The woman on the wall: Captain Eleanor Alexander and New Jersey's Vietnam Veterans Memorial

Of the 1563 fallen service members commemorated on the New Jersey Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Holmdel, only one is a woman: Captain Eleanor Grace Alexander. Every name on that wall has a compelling story, but viewing a female name, and learning about her, make a special impact on those who visit the memorial with no expectation of seeing a woman honored for her sacrifice in a war decades ago.

Captain Alexander's name on the
New Jersey Vietnam Veterans Memorial.

Affectionately described by family members as "a tough broad," the Queens-born Alexander moved to River Vale with her mother after graduating with a nursing degree from D'Youville College. Six years later, she'd achieved a measure of success as a cosmetic surgery operating room supervisor and was engaged to be married, yet felt compelled to enlist in the Army Nurse Corps. Friends suggested that she could offer her services in a safer environment by serving in the Peace Corps instead, but she was resolute in her desire to take the military route. In fact, she approached all of the services to see if they'd send her to Vietnam but only the Army would guarantee it. As her sister in law Suzanne Alexander later told the New York Times, "She told me she was going to do this before she had any obligations. She insisted on going over there for six months. She had to do this."

She enlisted in May 1967, leaving behind her hope chest and wedding dress, and bringing a great deal of enthusiasm for the challenge ahead. Assigned to the 85th Evacuation Hospital at Qui Nhon, Vietnam, she was part of the team responsible for stabilizing seriously wounded patients, whether they be American, allied or enemy. A colleague recalled that "Rocky," as Alexander became known, was "top notch... never got rattled... even managed to look well groomed" in the chaos of field hospital work.

Captain Alexander's D'Youville College yearbook photo, class of 61.
A nursing scholarship was established there in her name.

Five months into her enlistment, Alexander grabbed opportunity from coincidence, a decision that one could say cost her her life. As fighting intensified at the Battle of Dak To 60 miles away, the 85th was to send an emergency medical team to nearby Pleiku to treat the wounded. Another nurse was part of the team but couldn't be located in time, so Alexander took her colleague's gear and ran to join the departing group. She and the team worked grueling 14 hour shifts, an exhausting yet exhilarating regimen for the enthusiastic nurse. "The troops around Pleiku are getting hit quite hard," she wrote to her mother in mid November. "For the past three days, I've been running on about four hours sleep. Funny thing is, I love it."

After six weeks, the team was returning to the 85th when their plane encountered rain and low clouds that would prevent their landing at Qui Nhon. They were diverted to another airstrip with better landing conditions but crashed into a mountainside while attempting to get there. Alexander, the other 21 passengers and four crew members were all killed in the accident. She was 27 years old and was posthumously awarded the Bronze Star.

Accounts of Captain Alexander from those who served with her say much of her commitment and poise; it seems that many of the enlisted men at the hospital were enthralled by her beauty. Most touching is a letter written to Alexander in 1991 by the Army nurse whose place she seized for the Pleiku assignment. "How did you keep it together? You know, the guys really leaned on you," she wrote. "You and I triaged, organized, drove the men and prayed... I really admired your strength and envied it." The same nurse acknowledges that had events been a little different, she, herself, might have perished in the crash, and Alexander survived. She tells of the complex mix of guilt and sorrow she continued to feel, decades later, and her struggles to make a positive impact on the world in Alexander's memory.

We often think of the sacrifices men made, and the fact that but for a twist of fate, an injury that prevents a deployment, a roll call missed, one soldier survives while the one who took his place dies or is injured. Until very recently, with women being further integrated into combat roles in Iraq and Afghanistan, most of us didn't consider that the beneficiaries or victims of fate could be female.

Last September, the New Jersey Vietnam Veterans Memorial dedicated a new monument for Captain Alexander, ensuring that more visitors will learn about her dedication and sacrifice. She's a true example of the power of commitment and the unstoppable desire of some to make a positive impact on those around her.

Contemplating tumult in American history: the Vietnam Veterans Memorial and Vietnam Era Educational Center

If you've driven past the Garden State Arts Center, you've most likely missed a huge opportunity to learn more about one of the most tumultuous periods in American history. You'll see small signs pointing toward the New Jersey Vietnam Veterans Memorial, but the markers do very little to alert passers-by about the impact of the place they could choose to visit.

Admittedly, I was one of those people until fairly recently. Having visited the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C., I expected the New Jersey version to be similar, just smaller. However, what I found was much more: both a memorial and a museum that explains the Vietnam War and its lasting impact on American society.

Located steps away from the memorial, the Vietnam Era Museum and Educational Center is the country's only such facility, and when you think about it, it's something that's sorely needed. With the passage of time, the war and its impact have evolved from political hot buttons to subjects in history classes, and the brothers and sons who served and survived have aged to become grandfathers and uncles. Thankfully, veterans are treated with greater respect now, but it's still important that people continue to understand the complexity of war and the range of challenges it poses to the nation and society.

The museum's layout is simple yet effective. The main exhibit area is a large, circular room, ringed with a timeline that explains the history of Vietnam, crucial events during the war, U.S. involvement, and what was going on 'back home,' from popular culture to protest. An inner ring brings the story from history to personal experience: actual letters from soldiers and loved ones often poignantly reveal the pain of separation and the alternately mundane and terrifying aspects of war. Scattered among the letters are service medals, childrens' drawings and a shockingly pragmatic telegram notifying family of a soldier's death and the shipping process for his remains.

The center of the room has the potential to make the biggest impact on visitors. It's the testimony theater, where speakers share the impact the Vietnam War had on their lives. Whether a veteran, a war protester, or perhaps the family member of a soldier who died in the war, each offers intensely personal perspectives on abstract concepts of loss, experience or opposition.

Unfortunately, no testimonies were scheduled for the day of my visit, but I was fortunate to get a tour of the outdoor memorial from volunteer guide Dan O'Leary. While the memorial is open 24 hours a day, it's well worth going when the museum is open and Dan or one of his fellow veterans can share their own wartime experiences.

Designed by Vietnam refugee and naturalized American citizen Hien Nguyen, the memorial is rich in symbolism. As we walked toward the memorial, Dan explained that the lighting fixtures along the path were spaced at the same intervals as soldiers walked when they moved through the jungle. By allowing several steps distance in front and behind, they'd avoid mass casualties if the lead soldier set off a booby trap by disturbing a trip wire strung across the path.

Visitors enter the memorial itself through one of two concrete tunnels shaped like bunkers, representing the transition from home, or 'the world,' to 'in country' (the theater of war in Vietnam). Once inside, you're at the lowest part of a large bowl carved into the terrain, with the state tree, a red oak, in the center. A dramatic sculpture stands nearby, featuring a nine-foot tall statue of a soldier standing over another of a nurse who's tending to an injured GI. Each is a different ethnicity, reflecting the backgrounds of the Americans who served in the war. Two ramps leading upward toward the surrounding walls are meant to represent DNA, the strands of life.

The New Jersey memorial lists 1562 state residents by the day of the year on which he (or in one case, she) was killed or listed as missing in action during the war. Of the 366 panels that circle the inside of the memorial, only a few are blank, leading me to think about the randomness of death during wartime. During a war in which U.S. involvement was so lengthy, why were some days 'lucky' while others were not? And being able to see dates of loss gives visitors a chance to make a personal connection even if they didn't know anyone who was killed in the war or who lost a loved one there. On a birth date, or a wedding anniversary, while you were celebrating, had someone else made the ultimate sacrifice?

On the walk from the museum to the memorial, Dan pointed out other poignant features of the grounds, too. An inviting, shaded meditation garden is dedicated to all women veterans of the Vietnam War and offers a quiet place to contemplate. Another area features a statue memorializing dogs who serve with the troops in all wars, past, present and future.

More than 9000 students visit the memorial and museum every year to learn more about the Vietnam era, and if their experience is anything like mine, they come out enriched from the experience. Even if you're old enough to remember the war and the tumult of protest in the U.S., it's well worth getting off the Parkway and spending an hour to learn more and contemplate the sacrifice of our fellow New Jerseyans.