Trust in the Fire: The Harrowing Escape of Michael Hingson and His Guide Dog Roselle on 9/11
On the morning of September 11, 2001, Michael Hingson arrived at his office on the 78th floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center, ready for a routine day of work. Blind since birth, Hingson had long relied on his guide dog Roselle, a calm and intelligent yellow Labrador Retriever, to navigate the world. That day, Roselle would do far more than guide him through hallways—she would lead him through fire, chaos, and the heart of one of the most devastating events in American history.
A Normal Morning Turns to Horror
Michael and Roselle had started their day early, traveling from New Jersey to Manhattan for a breakfast meeting. As regional sales manager for Quantum/ATL, a data-protection firm, Hingson was preparing the conference room when, at 8:46 a.m., American Airlines Flight 11 struck the tower just 18 floors above him.
The building shuddered violently. Papers flew, windows cracked, and the air filled with the acrid scent of jet fuel. Michael’s colleague David Frank, who could see the flames and debris outside, began to panic. “We gotta get out of here right now!” he shouted. But Michael, unable to see the destruction, turned to Roselle. She had been napping under his desk and now stood calmly, alert but not afraid.
That moment was pivotal. Hingson had learned to trust Roselle’s instincts. Her calm demeanor told him they had time to evacuate safely. If she had sensed imminent danger, she would have reacted. Instead, she waited for his command.
The Descent Begins
Michael quickly called his wife, Karen, to let her know he was evacuating. Then, with Roselle at his side and Frank helping guide others, they began the descent—78 floors, over 1,460 steps, through smoke, heat, and uncertainty.
The stairwell was crowded. People were crying, coughing, praying. Some were burned, others injured. One woman collapsed, convinced they wouldn’t make it out alive. Michael and a small group stopped to comfort her. They hugged her, encouraged her, and Roselle gently licked her face. “Roselle gave her kisses,” Michael later recalled. “Roselle was really good at that”.
As they descended, firefighters passed them going up. Michael remembers the sound of their gear, the determination in their voices. He would later learn that many of those brave souls never made it back down.
A Symphony of Trust
Throughout the descent, Roselle remained focused. She ignored the chaos around her, responding only to Michael’s commands. Her training and temperament were extraordinary, but it was their bond—built on years of trust—that made their escape possible.
Michael couldn’t see the flames or the falling debris. He couldn’t read signs or follow visual cues. But he could feel Roselle’s movements, hear her breathing, and sense her confidence. She was his compass in a world turned upside down.
When they finally reached the lobby, it was a scene of devastation. Glass shattered, alarms blared, and smoke hung thick in the air. As they exited the building, Tower Two collapsed behind them. “It sounded like a metal and concrete waterfall,” Michael said.
Roselle led him to a subway entrance for shelter. They emerged blocks away, covered in ash, shaken but alive. She then guided him 40 blocks to a friend’s apartment, navigating the chaos of a city in shock.
Aftermath and Legacy
In the days following the attacks, Michael and Roselle became symbols of hope. Their story was shared on national television, in newspapers, and across the internet. People were drawn to the image of a blind man and his loyal dog escaping the inferno together—a testament to courage, trust, and the quiet heroism of service animals.
Michael later wrote a memoir titled Thunder Dog: The Story of a Blind Man, a Guide Dog, and the Triumph of Trust at Ground Zero, chronicling their experience and the lessons he learned. He became a public speaker, advocating for disability inclusion, leadership, and the importance of accessibility.
Roselle received the American Kennel Club’s Award for Canine Excellence in 2002. She passed away in 2011 at the age of 14, with Michael and Karen by her side. In her honor, they founded Roselle’s Dream Foundation, a nonprofit that helps blind children and adults access technology and resources to navigate the world.
More Than a Survival Story
Michael and Roselle’s escape is not just a tale of survival—it’s a story of partnership. It challenges assumptions about disability, showing that blindness does not mean helplessness. It highlights the extraordinary capabilities of guide dogs, not just as tools, but as companions, protectors, and friends.
It also reminds us of the human spirit. In the face of terror, Michael chose calm. He chose trust. He chose to lead others, even when he couldn’t see the path. And Roselle, with her steady paws and gentle heart, walked beside him every step of the way.
Final Reflections
As the world remembers 9/11, stories like Michael and Roselle’s offer a glimmer of light in the darkness. They show us that heroism isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s a quiet dog waiting under a desk. Sometimes, it’s a man choosing hope over fear.
Their journey down 78 floors was a descent into chaos—but also a climb toward something greater: resilience, compassion, and the enduring power of trust.
Would you like a fictionalized retelling from Roselle’s point of view or a tribute poem to their bond? I’d be honored to craft it with you.
