My first memory of Dolly Parton is a cardboard cutout in the lobby of the Dixie Stampede—a Western-themed dinner show in the magical land of Branson, Missouri. I was young enough to think she was a real-life Barbie with her platinum blond hair teased toward the heavens; her rhinestones and sequins all aglitter. Then I...
This story is only covered by news sources that have yet to be evaluated by the independent media monitoring agencies we use to assess the quality and reliability of news outlets on our platform. Learn more here.