Ken Tomlinson, my old boss at the Broadcasting Board of Governors, gained more than a little notoriety in Washington thanks to the New York Times and Congressional Democrats and his small stable of Thoroughbred race horses. But I always think of him this time of year, and maybe enough time has passed that I can tell why.

Shortly before Christmas, 2003, I got a call a friend, a veterans activist from his time as an American POW in Vietnam. There was a shortage of telephone long-distance calling cards for military patients at the Walter Reed Army Hospital. This was a real crisis. He asked me to spread the word.

It was a Friday afternoon, and on my way out of the office I told Tomlinson about the call.

“Where’s the best place to buy telephone calling cards?” asked Tomlinson. We went in search an of office assistant who could find the answer to his question.

Tomlinson has a farm near Middleburg. He’s a big preservationist. He’s more contemptuous of the Republican politicians who he says enabled the permanent defacing of beautiful Loudon County than he is of the liberals who he says dominate public broadcasting.

But the next morning at 8 a.m. he was finding his way through a sprawling shopping complex near Dulles Airport looking for Sam’s Club. Inside, he asked a surprised clerk for a thousand dollars worth of telephone calling cards.

On Sunday he drove to Walter Reed where he located the small office that received donations. “I have some calling cards for your patients,” he told a young enlisted woman.

Not used to handling such a donation, she explained he would have to wait for a receipt.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Just say anonymous.”

Tomlinson walked around the hospital for the next hour, thanking patients for their service.