the first day, was sitting in the arena about 20 rows behind her, wondering what she and the attraction managers were talking about. Probably laughing at the guy sitting 20 rows behind them.
After doodling on my pad for a while, I dared to venture about four rows behind her, just to see if she was talking about me, and was approached by two guys in suits with lapel radios. "Who are you?" "What are you doing?" That kind of stuff. Our photographer later took some shots of Dolly when she goes to the arena floor to rehearse — with a long lens from the other end of the arena.
Every once in a while, the PR person would stop by and ask cheerfully if I was getting everything I needed. Uh, well, the air-conditioning is comfortable.
Day two: It’s the grand-opening media event. Al Roker. Lots of hubbub.
Another memory burned into my brain:
This time, it’s watching the pre-show entertainer, an Electric Horseman cowboy, come galloping into the banquet room on a majestic steed. Alas, a low-hanging wooden sign (pointing to the restroom) clocked him right in the head. BLAM!
If it weren’t attached by a string, his cowboy hat would’ve come clean off. I really thought that his head might have come clean off, Sleepy Hollow style, but he went on with the show as if it didn’t hurt at all.
After cracking some whip tricks, the cowboy made us all be quiet so he could ride the horse up the stairs. Horses don’t like to do that, he told us, and it really didn’t seem worth the bother.
Where was I?
Oh, Dolly Parton. I did finally get about 6 minutes with her in an upstairs conference room. She talked fast. I talked fast. It was over in an instant and I was back in the parking lot.
So I got the story done. I include it below. RIP, Dixie Stampede…
Continue reading Goodbye, Dolly… »