Bold truth: a father’s relentless search for his son after 9/11 ended up costing him his own life decades later. What began as a rescue mission became a lifelong fight for justice, recognition, and the health of every first responder who served at Ground Zero.
New York — On September 11, 2001, as the second World Trade Center tower collapsed, James “Jim” Riches, then a battalion chief with the New York City Fire Department, rushed toward Ground Zero. His eldest son, Jimmy Jr., was a firefighter with Ladder 114 in Brooklyn’s Sunset Park and was assigned to Engine Company 4. That morning, Jimmy Jr. responded to the lower Manhattan scene and was last seen carrying an injured woman from the North Tower’s lobby.
Rather than celebrating Jimmy Jr.’s 30th birthday the following day, Riches spent six grueling months combing through twisted metal and ash, risking his own safety to find the son who had followed in his footsteps. Jimmy Jr. was among the 343 firefighters who died in the attacks. When the towers and surrounding structures collapsed, a dense cloud of toxic dust, gases, and smoke enveloped Lower Manhattan and parts of Brooklyn, a danger later documented by national health authorities.
“He was there every day to find his son,” recalled Richard Browers, a retired FDNY lieutenant and former president of the Uniformed Fire Officers Association. Riches’s son’s helmet, crushed and marked with Ladder 114, was eventually recovered in March 2002, marking a grim milestone in the search. His body was found nearby.
Twenty-four years later, the very toxins he spent years searching through would claim Riches’s life. He died on Thanksgiving Day at age 74, one of more than 400 FDNY members who have died from illnesses tied to 9/11 exposure. Thousands more first responders continue to battle cancers, lung disease, heart conditions, digestive disorders, and other chronic illnesses linked to Ground Zero toxins.
Riches spent two decades advocating for survivors, victims, and families. He joined the FDNY in 1977 and earned the nickname “Big Daddy” for always having a son by his side. Jimmy Jr., a former NYPD officer, joined the FDNY in 1999, and his three younger brothers — Timothy, Danny, and Thomas — would also become firefighters.
When Jimmy Jr.’s body was found, Riches and his son Captain Thomas Riches (then 17) carried him from Ground Zero, placing him on a stretcher wrapped in an American flag as onlookers lined up for the procession. Riches later described how a whole crew of them crawled into the rubble to search with their hands and determination.
Even after the grim discovery, Riches remained at Ground Zero daily until recovery efforts ceased in May 2002, driven by a need to give closure to other families and to honor the nearly 3,000 people who lost their lives that day.
“I stayed to the very end, and it was a gruesome task,” Riches said previously. “America never forgets, and they keep this going on, because these people were heroes who were attacked on this land, and they don’t deserve to be forgotten.” He acknowledged, however, that closure is elusive when a loved one never returns.
In later years, Riches witnessed fellow first responders falling ill from the toxic inhalation that had haunted Ground Zero. He began documenting and speaking out about the broader health crisis, testifying before lawmakers and rallying support for those affected. He himself faced a life-threatening ARDS episode in 2005, spending weeks in a coma and later learning to walk and speak again, though his lung capacity never fully recovered.
Riches retired in 2007 as a deputy chief—the highest rank attainable without a city appointment—and continued to be a magnetic force in advocacy. He was known for his larger-than-life presence on the basketball court, in FDNY leagues, and at family gatherings, where he always made time for his sons’ activities. His wife, Rita, was frequently described as a saint for her unwavering support.
As a founder and chair of multiple families’ groups, Riches helped catalyze landmark programs and policies, including the World Trade Center Health Program and the 9/11 Victim Compensation Fund. He testified before Congress, met with the Obama administration, and participated in hearings related to the men charged in the attacks.
Locally, he never hesitated to challenge authorities when he believed lessons hadn’t been learned—publicly criticizing leadership for politicizing the tragedy and for outdated equipment and radio systems that hampered mayday calls.
When the 9/11 Memorial Museum opened in 2014, Riches attended not to celebrate but to critique what he saw as a revenue-focused project that did not directly support survivors or fund ongoing research; the museum declined to comment on specific support for families.
Riches’s devotion to his family and to his fellow firefighters became legendary. “He was always like this larger-than-life figure to me,” his son Thomas recalled, noting that Riches still attended every one of his sons’ sports games, regardless of his responsibilities. Browers described him as both powerful and deeply devoted to his family, praising Riches’s wife as a source of strength.
His legacy persists in a Dyker Heights street named for his son, scholarships in Jimmy Jr.’s memory, and the countless lives he touched through advocacy. Riches never truly left Ground Zero; he remained committed to supporting 9/11 families and sick firefighters for the rest of his life.
His funeral, held December 1 at St. Patrick Roman Catholic Church in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, drew mourners from across the city. Those who spoke of him—friends, colleagues, and fellow firefighters—described a leader who set the tone for others by example. The ceremony featured a full FDNY sendoff and a final chorus of bagpipes, a fitting tribute to a man who dedicated his life to service.
If you’re seeking more information on World Trade Center-related illnesses and the health programs established in response, consult the CDC’s World Trade Center Health Program resources and related official materials.
