John Randolph of Roanoke is one of my favorite stories. Not that I agreed with a lot of the legislation he was involved in—he often did things in accordance to the interests of southern planters (like arguing against the tariff of 1816 because he was afraid that it might lead to an ultimatum on slavery).
Still, I just can’t imagine what politics must have been like back then. Randolph brought dogs to Congress, drank heavily, used opium. He had an extremely squeaky voice; my history teacher calls him “squeakmeister Randolph” since he had issues during puberty. He hated Henry Clay. Apparently, he wanted to be buried facing west so he could “keep an eye” on the guy, not too unlike Jackson regretting his failure to shoot Clay; unsurprisingly, Jackson and Randolph got along well. In fact, Bill Kauffman accused the Tertium Quid of “[having] nurtured a crush on Andrew Jackson.”
He’s also supposedly “sooner duel you than look at you.” He must have been big into overcompensation.