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Conservatives generally are a lot more tough-minded than their counterparts on the left. Unlike the liberals who silently fumed at Jimmy Carter, Helms and his allies are always on the attack, even against their leader in the White House. Says Richard Viguerie, the direct-mail wizard who has raised large sums of money for Helms: "Never again will conservatives lay down for a Republican President, like they did for Nixon and Ford."
Striking at Reagan, of course, is a touchy matter since conservatives, including Helms, are personally so fond of him. The President has already shown a willingness to compromise with the moderates, however, and the intransigent Helms will tolerate little of that. His constituents are complaining, he says, and Helms agrees with them. Says he: "The people who fought and bled and died for Reagan have not been listened to. He's got to remember who took him to the dance."
For all his growing strength, Helms is not a charismatic man. People are stirred far less by his presence than by the fundamentalist message he preaches. He is moralistic, railing about good and evil, often simplistic and polarizing. His soft voice is a kind of disguise for the words he speaks. He has a mean streak and can be cruel to his opponents, taking public note, for example, of Senator Ted Kennedy's swimming skills.
Raised in the small (pop. 11,584) North Carolina town of Monroe, where his father was both police and fire chief, Helms retains his country style. His frequent response to an inquiry about how he is doing is "Well enough to take some chicken broth." He stands at 6 ft. 2 in., with a gangly frame that is slightly stoop-shouldered. He walks like a sailor, which he once was, elbows extended and his legs spread as he lopes along. He has a small mouth that gives him a puckish look, even though, at 59, his hair is thinning and his chin has doubled. His round brown eyes and arched eyebrows tend to make him look perpetually surprised. But Helms knows exactly how to behave. "I'm a lousy politician," he says, in his best humble-pie manner, "and a terrible speaker."
Helms also knows his people. For years he was a TV political commentator in Raleigh, and his bristling, anti-Government editorials gained him a wide audience. Back home in North Carolina last week, speaking to the Chamber of Commerce, Helms moved easily through the crowd, always deferential, always courtly, touching in his folksy way on the mess the country is in. He listened to the familiar urgings to keep up the good fight. A thin film of sweat covered his face, a reminder of Helms' intensity; he is not a gregarious, double-handshake politician who thrusts himself at crowds.
Helms lives modestly, almost reclusively. He and his wife Dot rarely entertain or go out. Helms instead pours his energy into his work. He wakes up around 6 a.m. and spends several hours reading reports and answering mail, sending off about 75 letters a day. He is attentive to friend as well as foe and is known for helping North Carolina constituents who have opposed him bitterly.