From the February, 1926 issue of Erie Railroad Magazine:
STRICKEN with heart failure at his home in Nutley, N.J., soon after midnight, Jan. 8 (1926), Alfred Whitworth Munkittrick died half an hour later. As assistant editor of the ERIE RAILROAD MAGAZINE he had worked as usual in the office of the Magazine in New York the day before. His death therefore came as a great shock to friends and associates.
Mr. Munkittrick was born at Morristown, N. J., July 9, 1855. He was educated in the New Jersey public schools and also attended a private school at Summit, N. J. At the age of 16 he was a clerk in the dry-goods store of Alexander T. Stewart, Broadway and Chambers street, New York. Not finding the duties congenial he went to work in the division office of the Erie Railroad at Jersey City and later worked in the Erie mileage office.
But newspaper work was his desire and forte and for a series of years he was variously a reporter, staff and special writer for the New York Herald, World, Press, Evening Sun, Evening Telegram and Jersey Journal. For a time he was editor of a trade publication, Pottery and Glass.
His editorial connection with the ERIE RAILROAD MAGAZINE began in June, 1910, and terminated with his death on Jan. 8, 1926.
Mr. Munkittrick was a brother of the late R. K. Munkittrick, one of the editors of Puck many years ago and widely known as a poet and versifier. Alfred Whitworth Munkittrick also possessed an enviable talent in versification, as the pages of this Magazine have long demonstrated. He had a clear and terse prose style and in his verses and poems on topics grave and gay he displayed fancy and sentiment and sincerity. The thousands of readers of this Magazine will greatly miss the writings of A. W. Munkittrick.
Mr. Munkittrick was a member of Bergen Lodge, No. 47, Free and Accepted Masons, Jersey City, of the Erie Railroad Square club, New York City, and for five years he served as first sergeant of Co. E, Fourth regiment, New Jersey National Guard, from which latter organization he received an honorable discharge.
He is survived by a widow, four sons and one daughter. The sons are Richard Kendall, Francis B., Bayard W. and Alfred Graham Munkittrick. The daughter is Mrs. Charles E. Wadsworth.
Funeral services were held Sunday evening, Jan. 10, at his late home, 409 Hillside avenue, Nutley, N. J. The Reverend Robert C. Falconer of St. Paul's Congregational church, Nutley, officiated. Officers of Bergen Lodge of Masons gave the Masonic ritual service for the dead. Burial was in Hillside cemetery, Madison, N. J.
Mr. Munkittrick got more joy out of a simple life than any man we ever knew. If he had an unhappy hour during our twelve years of acquaintanceship we never knew it. Everything was bright to him; the world was good, and everyone in it. Those of us who were associated with him in the production of the Magazine never heard him speak a cross word. He performed every task with pleasure and devotion. Simple in his tastes, he was easily pleased; a joke or a jest was sure to be uttered in the midst of a serious discussion, and he often turned unhappy conversation into happy channels. He was a good friend—no man's enemy—industrious, loyal and always a vigorous supporter of his long-time employer — the Erie.
Nearly every daily incident or bit of office conversation suggested rhyme to Alfred W. Munkittrick, and he usually responded by turning to his typing machine and rattling off a few lines. With the exception of a few sonnets nearly all his verses were humorous. Even when he was ill he wrote humorously. His happy lines will be greatly missed by readers of the "Erie." During the past several months Mr. Munkittrick performed almost double duty with a willingness and earnestness that confirmed my opinion of the quality of his friendship, and it is with deep regret and sadness that we record his passing. Anything we say here but feebly expresses our feelings. January 8, 1926. —William F. Hooker, Editor
His typewriter now is silent; hushed is its merry hum. He who operated it has gone to his eternal home. To A.W. Munkittrick life meant living each day and hour for those who lived with him and shared his happy hours; work to him was a pleasure. Most loyally he gave the full measure of his strength. He wrote of the trees, the birds and the flowers — of engines, rails and the trials that are ours. The songs he sang were sweet and inspiring; the prose he wrote was vigorous, dignified and powerful, and in that delightful manner that characterized everything he did.
A smile and a joke were his greeting—the happy, joyous kind you long remember.
Full three score years and ten, man's allotted time, he labored. Earth's trials and troubles he breasted manfully and always came up with a smile. As the quartet at his funeral sang Tennyson's "Crossing the Bar" the thought came, "How appropriate!", for our friend would have no moaning at the bar when he put out to sea.
Softly then the light of day Faded upon his sight away; Free from care, from labor free, Gone, dear Lord, to commune with Thee. The Supreme Architect of the Universe called and none could say "Nay." In that land not made with hands he will dwell forevermore.
Our lives should show the full measure of service that we may meet him. —R. M. F.
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