Critics say his vision of the world dates from a simpler, more rural age in a state that has grown more diverse and complex. Kilgore suggests that his straightforward stands are a strength.
"People never have to wonder where I'm going to stand on an issue," he said. "I pretty much stick. I'm very predictable. I think people find comfort in that type of leadership. Predictability. I'm predictable."
In this corner of the state, few young people grow up with grand dreams. The Kilgore brothers did. Now 44, they speak by phone two or three times a day. Their lives and careers have been so intertwined that people often speak of them as one.
Kilgores have lived in the Gate City area for generations. The Methodist church they attend has mostly Kilgores sitting in the seven rows of pews. The small town's five-block downtown has one traffic light. Its biggest claim to fame dates from the 18th century, when Daniel Boone headed west through Big Moccasin Gap.
John and Willie Mae Kilgore raised their three sons in a white frame farmhouse on a 70-acre tobacco and cattle farm. John worked as a carpenter and iron welder at an Eastman Kodak Co. plant just over the mountain in Tennessee. His wife was a drugstore clerk who joined the police force in 1974 when the town wanted to hire female officers.
The twins were born in 1961. Terry came first, followed by Jerry 10 minutes later. Terry and Jerry sounded like "good twin names," their father said, and they were given Gene and Walter as middle names after maternal uncles.
The brothers always embraced their identity as twins. "It's always been one of those things in my life, that I've never had a separate identity," Jerry Kilgore said.
Their grandfather never could tell them apart. All through high school, they dressed alike and cut their hair the same. Both were tackles on the high school football team, the Blue Devils; Terry's number was 76 and Jerry's was 77.
They got their first jobs together, working after school in a tobacco warehouse. They roomed together in a dorm while attending Clinch Valley College, now the University of Virginia's College at Wise; took many classes together; and played doubles on the college tennis team. When it came time for law school, they applied to the same six schools and chose William & Mary because "no one would ever call it cutthroat," Jerry said. They shared an apartment there.
They pulled their share of pranks, with Jerry sitting in for Terry in high school English and math class. Terry, in turn, posed as Jerry on a date with Marty Harless, daughter of the minister of Gate City's larger Methodist church. Terry says that when she began inching closer on the car seat, he decided the joke had gone far enough and confessed. She says she knew it was Terry from the beginning. Today, Marty and Jerry Kilgore have two children, Klarke, 12, and Kelsey, 9.
From early on, the brothers also shared a passion for law and politics.
Politics were standard dinner table conversation. Their father was active in local Republican circles and said he never thought of leaving the children at home. From the age of 10, they accompanied him to county meetings. By 15, Jerry was organizing his parents' precinct. By 18, he was a page at the state Republican convention.
