President Donald Trump had seemingly just arrived at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, and the military color guard could not have been out of the room for more than a few minutes, when what sounded like five shots rang out from just behind the door closest to the table assigned to my two colleagues and me.
“Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop,” the jarring sounds rang out in rapid succession. Many attendees thought a server had dropped a tray behind closed doors. For some reason, I knew better. I do not know why I recognized the sound as gunshots, but I did. Not that I needed confirmation to believe my ears, but as I turned to look in the direction of the rapid-fire sounds, I saw something I had never witnessed in 10 years of covering the President of the United States: Secret Service agents rushing through the room with their service weapons drawn.
Plainclothes protective agents are a near-constant presence for anyone covering the president or other top officials. They always wear a lapel pin identifying them, and their suit jackets are cut generously to conceal holsters and extra magazines on their belts. They stand with hands usually clasped in a ready position, never in their pockets. In the decade since I started on the White House beat, I had never seen any of them reach for their weapons, let alone unholster them. Until now.
As people began screaming, pulling at each other’s clothes, and urging everyone to “GET DOWN, GET DOWN!” under the tables, security personnel slammed the doors to Washington’s largest ballroom. More noise came from behind the door, then silence. Perhaps because my table was behind me when I looked at the door, or maybe I was too stubborn to heed warnings to take cover, my brain did not process protecting myself at that moment.
I remained sitting, turning my head to the right to see Trump and others at the dais being hustled out of the room. Then, as people remained sheltered, I saw a line of uniformed and other law enforcement officers, guns drawn, make their way from a side door into the center of the ballroom. Quickly, dignitaries including most of the president’s cabinet were ushered out under guard.
FBI Director Kash Patel had been seated at a nearby table with reporters and editors from the Daily Mail. I had arrived at the dinner at the same time as Patel and watched just a single agent trail him to his table. He and others, including Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, paused at the back of the ballroom as if unsure where to go. Eventually, they left under armed escort. The doors slammed.
For the next hour, the room of nearly 1,000 reporters, saddled with terrible wifi and hardly any mobile service, tried to do what we all do daily: report. It was difficult without much new information, though some managed to reach sources. Eventually, we were told that protocol required the dinner to be canceled. Trump and the reporters who had been trailing him as the protective pool returned to the White House, where he prepared to give a press conference. We were told Trump wanted to return and continue the dinner and awards ceremony, but security concerns rightfully overruled that desire. He promised a return for the event “in the next 30 days.” As Trump frequently says, “we’ll see what happens.”
