Hope for 'brother of Dolly'

ROANOKE RAPIDS -- Dolly Timmons sighed deeply and wiped her brow, exhausted from simply watching the bearded, pony-tailed performer.

"It's great," Timmons marveled when asked what she thought of the Randy Parton show she'd just seen in the Randy Parton Theater. "I don't know how he does it."

Her husband, Frank, was equally enthralled, adding, "He needs a 20-minute break."

That's what Parton was taking when I cornered the Timmonses in the theater lobby.

People such as Dolly and Frank, who drove down from Delaware for the show and describe themselves as "big Randy Parton fans," will determine the success or failure of this grand experiment in turning a former cotton field into an entertainment mecca.

If the experiment works, and the Timmonses and others descend with some frequency on the area and drop big bucks at stores, hotels and restaurants, Halifax County and business leaders -- not to mention Parton -- will laugh last.

If it doesn't work, though, those leaders must realize that they and their aggrieved agrarian area could become the biggest laughingstock since Jack traded in the family cow for a handful of magic beans.

I'm not sure that an entertainment mecca, like that magic beanstalk, will sprout here. On this night, though, cars did.

I arrived in Halifax County early to gauge the enthusiasm of residents (not much) and officials (plenty) for the theater.

I dozed off in the theater's empty parking lot 90 minutes before showtime, and when I awoke, scores of cars had appeared as if by magic.

Men in creased Dockers and women in everything from sexy painted-on jeans to asexual polyester pantsuits paraded through the parking lot to what some people -- OK, just me -- call the Taj Ma-Randy.

The 1,500-seat auditorium was about one-fourth filled, which shouldn't be alarming: I suspect few performers not named Elvis or Otis could draw a crowd out here on a Wednesday night.

Nor should it be alarming that Parton had only one semi-hit record -- far fewer than his superstar sister Dolly Parton --as a recording artist.

That is no bellwether of whether Randyland will be the financial life raft this neglected area needs. When I was in Vegas a few years ago, one of the hottest tickets in town was for Clint Holmes' show. Holmes, the quintessential one-hit wonder, hit the Top 5 in 1973 with "Playground in My Mind."

That song contained such Dylanesque lyrics as "My name is Michael, I've got a nickel shiny and new/ I'm going to buy me all kinds of candy, that's what I'm going to do."

Yikes. Anyway, if Holmes can become a Vegas star with that as the most prominent entry on his resume, why can't Parton become a Vegas- or Branson-style performer here with "brother of Dolly" the most prominent entry on his?

I approached the show with skepticism and cynicism, and I'm still skeptical that a whip-thin performer with limited vocal range can lead the area to the economic promised land.

But after watching his show and seeing the appreciative, hopeful looks on the faces of the people who showed up for it, I'm a lot less cynical.