In 1971, in the life-or-death confines of an intensive care unit of the Army’s 24th Evacuation hospital in Vietnam, a mortally wounded soldier asked nurse Stephanie Genthon for a glass of orange juice. When she told him he couldn’t have anything to drink because of his abdominal wound, the soldier sighed and said, “I’m dead anyway. It doesn’t matter.” Genthon left to find a doctor, who affirmed: No OJ. Fifteen minutes later, the soldier was dead.

To Michele Genthon, of Seattle, last year’s anniversary at the monument was a chance to salute and honor her sister, Stephanie, who died in 2021.

Stephanie kept her role in the Vietnam War in “an impenetrable box in which she had encased her memories,” Michele said.

But Stephanie did talk to a fellow nurse at the Evac hospital in Long Binh, Mary Reynolds Powell, of Cleveland, who wrote a book about her experiences, “A World of Hurt.”

The orange juice story was in that book, and Michele said her sister sent a copy to her family, explaining “so those I love will know the stories I will never tell.” And never did. Michele attended last year’s anniversary ceremony at the memorial with her niece, Sharmel Genthon, and she recalled, “I did an awful lot of crying, more than when my sister died. She (Sharmel) held me and we cried together.”

She was also joined on the visit by Powell, who was struck by the candlelight (mostly cell phones) ceremony at the Vietnam Women’s Memorial the night before the anniversary and the remarks of speakers, all military women, on Veterans Day. As Powell listened, past emotions, not memories, swept through her. “Just overwhelming sadness and heartache,” she recalled.

Michele said she was touched by the memorial’s design, created by artist Glenna Goodacre. “The artistry of it, the sculptor captured not only the actions of people, but their emotions . . . their anxiety, their hopefulness,” she said. “I can see my sister as one of these women.” So why the orange juice donation?

“I think she must’ve carried in her heart some regret about that moment [involving the dying soldier] and wanted to make it right,” Michele said. think that helping nature stayed with her through her whole life, though
I’m not sure she ever did make peace with Vietnam,” she added.

Continuing her sister’s donation at the Wall was partly a means of coping with her own loss, according to Michele. “I felt it might be a way to close the circle. It turned out there’s still a hole in my heart, but it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. I feel more at peace with it,” she said.

To Powell, bringing the cup of OJ to the Wall “is a reflection of what we could not do for these guys.”Carrying on that tradition is a way to honor Stephanie Genthon’s feelings and the pain she carried, Powell added.

A glass of orange juice. A small gesture, perhaps. Or maybe one that fully embodies the spirit of the Vietnam Women’s Memorial; of hope in the face of suffering and sadness.

And perhaps somewhere, a certain soldier is smiling.