Jim Hunt’s Era Ends: Education Legacy Transforms—and Divides—North Carolina

Paul Riverbank, 12/19/2025Jim Hunt’s passing marks the close of an era that reshaped North Carolina’s education and politics.

Hunt’s passing does more than mark the end of a political life; it closes an era that helped remake North Carolina’s landscape, sometimes with fanfare, sometimes in quiet reforms that outlived headlines. Measuring his impact isn’t easy — narratives rarely are — but one can hardly walk into a North Carolina classroom or drive past a high-tech business park without catching traces of his influence.

If you talk to those who worked with or against him, there’s a consensus that feels almost out-of-place in today’s hyper-partisan climate. Democratic Governor Josh Stein eventually called him a visionary for “founding Smart Start, raising teacher pay, and protecting air quality.” Meanwhile, Pat McCrory, a Republican and former governor, simply called Hunt “the greatest salesperson ever for our state.” One suspects if you pressed either for details, they could recount a whole evening’s worth of stories.

It’s biography worth retelling, and maybe lingering over. Born in Greensboro, Hunt grew up tending a family farm, gaining firsthand wisdom about hard work, rural grit, and the unpredictability of weather, economics, and human nature. After finishing law school — and a detour working in Nepal, of all places — he entered state politics before most people settle on a mortgage. By age 35, he was already lieutenant governor.

Then came four gubernatorial terms, but not consecutively — a legal twist allowed him to return after a hiatus, a testament to his enduring appeal. Hunt’s years in office were transformative for public education. Full-day kindergarten — now so standard as to seem unremarkable — spread statewide under his watch. The “Smart Start” program, focused on early childhood learning and health, has repeatedly been cited as a model for the nation, not just the region. Surveys show that teacher pay, during his peak influence, actually surpassed the national average — a detail still mentioned in union meetings and campaign trails long after he left office.

Yet, his distinctiveness wasn’t solely in programs or numbers. Gary Pearce, a veteran staffer, recalls those late-night phone calls Hunt was famous for — sometimes to persuade a legislator, sometimes just to insist on one more project pitch nobody saw coming. “He really had a way of pushing you to do things you never thought you could do,” Pearce said. That relentless, sometimes exhausting optimism, became part of North Carolina’s political DNA.

His reputation for creative persuasion was perhaps only rivaled by bursts of moral boldness. In his first term, Hunt commuted the contentious sentences of the “Wilmington 10” after new revelations in the case. Many around him worried about backlash; Hunt, by most accounts, never wavered once he made up his mind. The act didn’t please everyone, but it forcibly reminded partners and rivals that Hunt’s pragmatism had limits — he wanted to land on the right side of history, even if it meant some bruises along the way.

After losing a high-profile Senate race against Jesse Helms — a bruising chapter that could have closed the book for many — Hunt didn’t disappear into quiet retirement. Instead, he returned to the governor’s mansion in the 1990s and helped stall what would soon become a Republican wave. He seemed to understand timing almost as well as he understood policy.

Even years after stepping down, Hunt remained impossible to ignore. He founded the Hunt Institute at UNC Chapel Hill, intent on shaping the next generation of educational leaders. Whenever state lawmakers floated the idea of slashing education budgets, Hunt would speak up, reminding new faces at the legislature how easily decades of progress could unravel. “I’m proud of what we’ve done together,” he told the public in 2017. “But I’m far from satisfied about where we are.”

When news of his death broke, remembrances poured in from figures across the political spectrum — an increasingly rare sight. Republican Senator Thom Tillis called him “one of the most consequential public servants in North Carolina’s history.” Senate Democrat Sydney Batch described him as an example of compassionate, forward-thinking leadership whose decisions left a permanent mark.

Glancing at the state Jim Hunt leaves behind, it’s impossible not to feel the imprint he made. The “School for Science and Math,” his brainchild, now routinely sends graduates into elite universities and groundbreaking research fields. The biotech investments he championed helped shift North Carolina’s reputation from textile and tobacco dependency to the frontlines of modern industry.

There are, of course, arguments about the complications of legacy and the possibility that not all of Hunt’s ambitious initiatives worked as planned. Perhaps that’s the truest measure of public service: the willingness to move boldly, knowing some efforts will bear fruit only years later, and others may miss the mark. Regardless, few who met him — or who passed through a North Carolina public school system after 1977 — would dispute the sense that Hunt changed the trajectory of thousands of lives, often in ways they might never know.

In a political moment obsessed with division, Hunt’s unusually broad chorus of mourners underlines something subtler. Statesmanship, as lived across decades, sometimes looks less like a headline and more like the sturdy, sometimes invisible, scaffolding that holds a community together. As North Carolina turns the page, it does so with the memory of a governor whose vision remains woven through everyday life and whose relentless optimism might, with luck, inspire one more generation.

The news arrived on an ordinary Thursday, quietly at first: Jim Hunt, North Carolina’s longest-serving governor and a man synonymous with generational change, had died at 88. His daughter, Rachel Hunt — herself now the state’s lieutenant governor — broke the story with a message that carried weight and intimacy: “It is with deep sadness that I share the passing of my beloved daddy and hero.” It struck a note of both personal grief and public history.Hunt’s passing does more than mark the end of a political life; it closes an era that helped remake North Carolina’s landscape, sometimes with fanfare, sometimes in quiet reforms that outlived headlines. Measuring his impact isn’t easy — narratives rarely are — but one can hardly walk into a North Carolina classroom or drive past a high-tech business park without catching traces of his influence.If you talk to those who worked with or against him, there’s a consensus that feels almost out-of-place in today’s hyper-partisan climate. Democratic Governor Josh Stein eventually called him a visionary for “founding Smart Start, raising teacher pay, and protecting air quality.” Meanwhile, Pat McCrory, a Republican and former governor, simply called Hunt “the greatest salesperson ever for our state.” One suspects if you pressed either for details, they could recount a whole evening’s worth of stories.It’s biography worth retelling, and maybe lingering over. Born in Greensboro, Hunt grew up tending a family farm, gaining firsthand wisdom about hard work, rural grit, and the unpredictability of weather, economics, and human nature. After finishing law school — and a detour working in Nepal, of all places — he entered state politics before most people settle on a mortgage. By age 35, he was already lieutenant governor.Then came four gubernatorial terms, but not consecutively — a legal twist allowed him to return after a hiatus, a testament to his enduring appeal. Hunt’s years in office were transformative for public education. Full-day kindergarten — now so standard as to seem unremarkable — spread statewide under his watch. The “Smart Start” program, focused on early childhood learning and health, has repeatedly been cited as a model for the nation, not just the region. Surveys show that teacher pay, during his peak influence, actually surpassed the national average — a detail still mentioned in union meetings and campaign trails long after he left office.Yet, his distinctiveness wasn’t solely in programs or numbers. Gary Pearce, a veteran staffer, recalls those late-night phone calls Hunt was famous for — sometimes to persuade a legislator, sometimes just to insist on one more project pitch nobody saw coming. “He really had a way of pushing you to do things you never thought you could do,” Pearce said. That relentless, sometimes exhausting optimism, became part of North Carolina’s political DNA.His reputation for creative persuasion was perhaps only rivaled by bursts of moral boldness. In his first term, Hunt commuted the contentious sentences of the “Wilmington 10” after new revelations in the case. Many around him worried about backlash; Hunt, by most accounts, never wavered once he made up his mind. The act didn’t please everyone, but it forcibly reminded partners and rivals that Hunt’s pragmatism had limits — he wanted to land on the right side of history, even if it meant some bruises along the way.After losing a high-profile Senate race against Jesse Helms — a bruising chapter that could have closed the book for many — Hunt didn’t disappear into quiet retirement. Instead, he returned to the governor’s mansion in the 1990s and helped stall what would soon become a Republican wave. He seemed to understand timing almost as well as he understood policy.Even years after stepping down, Hunt remained impossible to ignore. He founded the Hunt Institute at UNC Chapel Hill, intent on shaping the next generation of educational leaders. Whenever state lawmakers floated the idea of slashing education budgets, Hunt would speak up, reminding new faces at the legislature how easily decades of progress could unravel. “I’m proud of what we’ve done together,” he told the public in 2017. “But I’m far from satisfied about where we are.”When news of his death broke, remembrances poured in from figures across the political spectrum — an increasingly rare sight. Republican Senator Thom Tillis called him “one of the most consequential public servants in North Carolina’s history.” Senate Democrat Sydney Batch described him as an example of compassionate, forward-thinking leadership whose decisions left a permanent mark.Glancing at the state Jim Hunt leaves behind, it’s impossible not to feel the imprint he made. The “School for Science and Math,” his brainchild, now routinely sends graduates into elite universities and groundbreaking research fields. The biotech investments he championed helped shift North Carolina’s reputation from textile and tobacco dependency to the frontlines of modern industry.There are, of course, arguments about the complications of legacy and the possibility that not all of Hunt’s ambitious initiatives worked as planned. Perhaps that’s the truest measure of public service: the willingness to move boldly, knowing some efforts will bear fruit only years later, and others may miss the mark. Regardless, few who met him — or who passed through a North Carolina public school system after 1977 — would dispute the sense that Hunt changed the trajectory of thousands of lives, often in ways they might never know.In a political moment obsessed with division, Hunt’s unusually broad chorus of mourners underlines something subtler. Statesmanship, as lived across decades, sometimes looks less like a headline and more like the sturdy, sometimes invisible, scaffolding that holds a community together. As North Carolina turns the page, it does so with the memory of a governor whose vision remains woven through everyday life and whose relentless optimism might, with luck, inspire one more generation.