By STAN STAPP

AS A YOUNGSTER in the heart of Wallingford (halfway between Lake Union and the Woodland Park Zoo), I was used to hearing a number of interesting sounds: whistles, rattles, howls, and screeches that emanated from those areas. Sounds that no longer are heard (except for one) replaced with the less interesting noises of car and truck traffic.

The Gas Plant (now Gasworks Park), a half-mile south of where I lived at 4203 Woodlawn Ave., provided a regular sound of coal rattling down a chute every 15 minutes into giant furnaces that changed coal into gas. When oil was substituted for coal, that sound was no longer heard.

Another sound was the Bryant Lumber Co. whistle which was blown to inform the workers it was time to start the morning shift, stop for lunch, go back to work, or go home. They cut lumber out of huge logs which had been rafted into the lake next to the Bryant mill near the Fremont Bridge.

Then there were the whistles of boats signaling the bridge tender to open the Fremont Bridge, and his acknowledgment - sounds that still are heard. And there were the deep, loud foghorns of ships informing other ships of each others' positions.

The sounds from the zoo, mostly at night, were of the animals expressing frustration at having to exist penned-up in barred cages - or perhaps, pining for a mate. Their howling would start with one animal, and then spread to the whole zoo.

My at-home family at that time numbered five: dad, mom, older brother Art, younger sister Pat, and myself. My oldest brother, Milton, had married and was in his own home, and another brother, Elbert, had died of encephalitis.

MY DAD, ORRILL, was primarily a musician and piano teacher, at times with downtown studios, and branches in Ballard, Bremerton, and Maple Valley, and of course, our own home. He was an excellent pianist, and I am reminded of his music every time I hear his favorites played today. I used to fall asleep at night, upstairs, listening to his practicing downstairs on his grand piano. Quite often he would be readying the piece of music he would play at his next monthly students' recital.

Dad also, for several years, wrote scholarly editorials for the Outlook community paper, our family business, conducted in the basement.

My mom, Emma Frances, in addition to preparing meals and looking after the family, proofread the paper, the news and ads, and the job printing. She also could hand-feed the newspaper folding machine (she and I working together when it required two people). I also teamed up with her when we needed to staple yearbooks, etc. She would lay each booklet on the stapling machine's V-shaped rest-plate, and I would drive the staples in with the foot-operated peddle mechanism.

Neither of my parents ever drove a car. My dad used the streetcar often to go downtown, and just as often walked both ways. Frequently my mother, dad, sister and I would go on picnics to places like Golden Gardens or Lincoln Park in West Seattle. My mother would pack a lunch in a picnic basket, cover it with a tea towel, and we'd take the streetcar, sometimes transferring two times.

When my brother Art acquired a Model-T Ford, then a later Model-T, and finally got a Model-A Ford with a rumble seat - the five of us could go anywhere, even to Copalis at the ocean. Art, Pat and mother would sit in the front seat, and dad and I in the rumble seat. We even had a homemade canvas roof to go over the rumble seat when it rained.

THE FAMILY'S financial situation was such that we could not afford any extras. Christmas presents for us kids might be a pair of roller skates and a toy or two, plus several items of clothing (something practical). We were in about the same boat as the rest of our neighbors.

However, we benefited from always having a job. But if we made any money it usually had to go for equipment and supplies for the Outlook.

Writing was important to me at an early age, and I have memories and actual copies of such: the little paper, The Magnet, which I produced; articles or columns I wrote (some of them while I was in grade school); the Totem Weekly, which I edited while in Lincoln High. I regret not keeping a diary, as urged by my dad (who kept one for five years when he was a teen-ager). However, many of my columns do relate what my life was like.

I always had a job (and because the Outlook was produced in our basement) had no need to commute to work. What a convenient house: Upstairs was for sleeping; the first floor for proofreading, bookkeeping, eating and piano lessons; and the basement was for working. At first I worked part-time: after school, weekends and evenings; and then full-time upon graduation from high school in 1936. In my first year I was writing three columns for the Outlook (under different names) and did just about anything else that needed doing: hiring carriers, printing, setting type, etc.

The Depression (1929-1942) and World War II affected my family in many ways. There was not enough money to buy more than the necessities; Outlook advertisers were scarce, some of them were "trade-outs," that is we traded advertising for gas, furniture, dental work, etc. (no cash changing hands); and we could not keep up the payments on our house - not until Roosevelt was elected president and he developed a better system of making payments over a longer period.

AS A CHILD I recall seeing a daily bread line on N. 45th Street; American Indian ladies sitting on a downtown sidewalk trying to sell baskets they had made; men selling apples for 10 cents; an older English couple, friends of my folks (who ate dinner with us every Sunday night) really appreciating a good meal, one beyond their means. We couldn't even afford an icebox, let alone a refrigerator, until we worked out a trade-out with Davison's Appliances.

Our neighbors generally were no better off than were we, and some lost what little savings they had when a bank failed - before the government guaranteed bank savings, another of Roosevelt's innovations.

The one thing the Stapps could do was attend all the movies that played at the 45th St. Theatre because we traded tickets (which we printed) for advertising, and gave them to our carrier boys and staff. Even at that, we still lost $2,000 when the theatre owner ran away to Alaska.

My favorite shows were a series of Andy Hardy movies starring Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney. My favorite books were the Teeny Weenies, and the Wizard of Oz.

When important events of history were happening there were three ways we found out in a hurry: by the Seattle Times whistle, a daily newspaper EXTRA, or by radio. The Times Whistle would be blown to announce that a big news event had just occurred. Phone the Times and they would tell you what happened - that is if you could get on the line.

I recall when President Harding died (I was five years old) of first hearing about it when the Times sounded its mournful whistle. I listened while my dad dialed MAin 0300 and learned the news. He told me the President had died. At the time I didn't even know what a president was.

Details would follow in "extras" put out by the Times and P-I, and hawked on the streets by carrier boys shouting "EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT!" Later, as more people acquired radios, that's where we would first learn the big news.

ON SUMMER EVENINGS we liked to play out in the street until it got dark. In general the little kids were supposed to return home when the streetlights went on. The older ones could stay out an hour or two later, until it got too dark to see. When we became high school students it was not unusual to stay out until midnight on Fridays and Saturdays.

My friends and I often gathered on Mrs. Ware's porch (4118 Ashworth Ave.) laughing, telling jokes, and singing popular songs. However, when Bill Finlay's mother was upset because he hadn't returned home by midnight (he was due to be at St. Benedict Catholic Church early the next morning) she came over to the Ware's front porch, and in front of his friends, grabbed his ear, and led him home - just across the street.

There used to be a weekly ;song sheet you could buy for a nickel. It had all the words of the top 40 songs. Bill and I could sing more of them than anyone else in our neighborhood. Although we were in the Deep Depression OUR songs were much more hopeful, musical and fun-loving than those of today.

For example, here's part of a song I recall: "Potatoes are cheaper, tomatoes are cheaper, now's the time to fall in love. The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, gave the price a downward shove..."

I think the main thing we learned during the Depression was that one can be just as happy with a few material things as with many - and as a whole I suspect we were able to enjoy many facets of life more than do a lot of people today. It seems as though we might have been less selfish, less apt to be involved with drugs, less quick to anger, less apt to damage property, less likely to threaten or kill others - if we didn't get our way.

Old-timers of my generation often refer to their early years as The Good Old Days. I wonder how later generations will refer to theirs?