I called him at the hospital last week to see how he was doing. He briefly shared his diagnosis, which was not good, and talked about getting his hands on a laptop so that he could resume emailing. I relayed the story of one of my relatives, who recently had a cancer scare but came through okay. “Would you mind if I said a prayer for her?” Jim asked. Of course not. So he did.

That was Jim: Dying of cancer in a hospital bed, way too young, and saying a prayer for someone else.

He was one of the sweetest guys I’ve known. He would come by the National Review office on Capitol Hill from time to time, just to say hello and often bearing gifts: a copy of Sports Illustrated with Steve Yzerman on the cover (for me), donuts (for all), etc. In our final conversation, he mentioned a book that he had promised to drop off last fall but never did, on account of the sickness that was beginning to overtake him. I never told him that I already owned a cheap copy, because he derived so much joy from the act of giving. I was looking forward to another visit, too. The books’s title now carries all sorts of unexpected meaning: How Few Remain.

For conservatives, Jim was an unsung hero. As executive director of English First, he focused relentlessly on protecting and defending our common language against the political and legal encroachments of multiculturalism. When it came to issues such as foreign-language voting ballots or the Clinton administration’s Executive Order 13166, nobody worked the Hill harder than Jim. He was a happy warrior who didn’t seem to mind the fact that most of official Washington was on the other side, eager to ignore him. He loved his faith, his family, and his country. We need more like him.

If you’re prayerful, say a prayer for Jim. He would have said one for you. Maybe he even did.