The 9/11 Dogs: The heroes who searched for survivors at Ground Zero (HarperTrue Friend – A Short Read)

by George, Isabel

  As the first five delegates made their way across the Plaza, Michael and David decided there was just enough time to enjoy another cup of coffee before the meeting and greeting began. They smiled as Roselle sighed, stretched her legs and relaxed her body to fill the space left for her under the desk. David, who was very fond of Roselle, told her how lucky he thought she was: ‘What a lovely life you have, girl. No wonder you are so totally laid-back!’ As he spoke David stretched out his hand to stroke the dog’s head. Her eyes closed under his touch.

  8.46 a.m.: Reaching over the printer for stationery, Michael heard a muffled thud. He didn’t think much of it. It was an unusual noise and one his mind couldn’t place, but that happened all the time. ‘Suddenly the building toppled sideways, right under my feet. The movement shifted me twenty feet across the room and I heard David call out, “My God!” Clearly he didn’t know what was going on but I had to ask him: “What happened there?” I was a blind man asking a sighted man for a view of the world outside the window on the south side of the Tower. Talking out loud he said there was nothing unusual on the skyline. Everything, he said, looked normal.’

  As the shifting subsided and levelled out, a loud creaking noise filled the room. Growing up in California, Michael had learnt from an early age that the safest place to stand during an earthquake was in a doorway with the protection of the lintel overhead. There was no better advice to follow right then as the Tower’s skeleton heaved and swayed beneath them. The eerie creaking of the metal expansion joints as they stretched like giant springs left everyone suspended in fear.

  Michael’s immediate concern was for Roselle, and he called to David to check that she was still under the desk. He was reassured that she was fine and in that moment Michael felt his own anxiety fall away. It had become the way of their partnership that Michael would take his lead from Roselle: if she was calm then he could allow himself to be calm too.

  Suddenly, from somewhere out of the confusion, a decision was taken by someone to evacuate the entire floor. For a few seconds the buzz of computers being powered down challenged the creaking coming from the walls. People were picking up their bags and briefcases – Michael included, although he decided to leave his heavy laptop. After all, there was no reason to believe they would not be back in the office a little later on, and the laptop would be sitting there waiting for him. He called his wife Karen to tell her they had been ordered to leave the building but were not sure why, and he would be in touch once he reached the ground floor. Roselle, now Michael’s close and constant shadow, was unfazed by the semi-panic around her. She saw Michael pick up his briefcase and that was enough to tell her they were going to be leaving the office early today.

  ‘My friend, the Tower is tilting badly. It feels like it’s going to fall into the street!’ David yelled out as the screech of stretching metal grew louder and louder. The building was working hard to follow its in-built safety system and was fighting to correct itself. Like a prize fighter recovering from an enormous blow to his gut, the Tower was now pulling back and pushing up to its vertical position.

  ‘Heel!’ Michael called to Roselle, just to make sure she was with him. She responded immediately and was at his side in a second. Then, without warning, the floor dropped six feet as the building’s expansion joints battled to do their job. Michael heard voices turn to screams.

  ‘Oh my God, we’ve got to get out of here,’ said David, reaching for Michael, who already had Roselle in harness. ‘I’m looking out of the window and there’s fire and office papers burning as they drift in the air. What the hell is going on? We need to get out of here. Let’s go, my friend. Now!’

  American Airlines flight 11 from Boston’s Logan International Airport hit the north facade of the North Tower at over 400 miles an hour, slicing through the building just fifteen floors above where Roselle was now leading Michael to the stairwell. David’s instinct was to take the elevator, but something was telling Michael and urging Roselle to take the stairs. As the lights flickered overhead they felt the overpowering warmth in the walls and breathed in the hot stench that was creeping around them. The smell was odd but at the same time familiar. Michael knew he had smelled it before and searched his memory for the connection, looking for a clue to what was going on. Jet fuel. He recalled the smell from his many visits to airports all over the world, but why was there jet fuel in a skyscraper? What the hell?

  There was no way Michael and his colleagues could see the ghostly carcass of the Boeing 767 airliner embedded in the opposite side of the building. For Michael and Roselle the journey through fear was about to begin in earnest.

  Roselle was still calm. Her entire body was receptive to Michael’s grip on her harness and, although she heard the screams and the raised and anxious voices echoing up and down the stairwell, her sense of calm transferred to her master. Two more floors down and the smell of kerosene was getting stronger. People were talking and reaching the conclusion that whatever was going on involved an aeroplane. Eight, ten floors down and the stairwell was getting crowded. ‘Roselle … Hey, girl … You OK down there? We’ll be home soon. Don’t you worry …’ Michael attempted to comfort his dog and himself, into the bargain.

  Despite the heave of people now using the stairs to get down and out to safety, Roselle remained calm and took this in her stride. As the panic and uncertainty rose and fell in the voices around them, Michael heard people talking to Roselle. He knew they would be stroking her and feeling for the comfort of her warm coat and her breath on their hands. He could feel fear, too, but right now Roselle’s safety was his focus.

  Suddenly a woman appeared out of the swell of grey smoke that was beginning to linger and fill their space. ‘Burns victim coming through! Burns victim coming through!’ The call made everyone push aside for the group carrying their injured colleague. The woman was very badly burnt. The skin on her upper body had virtually melted away from the bones. Michael felt the panic rise in the people around him. The sight of this woman stopped his colleagues in their tracks, and their gasps and tears did nothing to ease Michael’s growing anxiety.

  Dropping on the stairs, a woman gave in to her fear. ‘I can’t go on. I can’t breathe,’ she said as the burns victim was carried past her. ‘Oh my God, my God, I can’t do this.’ In seconds the woman was surrounded by her colleagues, all encouraging her to get up and let them help her out of the building.

  ‘We were suddenly faced with clear evidence that something very bad had happened and until then our confusion had sheltered us from it,’ recalled Michael. ‘What happened next was pure Roselle. I did not prompt her to do anything. She just sensed she was needed in a way that wasn’t anything to do with being a guide dog.’ Hearing the distress, Roselle stepped forward into the frightened woman’s path. In an instant the woman had her arms around the dog’s neck and Roselle’s thick golden coat was soaking up the tears of fear that the woman could no longer hold back. The group took a moment to hug each other and at the centre of it all sat Roselle. The feeling of panic was now firmly in place, and as if being chased by a monster that was rapidly gaining ground on them, the group resumed their descent.

  Thanks to Roselle’s secret, silent canine brand of comfort, the group found themselves bonded in crisis and in their fight for survival. Giving himself the job of forward scout, David moved ahead of the group, taking a floor at a time and reporting back. Just as he became their voice in the dark, Roselle became their constant comforter.

  9.15 a.m., Floor 30: ‘Hop up, Roselle,’ said Michael, encouraging his dog to pick up the pace, but he should have known that she instinctively knew the right pace on the stairs. Deferring to her skill and judgement, Michael allowed his guide dog to take the lead. ‘I could sense that we still had some lights on the stairs, but then I realised that if they failed then we would all be blind. I wanted to lighten the atmosphere and say, “I’m a blind man and today we’re offering a half-price special to get you out of here!” I was even thinking that when we got out of h
ere we could arrange a reunion on the 78th floor at 8.45 a.m. the following morning and we could all celebrate. It was a bizarre thought, but nothing could be more bizarre than the situation we were in. We were running from an unknown enemy. Running as if our lives depended on it, and very soon we realised that they did.’

  Final Expression of Unconditional Love

  Roselle and Michael led the way, and as they rounded a crook in the stairs a shape in yellow and black loomed out of the grey. Fire fighters met them head-on. ‘You OK, sir?’ one asked, breathing heavily from the climb and the burden of the equipment he was carrying, which must have weighed at least 100 pounds. ‘I’ll escort you down the rest of the way.’ Michael knew he didn’t need the help. He knew that as long as he had Roselle at his side he would be fine. ‘I told the guys there were people around me that were far more in need of help,’ said Michael. ‘I see blindness as a nuisance to me, not a disability, and a guide dog is not a given sign of vulnerability. For me, right there and then, Roselle was my strength, and more than that she was becoming a growing strength to others too. I wanted these brave guys to keep going and help those who really needed it. I know they didn’t believe me, but I was fine. I had faith in my dog. Perhaps more faith than I had ever had in anything before in my life.’

  All this happened in seconds. There was no time to stand and debate. If a blind man didn’t need help it was time to move on. ‘I remember one of the fire fighters stopped for a moment and he looked into Roselle’s eyes, knelt down and touched her face. She licked his hand. The deal was done. The fire fighter left us knowing that Roselle would take care of me. I was not alone. The moment when the uniformed giant passed me on his way up the stairs has haunted me ever since. Later, when the scale of the event became clear, I could not help thinking that Roselle’s friendly lick could have been the last expression of unconditional love that man would feel in his life.’

  The lobby was like a lake. There was water everywhere at the bottom of the stairs, where it was running in torrents from the sprinklers. It flowed down the escalators, forming pools where abandoned shoes floated around; their owners had long since passed by. Roselle stepped, belly deep, into the water to celebrate being free of the stifling heat and the close confines of the stairwell, before tagging onto the others being ushered out of the lobby space. Roselle wanted to get Michael outside, but she had to resist a natural urge to pull – her training would not allow her to do that, even though she was desperate to feel fresh air on her face.

  Her training constantly battling her instincts, Roselle guided Michael through to the World Trade Center shopping mall. Beyond that lay the outside world. It was hard on David, who could see the scene of dread confusion ahead: people running, others standing and staring up at the sky, fire rigs and other emergency-service vehicles scattered all over, and men on mobiles and hand-held radios directing people in the street.

  9.40 a.m.: They had made it out and away from the North Tower, but David’s sighted view of the world revealed a new fear. He looked around. ‘My God, Michael,’ he said. ‘The South Tower is on fire.’

  Michael looked down to speak to Roselle: ‘OK … I’m in your hands now, girl. Get me out of here.’

  Roselle, Michael and David hurried away, at first with David still half looking at the scene of devastation. On the west side of Broadway, Michael wanted to stop and call Karen. He’d promised her he would call her as soon as he knew more, and he needed to let her know that he was out of the Tower. Every call he made failed. The networks were jammed with the sheer volume of calls. It wasn’t until later that everyone realised the calls were being made by those still trapped in the buildings. The calls for help, calls to say ‘I love you’, ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘forgive me’, and calls to say a final ‘goodbye’ streamed through the networks. As Michael struggled with the frustration of not being able to reach his wife, Roselle trotted alongside him, eager to get her master clear of the dangers. The air was thick with the smell of jet fuel, and acrid smoke was choking everyone in its path.

  The South Tower stood a mere 100 yards away from where Michael, Roselle and David were heading away a block at a time. Fingers of fire reached down the Tower’s glass flanks as waves of office papers drifted from the gaping hole in its side and down through the smoke to the streets below. David couldn’t help halting to take in the gruesomely mesmerising scene around them, but he quickly picked up on Roselle’s need to keep moving. She had led the way for the past hour and was showing no sign of stopping. ‘You know, looking back, I can see that Roselle had one aim in her life from the moment she left the North Tower,’ recalls Michael. ‘She was going to get me home.’

  Roselle sped along the sidewalks with Michael at her side. Once David had caught up with them again he quickly described what was going on around them. There was danger in every direction, so Michael chose his path – to carry on following Roselle’s lead. ‘Roselle, we have to keep going. I’m sure God would not want to save us from one building only to have us killed by another one falling on us. We can do this, girl. I know you can do this with me. David, what’s that noise? Surely it wasn’t a thunderstorm?’

  The distant rumble was not a thunderstorm. It was the shifting of the South Tower. Roselle had picked up the sound several seconds before anyone around her had felt the ground shake. ‘Go right, go right!’ David yelled, trying to protect them from behind and be heard above the tremendous roar that was growing louder and louder. Closer and closer. Roselle knew which way to go. She didn’t need anyone to tell her, and Michael knew to follow her without question. Within minutes the deafening roar turned to a moment’s silence before the crashing descent of the Tower sent a thick cloud of choking dust into the air.

  Whatever they were running from, Michael guessed that it had caught up with them as Roselle veered off the street – and then suddenly stopped, stock still. To the blind man it felt as if they had stepped into a pit of human chaos, but no matter how much he tried to urge her on, Roselle refused to budge an inch. ‘Please, help me!’ a woman called out. ‘I’m blind and afraid. There’s dust in my eyes.’ She was lying on the ground, her arms thrown over Roselle. A passer-by took Michael’s arm and explained that his dog had stopped at the top of a steep flight of steps leading down to the subway. One more step and the woman, Michael and Roselle would have fallen. ‘I realised that my guide dog had not only saved my life but saved another’s too. I had to wonder’, said Michael, ‘if this dog was not just sent to lead me but to watch over me too. If not, then we both had a guardian angel.’

  9.59 a.m.: The South Tower collapsed just fifty-six minutes after United Airlines flight 175 crashed into its southern face. The building that had formed part of the tallest man-made structure in the world when it was constructed was now a pile of rubble, shattered glass and melting metal. Covered in grey ash and splinters of debris, Roselle sat with Michael in the relative safety of the subway. Just a block away another guide dog, Salty, was leading his master, Omar Rivera, through the streets of Manhattan towards home.

  Salty, My Friend and My Hero

  8.15a.m.: Salty’s day had begun earlier than normal too. Omar Rivera worked for the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, based in offices on the 71st floor of the North Tower. On a normal morning Omar and his guide dog would not have arrived much before 9 a.m., but on this particular day Omar was able to get a lift with a colleague, and Salty was quite happy to be there early to enjoy all the usual attention from the women in the office. Then he heard it – the voice he loved second best to his master’s. It was Donna. Whenever Salty heard this voice he knew that he was in for a treat. ‘Hi, Salty, you’re in early today. Couldn’t you sleep? What a good boy. Here’s your breakfast treat. Don’t tell Omar – I don’t have a treat for him! See you later.’

  Sitting at his desk with Salty settled underneath it in his basket, Omar was able to make a start on his work. The quiet in the office was just what he needed, but moments later all hell broke loose. ‘There was an incred
ible bang. The floor moved and sent me flying out of my chair, and as my hands lifted from my desk I heard my computer crash to the floor. The voices in the office grew louder and there was screaming all around me, and although I could hear the noise I could not hear what they were saying. And strangely, out of the deafening sound, I could still hear a flutter of papers and office furniture crashing around.’

  Salty was first on his feet. Omar reached down – although he could sense that Salty was there, he needed to feel his guide dog’s soft, warm coat in his hands, just to be sure. Putting out his hand he found the spiky hair on top of the big yellow Labrador’s head and, reaching down further, he sunk both hands into the dog’s thick fur and received a much-needed ‘kiss’ from his patient friend. ‘Just knowing he was there meant my dark world was intact – for now, at least – and I took a moment to steady myself. I felt the intense heat on my skin and breathed in the strong smell of aviation fuel. I said my prayers and knew we had to get out, but Salty was already urging me to start walking.’

  Salty was leading Omar towards the stairs where his colleagues were already crowding to get through the door and down to ground level. Omar could feel the heave of people around him, then, out of the push and shove, he felt a hand on his arm. It was his friend Donna, who had been frantic to find them. ‘Thank God I’ve found you, Omar. I was so worried about you both. I will stay with you now.’

  Salty reached the stairs. The space was crowded with screaming people choking on smoke. Underfoot, shards of glass and lumps of debris made each step into the gloom a painful leap of faith. ‘Salty, are you OK?’ Omar was worried about the glass that must have been digging into the dog’s paws, and he wanted someone to check if Salty’s eyes were streaming from the sting of the kerosene fumes circulating in the stairwell. Even if Salty was suffering any of these effects, he didn’t complain – or about the water from the sprinklers, which was sloshing around his feet.