Man’s best friend: The guide dog who led her owner to safety on 9/11

Michael Hingson, an office worker who has been blind since birth, saw nothing at all. Yet his escape down 1,463 stairs and 78 floors of the Trade Centre’s north tower, escorted only by a fearless guide dog who led dozens to safety minutes before the building collapsed, remains one of the most remarkable stories among so many from that terrible New York morning.

It is a tale of trust, teamwork and courage, and of a labrador retriever, then just three and a half years old, who was terrified of thunder yet managed to keep her calm and composure amid scenes of unthinkable chaos.

Much has changed for Hingson in the decade since. He now lives in California, has a different calling as a motivational speaker and works with a new guide dog called Africa. Roselle, the golden retriever who provided his “eyes” for almost eight years and was credited with helping save the lives of so many, died in June of illnesses related to a long-term immune system disorder.

But on the tenth anniversary of the attacks that changed the world, Hingson speaks as warmly as ever of his beloved companion and of the trust built between them that enabled them to beat the odds and survive the treacherous descent soon after an airliner slammed into the building just 18 floors above their heads.

“There were several moments when I didn’t know if I would survive,” Hingson says. “When the building tipped and I thought we were going to fall into the street, 78 stories below, I didn’t think I was going to make it.

“When tower two collapsed I thought I was going to be crushed by flying debris or the tower itself. And when the dust cloud swept over us, I felt sure I would drown. But I did not.

“Somewhere deep inside was a tiny fragment of faith that if Roselle and I worked together, we would be OK. And somehow we walked out of that cloud and survived. There are days I still can’t believe I’m alive.”

Hingson tells his extraordinary story in his book Thunder Dog, released to coincide with the anniversary but intended as more than just a chronicle of the events of that day.

The book, he says, is about “teamwork and trust” and overcoming obstacles, however large.

“What Thunder Dog tells you is that just because a person is blind, it doesn’t mean we can’t live, love and do the same things as everyone else does,” he says.

“The handicap I face is not that I don’t have eyesight, it comes from the attitude of people who think that blindness is the end of the world.”

At 8:46am on Sept 11, 2001, Hingson was preparing to host a sales meeting for clients at the offices of Quantum, a technology company offering data protection and storage services.

Roselle was sleeping under his desk when a massive boom above them shook the entire building, caused most of the ceiling to collapse and tilted the tower about 20ft to the side.

Hingson did not know then that the crash was caused by American Airlines Flight 11, hijacked shortly after take-off from Boston to Los Angeles and flown into the World Trade Centre by Mohammed Atta, the Egyptian leader of the terrorist gang that seized three other flights that day.

But he believed the tower was going to topple and that he was about to die. When the building stopped swaying, he and a colleague, David Frank, realised they needed to get out fast. After calling his wife Karen, Hingson picked up Roselle’s harness and spoke the familiar command “Forward”, signalling the start of a perilous journey down increasingly crowded stairwells.

Despite being unable to see, Hingson says he was better off than most, calmed by the composure of the dog at his side.

“When the debris began to fall and the flames leaped out of the floors above us, Roselle sat next to me as calm as ever,” he says. “She does not sense any danger in the flames, smoke or anything else that is going on around us. If she had sensed danger, she would have reacted differently.”

His other senses, he said, gave him clues as to the number of people also trying to find a way out ahead of him: the metal handrails that were cool to the touch on the higher floors were now warm and damp from hundreds of hands gripping it on the way down.

More evacuees joined the procession on each successive floor, many dropping in behind Hingson and Roselle, following the dog’s steady and secure pace. They were forced to stop often. Humour helped keep everyone calm amid a choking stench of jet fuel and feeling of impending doom as a second plane smashed into the South Tower just a couple of hundred yards away.

Hingson called out to his fellow escapees: “Don’t anybody worry. Roselle and I are giving a half-price special to get you out of here if the lights go out.”

There were tender moments, too. Firefighters were ascending the stairs, almost certainly on their way to their deaths. Several stopped to pet Roselle and one asked if he needed help.

“He gives Roselle one last pat,” Hingson recalls. “She kisses his hand, and then he is gone. I would realise later that this touch was probably the last unconditional love he ever got.”

Eventually Hingson and the others reached the ground floor, where one more obstacle awaited: a torrent of water from the sprinklers. But the feeling of the cold water was, he says, a welcome respite from the heat and fumes of the stairwell.

Still the ordeal was not over. Out on the street, they heard a police officer yell: “Get the hell out of here, it’s coming down,” and a deep rumble became a deafening roar as the south tower collapsed in little more than ten seconds. The resulting cloud of debris and dust was overwhelming; rocks, metal and glass pelting Hingson and Roselle as they ran for their lives.

Miraculously, they survived again, Hingson suffering minor facial injuries even as others perished around them.

Hingson, Frank and Roselle later made it to a friend’s apartment in midtown Manhattan, where they ate, freshened up and discussed their escape before saying tearful goodbyes and finally heading home to his home in Westfield, New Jersey.

In the days afterward he was caught in a maelstrom of media interest, retelling his story over and over. He said that talking it over helped him come to terms with the magnitude of what had happened, but more importantly gave him a new sense of direction about how he could turn the experience to good use.

Hingson went to work for Guide Dogs for the Blind in San Rafael, California, as a spokesman. Tom Horton, one of the charity’s directors, said: “Michael’s amazing story is one of the strongest possible examples of the independence we hope to create in a partnership between a guide dog and a blind or partially sighted person.

“The awareness that he created was extraordinary. In our history I don’t think we’ve ever had somebody with that kind of public profile putting us in the spotlight like that.”

Hingson says he misses Roselle, who was a much-loved family pet, from her retirement in 2007 until she was put to sleep earlier this year. Of the seven guide dogs he has had, Roselle was “unique”.

“She worked through the most trying time in our nation’s history, and she was right there, unflinching, for all of it,” he writes in a tribute on his website, michaelhingson.com

“Roselle is a hero in every sense of the word. She kept her cool, she did her job, she saved me, and I think so many other people, by her actions.”

lThunder Dog is published by Thomas Nelson, £14.99