Mention the name “Red” to any horseshoe thrower in America and they likely will bow their head in some sort of ringer-reverence to the legend from Maquoketa, Iowa.
Yes, people still throw horseshoes — people of all ages. And there even are tournaments.
To this day, some can’t quite believe Red’s claim to fame. But Guinness World Records — the official book/record of such things — has it all down in black and white. Red is the only thrower to ever toss 175 ringers in one game. A ringer is when a horseshoe is tossed 40 feet to make its way to the stake with only 21/2 inches of spare space between the tips.
“I’ve done it all,” Red will tell anyone who will listen. He threw and won the longest game ever played in a World Championship Horseshoe Tournament. It lasted for 21/2 arm-wrenching hours in 1965 in Keene, N.H.
“It was the greatest horseshoe game ever played. It says so in the Horseshoe Pitchers Hall of Fame,” boasts Red. That makes him a celebrity, a wiry, talkative fellow who isn’t a bit bashful about his other talents, like singing.
He likes to call himself a one-man band. At the least suggestion, he will sing — in Eddy Arnold style — tunes like “Tiny Bubbles” and “Is There a Walmart in Heaven?” He puts down his guitar and is good enough to play a chorus of
“Rhapsody in Blue” on the keyboard.
Red is an icon in eastern Iowa, and today is his day to celebrate. Everyone around Maquoketa knows Red, so it’s expected that Costello’s Old Mill will ring to the rafters today with song and stories from Red, 4 p.m. until dark. Cake and ice cream, too.
He’s a chipper guy. He looks to be 65, sharper than that proverbial tack. He wisecracks, rattling a
story a minute. Rosy-cheeked and wrinkle-free, he scoffs about his age.
“Aw,” he says, adjusting his 90-year-old description of himself. He clears his throat before drinking from a glass of milk: “I’m halfway between puberty and paralysis.”
Red scoffs at doubters who think that pitching horseshoes went out with Dobbin and the buggy.
“More than 1,500 just pitched a tournament in Cedar Rapids,” he says, flexing his long, strong fingers. He was saluted there, and believes he could whip most of today’s young tournament players whom he calls “whippersnappers.”
Red is like the baseball hero Roy Hobbs, the character played by Robert Redford in “The Natural.” He was a natural at tossing horseshoes. At 10, he threw unerringly at a stake alongside his grandfather’s store in Fulton, Iowa, a hamlet a half-dozen miles north of Maquoketa.
“I threw shoes that came right off the horses. Yes, sir, regular horse shoes. One day, when I was 14, I made 94 out of 100 ringers. Travelers paid a quarter to watch. At night, I made a light fixture from a pie plate with a bulb in the middle so I could practice for hours in the dark.”
Red was so good he could throw ringers blindfolded. As a stunt, friends liked to hold up a sheet so Red couldn’t see the stake. He’d throw over the top of the sheet and still get ringers.
Fame was to come to Red Henton. Before his horseshoe pitching career ended, he had won more than 500 trophies. All of them, he’s given away. He smugly says his home in Maquoketa couldn’t hold them all.
“There is no one, anywhere, quite like Red,” says Dennis Voy, Maquoketa radio station and theater owner. “He’s a personality. A talent. He’s indescribable.”
Sitting at a table at Flapjacks Family Restaurant in Maquoketa, Red rattles off stories in his soft voice, talking clearly and emphasizing that he still has his own teeth and perfect hearing.
From under a sheaf of his lifetime statistics, he pulls a chrome horseshoe. It’s a classic, a replica of one of the pair he tossed in that 2½-hour 1965 marathon.
“People wanted sets of my horseshoes, copies so they could be as good as me. I got help from a friend, Tom Tyree. He hooked me up with Tom Getz, who ran Moline Forge. Here was a forge company that does big stuff like for Deere, but Mr. Getz listened to me. Sympathetic, I guess. He said he’d stamp out horseshoes for me, the Red Henton V-Lok and the Henton Supreme. I don’t know how many thousands we made.”
Getz remembers those horseshoe orders. “Red is the nicest guy in the world and I wanted to help him. Moline Forge didn’t make a dime from making horseshoes. We had much bigger things to do.”
Pitching horseshoes was no way to make a living, so Red — between tournaments all over the United States and exhibitions as far away as Africa — traveled Iowa gravel roads for 25 years as a rural mail carrier.
“He was every farmer’s friend,” says Pat Costello, a Maquoketa artist. “He’s an Iowa icon. Horseshoe was just one of his talents. His music is professional. Singing makes him our music man.”
Red also writes music, syrupy love ballads and tunes to make people smile. He’s working on “I Got the Hearing Aid Blues.”
Red and his late wife, Bernice, had their own six-piece band. He still plays and sings at parties, anniversaries and such things.
“I’m good,” he says with no embarrassment.”
I’ve listened to his recordings. He is very good.
The question is inevitable: Why was he so good as a horseshoe pitcher?
“I still am,” he corrects. He holds up two fingers in a split, recites the numbers 1, 2, 3, and says it’s all in eye-level. That doesn’t make much sense to me, but it does to Red — so that’s all that matters.
A visit with Red Henton could last all day and into the night.
“Here,” he says, “is a reminder of me.” He pulls from his pocket a deluxe ballpoint pen. It’s imprinted, “Guinness 175 ringers in 1 game.”
“Let’s get together next week,” he says. “I have a lot more stories to tell.”
Yes, people still throw horseshoes — people of all ages. And there even are tournaments.
To this day, some can’t quite believe Red’s claim to fame. But Guinness World Records — the official book/record of such things — has it all down in black and white. Red is the only thrower to ever toss 175 ringers in one game. A ringer is when a horseshoe is tossed 40 feet to make its way to the stake with only 21/2 inches of spare space between the tips.
“I’ve done it all,” Red will tell anyone who will listen. He threw and won the longest game ever played in a World Championship Horseshoe Tournament. It lasted for 21/2 arm-wrenching hours in 1965 in Keene, N.H.
“It was the greatest horseshoe game ever played. It says so in the Horseshoe Pitchers Hall of Fame,” boasts Red. That makes him a celebrity, a wiry, talkative fellow who isn’t a bit bashful about his other talents, like singing.
He likes to call himself a one-man band. At the least suggestion, he will sing — in Eddy Arnold style — tunes like “Tiny Bubbles” and “Is There a Walmart in Heaven?” He puts down his guitar and is good enough to play a chorus of
“Rhapsody in Blue” on the keyboard.
Red is an icon in eastern Iowa, and today is his day to celebrate. Everyone around Maquoketa knows Red, so it’s expected that Costello’s Old Mill will ring to the rafters today with song and stories from Red, 4 p.m. until dark. Cake and ice cream, too.
He’s a chipper guy. He looks to be 65, sharper than that proverbial tack. He wisecracks, rattling a
story a minute. Rosy-cheeked and wrinkle-free, he scoffs about his age.
“Aw,” he says, adjusting his 90-year-old description of himself. He clears his throat before drinking from a glass of milk: “I’m halfway between puberty and paralysis.”
Red scoffs at doubters who think that pitching horseshoes went out with Dobbin and the buggy.
“More than 1,500 just pitched a tournament in Cedar Rapids,” he says, flexing his long, strong fingers. He was saluted there, and believes he could whip most of today’s young tournament players whom he calls “whippersnappers.”
Red is like the baseball hero Roy Hobbs, the character played by Robert Redford in “The Natural.” He was a natural at tossing horseshoes. At 10, he threw unerringly at a stake alongside his grandfather’s store in Fulton, Iowa, a hamlet a half-dozen miles north of Maquoketa.
“I threw shoes that came right off the horses. Yes, sir, regular horse shoes. One day, when I was 14, I made 94 out of 100 ringers. Travelers paid a quarter to watch. At night, I made a light fixture from a pie plate with a bulb in the middle so I could practice for hours in the dark.”
Red was so good he could throw ringers blindfolded. As a stunt, friends liked to hold up a sheet so Red couldn’t see the stake. He’d throw over the top of the sheet and still get ringers.
Fame was to come to Red Henton. Before his horseshoe pitching career ended, he had won more than 500 trophies. All of them, he’s given away. He smugly says his home in Maquoketa couldn’t hold them all.
“There is no one, anywhere, quite like Red,” says Dennis Voy, Maquoketa radio station and theater owner. “He’s a personality. A talent. He’s indescribable.”
Sitting at a table at Flapjacks Family Restaurant in Maquoketa, Red rattles off stories in his soft voice, talking clearly and emphasizing that he still has his own teeth and perfect hearing.
From under a sheaf of his lifetime statistics, he pulls a chrome horseshoe. It’s a classic, a replica of one of the pair he tossed in that 2½-hour 1965 marathon.
“People wanted sets of my horseshoes, copies so they could be as good as me. I got help from a friend, Tom Tyree. He hooked me up with Tom Getz, who ran Moline Forge. Here was a forge company that does big stuff like for Deere, but Mr. Getz listened to me. Sympathetic, I guess. He said he’d stamp out horseshoes for me, the Red Henton V-Lok and the Henton Supreme. I don’t know how many thousands we made.”
Getz remembers those horseshoe orders. “Red is the nicest guy in the world and I wanted to help him. Moline Forge didn’t make a dime from making horseshoes. We had much bigger things to do.”
Pitching horseshoes was no way to make a living, so Red — between tournaments all over the United States and exhibitions as far away as Africa — traveled Iowa gravel roads for 25 years as a rural mail carrier.
“He was every farmer’s friend,” says Pat Costello, a Maquoketa artist. “He’s an Iowa icon. Horseshoe was just one of his talents. His music is professional. Singing makes him our music man.”
Red also writes music, syrupy love ballads and tunes to make people smile. He’s working on “I Got the Hearing Aid Blues.”
Red and his late wife, Bernice, had their own six-piece band. He still plays and sings at parties, anniversaries and such things.
“I’m good,” he says with no embarrassment.”
I’ve listened to his recordings. He is very good.
The question is inevitable: Why was he so good as a horseshoe pitcher?
“I still am,” he corrects. He holds up two fingers in a split, recites the numbers 1, 2, 3, and says it’s all in eye-level. That doesn’t make much sense to me, but it does to Red — so that’s all that matters.
A visit with Red Henton could last all day and into the night.
“Here,” he says, “is a reminder of me.” He pulls from his pocket a deluxe ballpoint pen. It’s imprinted, “Guinness 175 ringers in 1 game.”
“Let’s get together next week,” he says. “I have a lot more stories to tell.”
