Grandpa Monke – Dustin Monke

When a veteran speaks, listen

On Thursday night, we had to make a quick trip to Bismarck. Because we were heading that way, I decided that it was time to pay a visit to the North Dakota Veterans Cemetery in Mandan.

That’s where my Grandpa Monke was buried in December, and because circumstances kept me from attending the burial service, I had yet to see the place where he was laid to rest.

While this was my first trip to the Veterans Cemetery, it certainly won’t be my last. Not only is my Grandpa there, my Grandma and parents plan to buried there as well.

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The loss and celebration of a family patriarch

Nothing good can come from a 6:45 a.m. phone call from you mother.

When I answered, it was clear she was upset. Instantly, I knew something in my world was about to change. Then she said it. … “Honey, Grandpa died.”

I was silent for a few seconds as I listened to her quietly cry on the other end of the line.
“Grandpa died?” was the only response I could muster, almost in a childlike voice. What she said didn’t seem real. It was early enough in the morning, I wondered if I was dreaming.

I wasn’t. Reality quickly began to sink in. One of the men who I considered a hero in my life was gone.

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Fighting for the medals grandpa earned

Ask anyone who knows me well and they’ll tell you that if I wouldn’t have pursued a career in journalism, I would most likely have gravitated toward the subject of history — particularly, 20th century America.

I’m absolutely fascinated by stories of the Great Depression, World War II, the 60s and 70s, and how Vietnam and the Cold War led into the Reagan Era.

Perhaps part of the reason I was so interested in history was because of my grandfather, Clarence Monke.

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