Thunder Dog (17 page)

What I Learned from Roselle on 9/11

1. There’s a time to work and a time to play. Know the difference. When the harness goes on, it’s time to work. Work hard; others are depending on you.

2. Focus in and use all of your senses. Learn to tell the difference between a harmless thunderstorm and a true emergency. Don’t let your sight get in the way of your vision.

3. Sometimes the way is hard, but if you work together, someone will pass along a water bottle just when you need it.

4. Always, but always, kiss firefighters.

5. Ignore distractions. There’s more to life than playing fetch or chasing tennis balls.

6. Listen carefully to those who are wiser and more experienced than you. They’ll help you find the way.

7. Don’t stop until work is over. Sometimes being a hero is just doing your job.

8. The dust cloud won’t last forever. Keep going and look for the way out. It will come.

9. Shake off the dust and move on. Remember the first guide dog command? “Forward.”

10. When work is over, play hard with your friends. And don’t forget to share your Booda Bone.

God does not present insurmountable problems.
Instead, he gives us challenges, waits for
us to overcome them, and then rejoices.
MICHAEL HINGSON

T
here were several moments on September 11 when I didn’t know if I would survive. When the building tipped and I thought we were going to fall to the street, seventy-eight stories below, I didn’t think I was going to make it. When Tower 2 collapsed, I thought I was going to be crushed by flying debris or by 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 okay. And somehow we walked out of that cloud and survived. There are days I still can’t believe I’m alive.

I walked away from Ground Zero a much different man from the one who unlocked the office door that morning. I survived, and I’m okay, but I’ve changed. I don’t think there is one person who witnessed the events of 9/11 who wasn’t changed. There are those who have lost hope, who have grown bitter, angry, intolerant, and hateful. I am not one of those people. I still believe in dreams. I still think that if we work together, things will turn out all right. I still feel that if we each treat each other with kindness, dignity, and respect, we will live happily ever after. I have hope.

Not long ago, I was in line to go through security at the airport in Oakland, California. As soon as I got in line, another passenger said, “We’re going to lift the rope and let you go up to the front of the line.”

“Why would I want to do that?” I said.

“Well, it’s going to be easier for you.”

“What could be easier than standing in line? I do it every week. Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, it’s easier on your dog.”

“No, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

As we inched forward, three other people tried to move me up to the front of the line. They were insistent, and before long they became so angry when I chose to stay in place that I was convinced we might come to fisticuffs.

I know they had the best of intentions. I know they were only trying to help. But I didn’t need to go to the front of the line just because I am blind. I want to stand in line. I want to move forward like everyone else. I don’t want to be set apart. I want to interact with people, talk to people, and be with people.

I look forward to the day that I can go to the airport, stand in line, and not receive grief.

I look forward to the day when I want to cut in line and someone says, “Well, who made
you
king?”

I look forward to the day when blind people will be treated as equals in society, when we are truly accepted as first-class citizens.

Since 9/11 I’ve been asked to talk about what happened to me that day, and I made the decision to speak about it for three reasons. First, if it would help people better understand blindness and the fact that the handicap is not being blind but rather the attitudes and misconceptions people have about blindness, then it would be worth it.

Second, if it would help people understand how the guide dog relationship works, it would be worth it.

And third, if it would help people move on from 9/11 and discover some of the important lessons to be learned, then it’s worth it.

Several years ago, I flew to New Zealand to tell my story. My second week down there, I spoke to a group of students in South Island who were active in the Royal Foundation of the Blind. After I spoke, one of them shared this story. He and a group of blind friends had recently gone on an adventure expedition. At the end of their trip, they had been sitting around a campfire when their guide got up and said, “I have to tell you a story. Before we left, I was going to call your leaders and tell them the trip was off because I did not think there was any way I could guide a bunch of blind people without someone getting killed. There was no way blind people could do river rafting and rock climbing. But then I watched a television interview of this blind bloke who survived 9/11 and came over here to show us what blind people can do. It changed my mind. I’ve had the best day of my life. I’ll guide you guys anytime.”

If this was the only thing this “blind bloke” ever accomplished by telling my story, it would be worth it. It’s all worth it.

Later that year I spoke at Temple University, and a woman came up to me. She had a friend who perished in the attack on the Pentagon, and she was devastated, stuck, unable to talk about the tragedy. “I have had a hard time dealing with the loss of my best friend,” she said. “But listening to your story and hearing what you learned and how you survived has helped me. You are right. We need to continue to dream, and we need to learn how to work with each other, and I’m going to do it. I can talk about it now, and I’m going to move on.”

We can’t let fear paralyze us. We must carry on. The best way we can honor those we lost in the fires of September 11 is by moving forward and building a better society through trust and teamwork. We can make it happen.

We need to dream, to dare, and to do. I lived a nightmare at Ground Zero, but even a nightmare can turn into a happy ending if we refuse to give in to fear. Out of the ashes and rubble of 9/11, we can create building blocks for the future. Don’t let your sight get in the way of your vision. Join Roselle, Karen, and me. Let’s shake off the dust and move on.

Forward.

M
ICHAEL
H
INGSON
: So many people, blind and sighted alike, went into making this book possible through their involvement with my life that it is hard to know where to begin to name them all. While many of them are mentioned throughout the book, some deserve special attention.

First Susy Flory, my author colleague, has spent countless hours in learning about the world of blindness in order to help me articulate my story and to give you a more accurate picture of what it really means to be blind, which is much different from the traditional stereotype held by most people.

I wish to thank my parents, who stuck to their guns and didn’t allow society to dictate how they should raise a blind child. Without the philosophy they gave me, I never could have survived and thrived in this quirky world that doesn’t understand that it is okay to be different. Thanks also, Dad, for the many hours of stimulating spiritual talk and for reading me the Baird Spalding books and other stuff.

I wish to acknowledge Richard Herboldsheimer, whom I met in my sophomore year in high school. He showed me that teachers are people too. Herbo, you are as much an inspiration to me now as you were in 1969. Your discipline and strength have stayed with me.

I wish to thank the late Dr. Fred Reines, my college academic physics adviser. Dr. Reines, you helped me see and prove that blind people could succeed at the study of physics just as much as anyone else. I am glad you finally got the Nobel Prize for Physics; you deserved it.

Thanks to the three great presidents of the National Federation of the Blind, Dr. Jacobus tenBroek, Dr. Kenneth Jernigan, and Dr. Marc Maurer, for your inspiration and strength in leading the NFB and so many of us into a better place.

I wish to acknowledge Ginger Crowley for her efforts to help me become a better public speaker and storyteller.

I also wish to thank Joanne Ritter, director of marketing and communications at Guide Dogs for the Blind, and her cohort in crime, Morry Angel, for making all this possible by seeing the value of telling my story to the world after 9/11.

I wish to acknowledge the invaluable assistance of all those who gave of their time to be interviewed for this book. Your contributions are great!

Thanks to all who read and commented on the drafts of this endeavor. You have made this a better story, and you have taught me a lot.

Thanks to Chip MacGregor, my agent, who guided me through the muddles of the literary publishing world. You truly are a wizard, and I am with you—Mark Twain is the best American author, bar none.

Finally, thanks to Bryan Norman, Brian Hampton, and all the wonderful folks at Thomas Nelson Publishers for listening and for agreeing to take on this project. I look forward to working with you in the future. Let’s do it again.

S
USY
F
LORY
: It’s been a wild and crazy year. In the spring of 2010, I was recovering from breast cancer treatment, including two surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation. During those weeks of radiation, I began work on
Dog Tales
, a book of true and miraculous dog stories. One of the dogs I wrote about was Roselle. When I first sent Mike an e-mail, he graciously agreed to a phone interview. After twenty minutes on the phone, I had chills. “Have you ever thought of writing a book?” I asked. He said yes but that he also wanted a collaborator. More chills. I found out we both love travel, books, and dogs. And we live less than an hour apart. We decided to work together, and I spent every Monday over the summer at his beautiful home on the Marin Peninsula, just across from San Francisco. I fell in love with his wonderful wife, Karen, and their three yellow Labs: Fantasia, Africa, and Roselle. The dogs mob me every time I walk in the front door, and I love it. Michael, thank you for the privilege of working with you on
Thunder Dog
. It’s been a blast.

My love and thanks to Robert, Ethan, and Teddy. You are Team Flory, and I love you. Thanks for believing in me and listening to all my dog stories at the dinner table. Mom, Sara, Jerry, Alice, Tracy, Mark, Dave, Bea, Jeff, Sheila, Teresa, Margaret, my dear friends in Homebuilders, and my Facebook and CAN buddies, thanks for praying for me and cheering me on. A special thanks to the Thunder Dog readers group: Leo, Joyce, Nancy, Mary, Kristy, Jeannette, Lorena, Marci-Beth, Jinx, Amy, and Kristi. And Kathi Lipp, my speaker chick friend, I love sharing this crazy writing life with you. A special thanks to Ann Dykstra at One Rincon Hill for letting Robert and me climb down the stairwell to get a little taste of what Mike went through on 9/11.

I’m grateful to Michael’s friends and family who granted interviews and made me feel welcome: Karen Hingson, David Frank, Dr. Marc Maurer, Dr. Fredric Schroeder, Terry Barrett, Todd Jurek, Bob Phillips, Aaron Klein, Billie Castillo, K. Cherie Jones, Dava Wayman, Dick Rubinstein, Ellery Hingson, Hollybeth Anderson, James Gashel, Kevin Washington, Mark Riccebono, Mat Kaplan, Mr. Herboldsheimer, Robin Keith, Tom Painter, and his dear aunt Shirley Stone.

Finally, deep thanks to my agent, Chip MacGregor. I appreciate your wisdom and your passion for books that change lives (although I’m still not convinced Mark Twain is the best American writer ever). To Brian Hampton and Bryan Norman, thanks for believing in this story and loving Roselle and Mike as much as I do.

*
Timeline compiled from
The 9/11 Commission Report
, along with notes by Michael Hingson.