Prologue Although Jesse had earned a fearsome reputation for his slash-and-burn political tactics, there was also a softer side. Within his political circle, Helms was compassionate and caring; his Senate staffers uniformly remembered him warmly. By the late 1980s, Helms was well known for his personal style and his conscious rejection of the imperiousness of some of his colleagues. In 1998, when the Washingtonian surveyed 1,200 staffers and Capitol Hill employees, Jesse was rated among the nicest senators.1 Garrett Epps, a columnist for the liberal Independent Weekly, published in Durham, interviewed Helms in 1989. He was surprised at what he found. "The Helms I expected," he recalled, "was a sizzling-hot, angry, defensive ideologue." The person he found instead was "relaxed, friendly, funny and genuinely curious about ideas and people.

"2 Don Nickles, one of Helms's closest allies in the Senate, later reflected that the common caricatures of Helms as mean and vindictive were "misplaced." Nickles described him as "probably the nicest person serving in the Senate," certainly "the most gentlemanly of any of the senators," and a person who "epitomized the Southern gentleman." In his dealings with other senators he was "always very pleasant, never disagreeable." He was also unpretentious, according to Nickles. During Reagan's inauguration in January 1981, Nickles recalled, Helms objected when police stopped traffic so that a bus with senators could pass through.3 Helms' personal warmth extended beyond senators. The third floor of the Dirksen Office Building, where Jesse's Senate offices were located, contained two public elevators, which were old and slow, and three private elevators reserved only for senators. Staffers and visitors that snuck on the senators' elevator were routinely evicted.

The public elevator, located just outside of Helms's office, was often crowded with tourists. If he noticed them waiting, Helms delighted in gathering tourists and taking them on the senators' elevator, or for a ride on the Senate subway shuttle that ran between Dirksen and the Capitol, even when votes were about to occur and the shuttle was reserved for senators. Sometimes, on the spur of the moment, Helms ushered tourists to the family gallery, on the third floor of the Senate, and provided seats for them to watch the proceedings. The Senate guards were so used to Jesse's routine with visitors that they often chuckled when they saw him coming with an entourage in tow. He considered himself a sort of unofficial host of Capitol Hill, and he personally felt that it was his duty to ensure that tourists enjoyed their visit.4 Helms was especially kind to children, and he liked nothing better than speaking to visiting schoolchildren. According to his own estimate, between 1973 and the mid-1990s, he visited with some 60,000 children from North Carolina. He sometimes disappeared, and staffers would later discover him with a group of children.

To "countless small children who have visited the Capitol with their parents," wrote a New York Times reporter in 1987, he was "simply the friendly man who let them pretend to drive the Senate subway train." Once Helms gathered up one little girl, seven-year-old Lindsay Rogers of Denver, asking her: "How would you like to sit in the driver's seat?" Like many other children, he put Lindsay at the controls of the subway, which ran automatically. In 1987, he received a letter from a college student who remembered similar treatment when his sixth-grade class visited Washington, and the Senator let him "drive" the subway.5 Helms was also kno.