Reporter Reflects on Humbling Tumble at the Capitol

They often want to know if I felt anything. “Across your foot? Your shin?” My shin? That’s a little too specific.

“Yeah. Your ankle. Did you feel it?” Not really. But they ask again before I can answer.

“What was it like?” they probe. “Or did you just fall?” Then the speculation begins; perhaps I’m a bit clumsy.

Clumsy? I wouldn’t say so.

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Sure, I can tumble like anyone else. I exercise regularly. I’ve had a couple of spills during early morning runs in Alexandria, VA. You know, those moments when a sidewalk catches you off guard. I used to ski and have practiced martial arts, holding a second-degree black belt.

Clumsy? Nope, not me.

“But, what do you think it was?” they follow up. Well, I have some thoughts.

I was feeling a bit tired that day. I noticed a slight edge on the small staircase near the Memorial Door of the U.S. Capitol that I might have caught with my brown loafers.

I remember those shoes clearly. Rubber soles with a slight scuff on the toes. Matched quite nicely with my crisp tan summer suit. Not quite an “Obama” tan suit, but still summer-appropriate. I felt rather dapper, especially for a hot July day covering Congress.

Was it my shoes? Maybe my fatigue? Or perhaps I was just in a hurry to get the story. I had spotted then-Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau along with his team making their way down a spiral staircase after a meeting with then-House Speaker Nancy Pelosi.

I intended to ask Trudeau a question.

No, it wasn’t really about Trudeau himself. Though I recall that old picture of him from when he was about 14 or 15, cheering for the Expos at Olympic Stadium in Montreal with his father, the legendary Pierre Trudeau.

Of course, the Expos no longer exist—having moved to Washington in 2005 and become the Nationals. Montreal hasn’t had a Major League Baseball team for quite some time.

What would Youppi! say about that?

Look him up, kids.

Back to my point; no, I didn’t feel anything across my shin or ankle. I was there on those steps in the U.S. Capitol because, well, I’m a baseball fan, and I discovered Trudeau watched those old Expos teams back in the ’80s. They had some great players like Andre Dawson and Warren Cromartie. While Trudeau was there for discussions with Pelosi, I was there hoping to chat about baseball.

It’s a bit ironic to ask a Canadian about America’s pastime.

But there was buzz that the Tampa Bay Rays might consider splitting their season between Florida and Montreal. Getting baseball back in Quebec would be huge—imagine if Trudeau had commented on it. It would have made headlines across the networks. Montreal might finally have a chance at baseball glory again.

But journalism can feel like baseball sometimes—a game of failures. If you do well three out of ten times, that’s considered a win.

The Difficulty of Asking the Right Questions

There are days when you simply don’t get the question out.

That day was one of those. On those steps, my questions about the Rays and Montreal were silenced—all because of whatever got me.

I found myself stepping toward Trudeau, mumbling about Tampa Bay—I went down.

Right there, in front of the Canadian Prime Minister, I fell on the hard marble of the Capitol.

As I sensed myself falling, I knew I couldn’t catch myself—holding a microphone in one hand. I was fairly confident that I’d injure myself if I tried. So I just fell.

Thanks to years of martial arts training, I knew how to roll and avoid serious injury.

I tumbled onto my right shoulder while facing Trudeau. My thinking was all over the place.

“Oh Chad! Oh Chad! Oh Chad!” my photographer shouted. “Chad!”

Trudeau paused momentarily. But as I jumped back up after my roll, I hoped he might mention baseball.

No such luck. Trudeau walked away.

“But what tripped you?” they asked. “Are you alright?”

Physically, I was fine. Mentally? A bit scrambled. I knew the Capitol pretty well after years of reporting. But I had a hunch about what—or maybe who—might have caused my fall.

Back in the late 1800s, Congressman William Taulbee didn’t see eye to eye with reporter Charles Kincaid. Taulbee often accused Kincaid of unfair reporting about his personal life.

Taulbee towered over Kincaid and, on occasion, lashed out physically at him.

Even after leaving office, Kincaid knew Taulbee would be at the Capitol. One day in February 1890, Kincaid showed up armed, and when he encountered Taulbee, he shot him in the eye.

The Congressman bled down the House’s staircase, and to this day, some of that blood can still be seen in the marble.

Taulbee’s spirit is believed to linger around the Capitol.

Sometimes, it feels like the spirit is unexpectedly tripping reporters on ornate staircases.

“What tripped you?” they wanted to know.

Before I could answer, they jumped to their own conclusions—“Was it a ghost?” they cheered as though they had solved some mystery.

I have my theories; you can draw your own conclusions.

But I wouldn’t want to trip you up.