Back in 1989, when Rep. Tom Foley was about to become Speaker of the House, my colleague Dan Pelle and I went back to Washington, D.C., to profile the congressman.

One morning, when were about to leave our hotel and head over to the U.S. Capitol, I was looking at some papers as I headed to the elevators. I managed to walk into the corner of a couple of walls. I butted it hard enough to open up a small gash on my forehead right at the hairline.

There was enough blood that I had to summon Dan from the lobby and change my clothes.

A bit later, when Foley studied the band-aids Dan had applied to my forehead, he winced and said something about how it must really smart. I can't remember what I said. I assume I hurried to change the subject.

For many years, I would see a little scar in the mirror and remember spending a couple of days with the congressman. Triggered all sorts of memories.

Soon after hearing the news of his passing this morning, I found myself in the newsroom men's room. I leaned over the sinks and tried hard to find my Tom Foley scar in the mirror.

But it's gone, too.

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