Never Forget Isn't a Slogan. It's a Verb.
Every September, I lace up and run through the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel with thousands of strangers who stop being strangers about halfway through.
This year it's the 25th anniversary of September 11th. I've done this run for many years now, and it never once has felt routine. You come out of the other side of that tunnel into something I won't spoil for anyone who hasn't done it yet — you'll know it when you feel it. What I can tell you is that people are screaming USA, USA. Elderly people, young people, whole families. Some are sprinting, some are walking with strollers, some are pushing a parent in a wheelchair. FDNY and NYPD in full gear. Firemen from Westchester and beyond, some of them running the whole route in the same 60 pounds of turnout gear Stephen wore that day, because they want to feel some small piece of what he carried. ROTC cadets and reservists and active duty from every branch, running in formation. Patriotic music playing the entire way through that tunnel, and somewhere around the halfway mark, the singing gives way to people just yelling USA, USA, at the top of their lungs.
It is one of the most powerful things I have ever been part of. And it exists because of one man's decision, made in about the time it takes to read this sentence.
Who Stephen Siller was, and what he did
On the morning of September 11, 2001, Stephen Siller had just finished an overnight shift with FDNY Squad 1 in Brooklyn. He was off duty. He was on his way to play golf with his brothers. Then the radio crackled with news of a plane hitting the North Tower.
Stephen turned his truck around, went back to the firehouse for his gear, and drove for the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel. It was closed. So he strapped on 60 pounds of turnout gear and ran through it on foot, nearly two miles, to get to the towers and help the men of Squad 1. He never made it home to his wife Sally and their five kids. He was 34.
His oldest brother, Frank Siller, made a decision not long after that he wasn't going to let that loss end in grief alone. Frank and his siblings started the Tunnel to Towers Foundation in Stephen's memory, retracing that same route as an annual run. What began as a local memorial has become one of the largest 5Ks in the country, and the foundation itself has grown into something enormous: mortgage-free homes for the families of fallen first responders and service members, specially built smart homes for catastrophically injured veterans, and a stated mission to end veteran homelessness in America. Frank still says the same thing he said in the first year: they decided to do good instead of staying in the dark place. That choice is the whole foundation.
What that day cost, and what came after it
Stephen was one of 343 FDNY members who died on 9/11. Nearly 3,000 people were killed that morning across four hijacked planes. Thousands more first responders have died since from illnesses tied to their time at Ground Zero, and that number keeps climbing every year.
But here's the other thing that happened after that day, the thing I think we've let ourselves forget. For a while, none of the usual lines mattered. Neighbors who'd never spoken checked on each other. Strangers gave blood for hours in lines around the block. Firehouses had more casseroles than they could eat. People flew flags who'd never flown one before in their lives, not because anyone told them to, but because for a minute, being American felt like something you carried together instead of something you argued about.
That didn't last. It never fully does. But for a window of time, we proved we're capable of it.
Twenty-five years later, that's the question this run puts in front of me every time I come out of that tunnel. Not "can we do that again," because I've already seen the answer, standing in a crowd of up to thirty thousand people screaming USA together. The real question is whether we'll choose to, on an ordinary Tuesday, without a tragedy forcing our hand.
Why I built the Never Forget collection
This is the piece I wanted a way to carry with me past September, so I built a collection around it. Never Forget isn't a slogan I'm putting on a shirt because it's the anniversary. It's the instruction. Remembering Stephen Siller, remembering the 343, remembering what we were capable of the week after — that only means something if it changes how we show up the other 364 days of the year.
Tunnel to Towers is the charity I already give to every month, but this collection is my way of putting more behind it. For every shirt sold from the Never Forget collection, I'm donating five dollars directly to the foundation. Every purchase becomes part of what they do for Gold Star families and veterans, not just a shirt in your closet.
You can find the collection here:
https://www.thelionandthecross.com/collections/never-forget-collection
America doesn't only come under attack from a plane or a gun
Twenty-five years ago, the threat was obvious. It had a date, a target, a body count, and it pulled us together within hours because there was nothing to debate about whether it was real.
Most of what threatens a country isn't that obvious. It's slower. It looks like neighbors who've stopped speaking to each other over politics. It looks like forgetting what we owe the people who ran into that tunnel, and the ones who still run toward danger every single day. It looks like treating unity as something that only shows up after tragedy, instead of something we choose to practice on an ordinary Tuesday.
Standing up for America isn't a slogan either. It's deciding, the same way Stephen decided in about the time it takes to read this sentence, that you're not going to sit this one out. That doesn't require a uniform. It doesn't require buying a shirt. It requires showing up for your neighbor, your community, and this country the way the people in that tunnel show up for each other every September. Whether you buy a shirt or not, that part is on all of us.
One small thing you can do
You don't have to run a 5K to carry this forward. Fly a flag somewhere you don't usually see one. Say a name out loud — Stephen Siller's, or one of the 343, or someone you personally lost that day. Donate what you can to Tunnel to Towers at t2t.org. Or just be the neighbor who checks in, the way we all somehow knew how to be, twenty-five years ago this month.
We never forget by saying it. We never forget by doing something with it.
If this moved you, share it with someone who needs the reminder. And take a look at the site, thelionandthecross.com — every piece is made to say something you actually believe. God bless our troops, our first responders, and every family that gave more than anyone should have to.
I would love to hear from you, leave a comment, subscribe and send me your pictures, post on instagram and tag me at thelionandthecross or send me the photos to contact@thelionandthecross.com
Together we can make a difference, it always starts with one!
With hope and gratitude,
Christine Randall