In an earlier era when he openly railed against civil rights and racial integration, Sen. Jesse Helms of North Carolina would have been flattered to be called a bigot.

In the tributes that followed his death last week at age 86, Mr. Helms' bigotry has been downplayed by testimonials about his rock-ribbed conservatism. Republicans awkwardly embraced his mixed legacy as if he were merely a courtly Southern gentleman who couldn't quite let go of the past.

Yet everyone knows Mr. Helms was the product of another era. He spent his early adult years espousing the values of an America where "separate, but equal" was the law of the land. He not only shared in this racial myopia, but he also preached it as a newspaper editor, TV commentator, political operative and elected official.

From his influential seat in the U.S. Senate, he decried civil rights legislation, gay rights, funding for the arts, health-care reform, tax increases and the right to choose an abortion. His critics nicknamed him "Senator No" because there were few things in modern life Mr. Helms could say "yes" to.

Still, his constituents rewarded his unvarnished obstructionism by re-electing him to five terms.

In assessing Mr. Helms' career, a certain amount of "speaking ill of the dead" is necessary. But the record would be incomplete if it didn't take note of his co-authorship in 2000 of a bill to spend $600 million in federal funds on international AIDS relief, especially in Africa.

It was a shocking gesture because it was not consistent with what he had preached earlier in his career. It was arguably the greatest thing he ever did in the Senate. When his last term ended in 2002, even liberals had to respect him for his leadership in battling AIDS.

Too bad more of his time in Washington didn't reflect the values he espoused in his last days as a public servant.