Henry Kenward: The Railroad Engineer Who Called Ducks into History
In the rich tradition of Arkansas duck call makers, few names carry the legacy and lore of Henry Kenward. His story reads like a Southern folk tale: a boy born in 1865 in West Sussex, England, orphaned by age ten, who crossed the Atlantic and carved out a life—and an enduring reputation—on the wetlands of northeast Arkansas.
Kenward’s early life was marked by hardship. After immigrating to the United States with his family in 1873, he lost both parents within two years. Alone at a young age, Kenward’s path led him far from his origins, eventually settling in Jonesboro, Arkansas. By 1889, he married Louanna Harris and began working as an engineer on the Cotton Belt Railroad, a job that would shape his future as much as his artistry with a lathe.
The Cotton Belt line snaked through Arkansas’s most productive duck hunting territory. It was here, while hauling goods and passengers, that Kenward found himself in the heart of a waterfowl hunter’s paradise. His job allowed him to connect with some of the era’s greatest hunters and call makers—none more influential than J.T. Beckhart.
Beckhart was already a legend among duck hunters and call makers when Kenward met him. The two men became close friends, sharing market hunts and guiding wealthy sportsmen who rode the rails from distant cities to hunt Big Lake and the sunken lands along the St. Francis River. These adventures weren’t just weekend affairs; they often lasted weeks, with stories told of Beckhart and Kenward packing barrels full of apples and whiskey to sustain them. They wouldn’t return until the ducks—and the whiskey—were gone.
During these years, Kenward absorbed Beckhart’s knowledge of call-making. He assisted in crafting calls and sold Beckhart’s work as he traveled up and down the Cotton Belt route. Their bond was such that Beckhart carved Kenward a personal call featuring a locomotive on one side and Kenward’s name in a banner on the other. It was more than a token; it was a symbol of respect and shared mastery.
Beckhart’s death in 1922 was a turning point for Kenward. Along with fellow call maker Claude Stone, he purchased some of Beckhart’s tools and materials from his widow. Kenward also secured the right to use Beckhart’s name in his future call-making endeavors. Curiously, though, he often misspelled the name as “Bechart” on his calls.
By 1931, Kenward was advertising his new calls under the moniker “New Beckhart.” His two primary models—the New Beckhart and the Golden Tongue—carried forward Beckhart’s legacy but with Kenward’s distinctive approach. While Beckhart’s calls often featured artistic embellishments, Kenward opted for plain barrel designs, believing hunters cared more about sound than looks. “A plain barrel Beckhart call could kill just as many ducks as a checkered one,” he reasoned.
Kenward’s calls were typically made from walnut and stamped with his name on top of the barrel, frequently accompanied by three stars. They were marketed as “the best duck call made and a call that will stay with you and last a lifetime.” Kenward sold them directly at county fairs, hardware stores, and sporting goods shops. His hands-on marketing style was legendary. At fairs, he displayed calls in various stages of completion and eagerly explained his craftsmanship. One of his most famous sales pitches involved showing a call embedded with a musket ball. According to Kenward, the legendary frontiersman Daniel Boone fired the shot. “This caller is proof that Boone shot at and missed the squirrel that ran up that tree,” he’d say with a grin. “The one shot that Boone missed in all his days on the frontier.”
But Kenward’s talents extended beyond duck calls. In 1912, he patented an Indiana-style fishing reel, further evidence of his inventive nature. Following his retirement from the railroad in 1925, Kenward turned his attention to horticulture. He designed and built greenhouses, ultimately creating the Kenward Hot House—an innovative greenhouse system adopted widely in the floral industry.
Kenward’s creativity was also passed down to his sons, Sidney and John. Together, they made scratch box turkey calls that, like their father’s duck calls, are now highly prized by collectors. After Kenward’s death in 1932, the sons continued producing the New Beckhart calls for a time. Sidney later moved to Pine Bluff, where he continued making turkey calls, though whether he also made duck calls during this period remains unclear.
Today, Henry Kenward’s calls are considered rare finds among collectors. Their plain but purposeful design, combined with their direct connection to both Kenward and Beckhart, make them invaluable pieces of Arkansas waterfowl hunting history. More than just tools for hunting, they are artifacts of a bygone era—symbols of the ingenuity, friendship, and passion that fueled the Golden Age of duck hunting in the South.
Kenward’s legacy also ripples through the generations of call makers who followed him. His emphasis on sound over appearance, his innovative spirit, and his commitment to crafting tools that worked flawlessly in the field became guiding principles for many call-makers who came after. The New Beckhart name became synonymous not just with Kenward, but with a way of thinking about duck calls: practical, effective, and rooted in the traditions of real hunters.
Even now, nearly a century after his death, Kenward’s influence can be felt. Modern call makers often look back to pioneers like Kenward for inspiration—not only for their techniques but for their dedication to craftsmanship and authenticity. For RNT and others who continue the Arkansas call-making tradition, Henry Kenward is both a forefather and a standard bearer.
His life story, from orphan to inventor, from railroad engineer to master call maker, reminds us that great things can come from unexpected places. And when you put a New Beckhart to your lips and send a call across the water, you’re not just blowing a duck call—you’re breathing life into a legacy.