On September 11, 2001, while thousands of people were trying to get away from the danger in lower Manhattan, my brother Stephen was heading straight toward it. His shift as a New York City firefighter was over and he was supposed to meet his brothers for a round of golf, but the moment he heard that a plane had hit the World Trade Center, he turned his truck around. For Stephen, there was never really a choice—people needed help, and he was going to help them.
My brother Stephen barely had time to think when news of a plane hitting the World Trade Center’s North Tower came across the scanner inside his black 1990 GMC Sierra 1500 pickup truck just after 8:46 a.m. on September 11, 2001.
Perhaps that was fitting. In the few seconds that Stephen had to consider whether to keep driving from Brooklyn’s Park Slope neighborhood—where his shift at FDNY Squad 1 had ended just sixteen minutes prior—toward Staten Island, where he was supposed to meet up with the rest of us Siller brothers and head down to central New Jersey and play golf, there was no decision to make. A major accident or attack had just occurred—and countless innocent people needed help. The only direction for Stephen to drive was not away from the fire, but straight toward it.
As golf balls rattled and his clubs whipped to the other side of the truck, Stephen quickly turned around on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, put his foot on the gas, and began racing in the direction of the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel, where he could drive under the river to lower Manhattan. He could see the thick smoke emanating from lower Manhattan as he tore down the BQE, wondering exactly what had happened and how fast he could get there. Having known Stephen his entire life, I am certain that one question dominated his mind in those frantic yet simultaneously measured few minutes: How many lives can I help save?
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At some point while driving as fast as he safely could on the BQE, Stephen called his wife, Sally. He told her that some sort of aircraft had hit the World Trade Center and that even though he’d already finished his overnight shift at the elite Squad 1 in Brooklyn, he was now driving toward lower Manhattan instead of home. Right after he said "I love you" and started getting ready to put down his Nextel phone, Stephen also asked Sally to please let his brothers know that he wouldn’t be able to play golf that day.
Other than saving lives and the well-being of his wife and kids, I believe that there was an additional prominent thought going through Stephen’s mind as he got closer to the tunnel. This is no accident. This is a terrorist attack.
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For years, Stephen had told myself and others that it was only a matter of time before New York—and specifically the World Trade Center—would be targeted a second time by international terrorists. He also believed that it was going to be a lot worse than the 1993 bombing, which happened the year before Stephen became a firefighter. While my brother deserves credit for his foresight, his prediction was hardly unique within FDNY ranks, as many senior department leaders (like my friend Sal Cassano) all the way down the totem pole to firefighters like Stephen believed that another attack was imminent. Tragically, they were right.
Stephen’s golf equipment kept bouncing around as he maneuvered among cars like he would ordinarily do while driving his beloved red Chevy. Many of these vehicles had stopped right in the middle of the BQE to watch the terrifying events that were unfolding in the lower Manhattan sky. Stephen, who was urgently trying to reach the mouth of the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel, undoubtedly knew that anything could happen in the next few moments. Yet as Sally could hear in his voice, Stephen was undeterred. Nothing short of an ensuing nuclear missile attack could stop my brother from getting through that tunnel and reaching the Twin Towers.
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Robin and Joe Raiso were sitting at that very spot at the mouth of the tunnel after witnessing the surreal sight of the first plane—American Airlines Flight 11—hitting the North Tower. Their car, which had almost made it inside the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel before the NYPD quickly shut it down, was now covered in soot. Even on the Brooklyn side, debris was raining down from a previously bright September sky that was suddenly clouded by smoke and fire.
Naturally, Robin and Joe were both baffled and scared by what they were seeing. They became even more frightened when they heard the screeching sound of a black pickup truck screeching to a stop beside them, on a median. If what was unfolding in the sky above them was some kind of terrorist attack, could the man getting out of his truck be a part of it? Was the tunnel about to be bombed or subjected to another kind of mass casualty incident? A million thoughts raced through Robin’s and Joe’s worried minds.
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That was when they saw my brother. As calmly as possible in the middle of what he correctly assumed was a terrorist attack with sirens blaring, thick black smoke filling the air, and debris falling around him, Stephen got out of his truck, went around back, and started rummaging through the bay of his pickup. After maybe a minute or so, Stephen returned to the front side wearing sixty pounds of firefighter’s gear. Then, without hesitation, my brother started running toward the mouth of the tunnel.
A few moments later, Robin and Joe saw a few NYPD officers stop Stephen in his tracks at the tunnel entrance, which was completely blocked by police barricades. It didn’t take them long to realize that Stephen was indeed an FDNY firefighter, so they nodded, patted Stephen on the back, and let him through.
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"We were shocked and amazed. Everyone was trying to run out," Joe would later say. "He was running in." The last time Robin and Joe saw Stephen was when he ran full speed into the uncertain darkness of the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel. Above him was fire, dust, smoke. In front of my brother was a 1.7-mile path through North America’s longest continuous underwater vehicular tunnel toward the only thing in the world that mattered to him in that moment: the victims of what would soon become known as 9/11. With each step forward, even with that heavy gear on his shoulders and chest, Stephen was closer to helping the helpless.
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It is difficult, if not impossible, to determine precisely what happened next. Because of Robin and Joe’s eyewitness account, I believe it is most likely that while Stephen was running through the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel, the unthinkable—at least for most New Yorkers and Americans who weren’t part of the FDNY, NYPD, or intelligence services—happened in front of millions of eyeballs watching from the ground and on television screens across America. At 9:03 a.m., a second hijacked plane—United Airlines Flight 175—hit the South Tower.
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If Stephen was indeed inside the tunnel when the world as we all knew it changed forever, I can only imagine the tunnel shaking and the deafening sounds that Stephen must have heard. That terrible experience probably made him run even faster—not because he was afraid, but because he knew from the sounds of new explosions that thousands more innocent people were almost certainly in grave danger.
What I cannot imagine is what Stephen saw when he first reached the other side. We know that there was no light at the end of the tunnel—lower Manhattan was covered in darkness and filled with the sounds and smells of fire, smoke, and death.
For Stephen Siller, however, I do believe that he managed to find some light in that darkness. Even amid the chaos, I think my brother knew that his life’s defining moment had arrived. Going backward was not an option—Stephen’s only direction was forward, toward the innocent people he wanted so desperately to help save.
Stephen’s final run through the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel has come to represent everything he stood for: courage, sacrifice, and putting others before himself. In his honor, our family started the Tunnel to Towers Foundation to carry that spirit forward and support America’s heroes and their families. To learn more about Stephen’s legacy and our mission, visit T2T.org.
Excerpted from "LET US DO GOOD: My Brother Stephen, 9/11, and the Mission to Honor America’s Heroes" by Frank Siller. Copyright 2026 by Frank Siller. Published with permission from Broadside Books and HarperCollins Publishers.
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