The moment that the world found out that Dolly Parton had died, I was in a hair salon in the reddest congressional district in New York state. The neighborhood on the shore of Lake Erie where I move every summer voted solidly for Donald Trump in 2024.

I often pass a lawn sign that has something misogynistic to say about New York’s Democratic governor, Kathy Hochul, and the mere mention of Kamala Harris’s name can bring derisive jokes. Of course, there certainly are liberals and independents to be found, but on balance the area leans right.

On my errands around town, I’ve heard scornful comments about transgender people, and the local Catholic church where I sometimes attend mass has a priest who, during a homily this summer, praised Trump for his war in Iran.

A lot of the people I’ve chatted with around town are outspoken about being anti-vaccine.

But when cellphones started pinging with the news about Dolly, it’s not overstating things to say that everybody was devastated. Stylists and customers alike seemed to feel a personal connection – to her music, to her philanthropy, to her sheer goodness.

How did Dolly, a rags-to-riches country music........

© The Guardian