Keith Tillotson
The Call (1935)
The Navy don't call you right away. You sign up for it, then when they get their openings they call you to come. You're ready to go. Just like Kenneth did – when he was workin' up in northern Iowa pickin' corn, and then he got his call. So, I got my call, and I had to leave anyway – but the guy happened to come by and took me back to Iowa.
They called me while I was in Nebraska workin' with Dad on the railroad. My mother sent me a letter or somethin'. Lucky, that guy came by 'cause I had to report on the 15th of November 1935. I didn't have to do anything 'til that day. So, I came back and I started to work on our place or other places where I could get a job.
I wasn't interested in anything like Hitler coming to power. The only thing I can really remember was the election of '32. I remember that pretty well – Roosevelt. I remember the Lindbergh trial – that was in the paper, and I read that all the time. Of course you had in that era – I can't remember the exact time – but, Dillinger and Bonnie & Clyde. And one of them was caught right there in Iowa. A little small town – they got 'im, one of them. I can't remember which one it was. Could have been Pretty Boy Floyd, could have been Dillinger.
The main thing I was interested in was the prizefights. I knew all the heavyweight prizefights from John L. Sullivan on up. 'Course you'd hear that on a radio, you know. We had a 6-volt battery and a radio. This guy named Perry I told you about was married to my step-dad's niece – his name was Perry Watkins. He liked to monkey around and make things. He taught me how to make a radio. And I made a radio – complete radio. I think I ruined one old radio just to get the tube, because I couldn't make the tube. I made everything else. I didn't have any soldering iron, so everything was just twisted wires. Made this radio out of an oatmeal box, which was paper, put wires around that. And a little calcium powder box, which was smaller. You'd put that inside there, and it had wires wrapped around it. And you could turn that thing and select stations, see. I made everything – made the fuse – everything except the tube. I couldn't make the tube, 'cause that's a vacuum thing, you know. I could get about two stations, and one of them was Nashville, Tennessee. Was a lot of static, 'cause I had all these loose wires. I was like nothing – just had it on a piece of board there and all this stuff – and that was my radio. You could put up an aerial outside. Little things like that, I got interested in doing.
Perry Watkins, when I was about 17, he took me over to his place. His folks lived east of Harlan, 'bout five or six miles. He was livin' in a little house – an abandoned house that his father had owned – still owned. It was a cold winter day in '34, I guess. We got snowed in. It was my car – I remember that. I was gonna drive it home, but I couldn't. 'Cause it was covered with snow – I couldn't start it. So I decided to walk home. 'Course I'm gettin' hungry – they didn't have any food. He know I had a little amount of change in my pocket – had about 80 some cents, I guess. I'm gonna' go back home. I'm gonna walk home. But he wanted that money. He was a lazy guy, he never had a regular job – he did nothing. I was choppin' the wood for 'em for the fire. I said well, "If you empty the ashes out to the backhouse, and do this naked – go out there naked and sprinkle all those ashes and come back – I'll give you that 80 cents." And he did. I think he was blue when he got back in the house. It was cold – probably 20 below zero, you know. So I gave him the money and I took off – to walk to Harlan.
Man, I'm getting hungry. So I stopped in to this farmhouse and asked this woman if I could have a sandwich – I'll do anything. You need some work done... She gave me beef sandwich, and I thanked her – she didn't want any money.
Walking home, I had to walk around all the snowdrifts. Sometimes you'd have to walk out in a field – you couldn't walk a straight line. By the time I got to Harlan, I was pretty well pooped – about five miles of that. So, I stopped into the sheriff – they put me up for the night – don't think I can make it home. George Jensen – they knew me, they knew my step-dad. They even had him in jail a lot of times. So, I stopped in and I stayed overnight in the jail. 'Course they left the door open.
So, I walked home after that – I hitch hiked the rest of the way home. I might had to have walked the last five miles, I'm not sure. I was back on the farm.