I've reported from the White House Correspondents' Association dinner more than a dozen times. I've chronicled the celebrity sightings, the presidential jokes, the after-parties. But until this year, I had never filed a story from underneath a white linen table at the Washington Hilton, clutching the carpet for balance in black satin heels.
This year, the annual black-tie gala turned into a scene of panic. What began with a spring pea and burrata salad ended with me crouched in the dark, phone in hand, peeking out from under the tablecloth as the room of more than 2,000 people fell silent.
Our table—number 224—was in the back of the ballroom, near a door leading to a staircase and the security area. I had joked to colleagues that at least we had a quick exit to the bathroom. That quip proved grimly prescient.
President Donald Trump, who had skipped the dinner during his first term, was attending for the first time as commander in chief. I was trying to snap grainy photos of him when WHCA President Weijia Jiang thanked him for being there. Then came the bangs—three or four loud pops from behind the door, just steps from our table.
My first thought was that a server had dropped a tray. But within seconds, men in suits burst through the doors shouting, “Move! Move!” I ran. With exits blocked and no clear path, I dove under the nearest table. The Hilton’s notoriously weak cell service left me in the dark, unable to reach editors or check the news.
When I finally dared to look out, other tuxedoed guests and ball-gowned women were emerging from their own hiding spots. But the relief was short-lived. A group of agents ran past with guns drawn, ducking into a kitchen door. I saw two servers with hands in the air as the agents swept through. FBI Director Kash Patel and his entourage were hurried out.
I scrambled back to table 224. Broken glass and shattered dishes littered the floor near us. We traded fragments of information as texts sporadically went through. Jiang took the stage and announced the dinner would be rescheduled. “Law enforcement has requested that we leave the premises,” she said.
As we filed out, a line of officers and agents blocked the metal detectors. In the surreal aftermath, I walked past Dana White snapping selfies with admirers. Outside, streets were blocked off. I walked block after block before finding an Uber.
“How was your night?” the driver asked. I started crying. “Could’ve been better,” I said. He told me the news said the dinner would be held another time. “Just remember,” he said, “the show must go on.”
For those who want to follow the aftermath, Trump released suspect images and praised the media and WHCA chief after the shooter disrupted the event. The incident has also sparked calls for a new White House ballroom.
