Preston O. Dollar Jr.

A memorial service to celebrate the life of Preston Orvelle, Jr., 74, will be held Saturday, June 7th at 2:00 P.M. at Mulhearn Memorial Park in Monroe, Louisiana.

Preston Orvelle Dollar, Jr. was born on October 6, 1950 and passed away on February 26, 2025 surrounded by the family he loved more than anything. He was a hardworking man, spending over 30 years as a mill operator at the West Monroe paper mill, providing for his family by always showing up, no matter what.

Preston was a true family man. He loved talking sports, watching games, going to the movies with his kids and grandkids, and he always liked to take the scenic route no matter where he was going. He had a deep love for southern food—especially crawfish—and never missed a chance to enjoy a good meal with the people he cared about (especially if it ended with a good dessert). Christmas was his favorite time of year, especially the memories made at his mother Bertie Mae’s house in Baskin, Louisiana, surrounded by family.

He is survived by his wife, Janet Dollar; his daughter, Tammy Hardman and husband, Rich; his sons, Steven Dollar (daughter-in-law Ashley Alford), Matthew Dollar, and his brother-in-law, Chuck Timpleman, who he loved like a son; and his grandchildren, William "Will" Hardman, Cooper Hardman, Alaina Hardman, Mollie Andrews, Iris Dollar, Dawson Dollar, and Ayla Dollar. He also leaves behind his sister, Kathy Womble; his many brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law (or “outlaws,” as he liked to call them); and a large extended family of aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, and nephews.

Preston is reunited in heaven with his parents, Preston Orvelle "P.O." Dollar, Sr. and Bertie Mae Phillips; his siblings, Joyce "Penny" Cupp, Barbara "Bobbie" Simmons, and Bobby Dale Dollar.

Preston will be deeply missed, but the memories he created will live on in the hearts of those who knew him.

Eulogy for Preston Orvelle Dollar, Jr.

I’m honored to stand here and share a few words about Preston — my dad — and tell you a little bit about who he was and the legacy he leaves behind.

Dad was, in many ways, your typical dad. And when I say “typical,” I don’t mean average. I mean he was everything a dad should be — hardworking, dependable, loving, and present.

And for those of us who really knew Dad well, you also know he was a big goofball and a total mush. If he loved you, he liked to pick at you. For better or worse, that’s how you knew he cared — if he bugged you, he loved you. And that was Dad.

But behind all the jokes and teasing, he also showed up for his family in the hardest ways — every single day.

He worked over 30 years at the West Monroe paper mill. This was not an easy job, to say the least. It was tough, grimy, hard work — and on top of that, it was shift work. I can vividly remember Dad coming home covered in caustic and lime, just completely exhausted. But no matter how tired he was, he always made time for us.

Nobody would’ve blamed him for coming in from a 12-hour shift and going straight to bed. But instead, there were so many times he’d come home — still in his work clothes — and grab a baseball glove or football, and we’d head outside to throw for hours.

I remember mornings when he’d worked a double and had been up all night — and instead of crashing, he’d show up at the field to watch me practice or play in a game. Just standing there on the sidelines or sitting in the stands — present. That was Dad.

He worked hard to provide for us, but the thing he loved most was spending time with his family. That was his joy. That’s what filled him up.

And when you really think about it — what more could you ask for in a dad? A man who worked hard, who provided, and who still had the energy to show up every single day — and he did it all with goofy smiles and a lot of laughs.

That’s his legacy to me. It’s the effort he made when life was hard. The time he gave, no matter what. And the example he set.

Dad lived a great life. And even though he lost a long, hard-fought battle with Parkinson’s, even in the end, he did his best to show up — for his wife, his kids, his grandkids, and his family.

There’s so much more that could be said about Dad, and I’m looking forward to hearing your stories and memories throughout the day. I really hope everyone can come back to our place afterward for the reception.

But more than anything, I just want to say: Thank you all for being here to celebrate him. And thank you, Dad. Thank you for loving us the way you did.

We love you, and we’ll miss you always.