An entire wall of Jesse Helms' Capitol Hill office is covered with political cartoons, most of them lampooning him as a rogue and obstructionist. The senior Senator from North Carolina takes impish delight in each and every one of them. "The uglier they are the quicker he puts them up," says an aide. Among Helms' favorites is one depicting a fellow Senator praying, "And would you kindly ask Jesse Helms to please shut up?"
Can the Jesse Helms who rises to greet a visitor, full of cracker-barrel charm and as well mannered as an overly polite schoolboy, really be the notorious "Senator No," scourge of the Senate? Poor, misunderstood Jesse Helms. A bulky 6 ft. 2 in., he has a jowly, owlish face; his sparse white hair is slicked back, and his eyebrows, frozen like question marks above his eyes, seem to ask, "Who me, cause a fuss?" A sometime Sunday-school teacher, he is fond of saying, "Well, bless your heart," his voice a velvet bass carried by a Carolina drawl. But in an instant, a glint appears in his eye as he hatches yet another plan to tie the Senate in knots. Meet the other Jesse Helms, the wily parliamentary terrorist who has blocked civil rights legislation, held ambassadorships hostage and undermined treaties.
"I'm no charlatan," says Helms, 66. No, he's a true believer. As patron saint of the not-so-New Right, he is protector of the unborn, champion of prayer in the classroom and pure hell on Communists. "A guy of guts and fire," Republican Senator Alan Simpson calls him. But conservatives too know how prickly he can be. Ask Ronald Reagan. Negotiating arms deals with the Kremlin is one thing; getting them past Helms is something else. Helms is not just committed to causes, he is consumed by them. Consider his fight to ban abortion. "Sure I'm obsessed with it," he says, "and I'm absolutely certain I'm right, and nobody's going to change my mind."
The Senate is a clubby place that takes pains to protect the minority from the majority. Helms has taken full advantage of that magnanimity, giving some to wonder, What is to protect the majority from Helms? His arsenal is primitive but effective: adding on dilatory amendments, filibustering, running hapless nominees through his congressional paddling machine. Some call it "porcupine power." As the ranking Republican on the Foreign Relations Committee, he stands at a crucial thoroughfare. Again and again, he has turned the path of legislation and confirmation into his private turnpike -- pay Jesse's toll or wait forever. Last week he was at it again. In an effort to stall the Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces agreement, he even questioned Soviet Leader Mikhail Gorbachev's authority to sign the treaty.
When the question of obstructionism is raised, Helms seems wounded. He plays by the book, he says. "I'm accused of holding up nominations and frustrating the will of the Senate. When you look at the record, it's not so." Then that glint flashes again, and he admits, "The reputation is quite valuable, because it has a certain amount of effect. They know I'm capable of it." That they do. Senate colleagues will attest that Helms has SPECIAL HANDLING stamped all over him, and some grumble that he has poured sand into the Senate's engine all too often.