By STAN STAPP

Author's Note: In May of 1981, Lincoln High School's last class graduated, and the school, located at 4400 Interlake Ave. N in the Wallingford district, closed.

A big reunion attracting thousands was held, and a 32-page publication, "Lincoln's Yesterdays," recalled life at Lincoln since it was first opened in 1907.

Henry Gordon put together the commemorative issue with the help of many others. Several former staff members of the Outlook, the North Seattle community newspaper my family and eventually I published for several decades until its sale in 1974, contributed articles and photos to "Lincoln's Yesterdays." They were: myself and Muriel Keith Little, both members of Lincoln's Class of '36; Trudy Weckworth and Karen West. Carl Bengston, of Lincoln's Class of '44, handled much of the advertising.

In 1997, $10 million was spent remodeling the school and it was reopened so that Ballard High School students could attend there for two years, while a new Ballard High was being built. This past year, Latona Elementary students attended Lincoln while their school was being remodeled. And this fall, Bryant Elementary students will do the same.

One of my articles in "Lincoln's Yesterdays," recalling life at Lincoln as I saw it, is repeated here.

STAN STAPP,

Lincoln High, Class of 1936

My love for Lincoln High School started before I ever became a student - as a neighborhood kid, living just a block and a half away. Along with the other kids, I skated, scootered, and triked the Lincoln sidewalks, pretending the iron railing doors under the auditorium steps were a jail cell, played football on the front lawn, and while learning to ride a bike probably knocked off every red litter barrel that hung from the telephone poles.

It seemed an eternity before I had graduated from Interlake Elementary (now the Wallingford Center) and Hamilton Junior High and actually entered Lincoln. Coming from Hamilton, whose last of the old-time conservative principals, George R. Austin, frowned on: (1) boys walking to school with girls without a note from home; (2) girls wearing "whoopie socks" (anklets); and (3) the use of lipstick - it was somewhat of a shock to find that just about all of the females at Lincoln wore painted lips.

Because of Austin's strong admonition against walking on the grass, to this day I carefully avoid trespassing the Hamilton parking strips.

Well, the shock soon wore off, and I discovered many other interesting things about high school girls - shy as I was. What young man of the day didn't give more than a passing glance at that beautiful platinum blonde, Helen Terho?

But there were limits at Lincoln, which Jeanne Turley found out the day she wore hair curlers and was sent home to shape up - in the meantime drawing a front page headline in the Seattle Times.

And at the Senior Class picnic, to which we ferried on the Crossline to Fletcher Bay, Bainbridge Island, the girls adhered to the following decree: "Girls may wear slacks or culotte skirts; shorts are absolutely forbidden."

But we still had fun. I remember a scavenger hunt with Emma Mae Harrison, and a Hoot Owl picnic and Katharine Wheeler, and the many school and PTA dances.

There were many schools of dancing around town, such as Faurot's, which offered eight lessons for $3. But I learned to foxtrot and jitterbug at Sallie Sue White's School of Dance in the University District, often walking over there with Allen Beach, who needed a "crash course" in order to try out for a part in the school operetta.

In those days, frosh or sophs weren't allowed to dance at their school parties, so they just stood around and wondered why they were there.

But as upperclassmen, we could attend dances in the Girls' Gym after school and the monthly PTA dances at the Green Lake Fieldhouse (15 cents if tickets were bought at school, 25 cents if bought at the door). At times, I rode to the Fieldhouse dances on the old Green Lake No. 20 streetcar.

On one occasion, in which a collision ensued between two couples during the playing of "Tiger Rag," I felt quite proud that I alone was able to remain on my feet, even though my partner and the other couple crashed to the floor.

Despite this, Rex Kincaid still invited me to his Halloween party, where a young lady taught me a new dance step, the "Dishrag."

Usually the school dances employed student bands, such as Johnny Shrewsbury's which he later changed to Johnny Starr's, with the theme song "Stardust"; Howard Jenning's Melodians, and Bob Andersen's.

By the time the Senior Prom rolled around, I was ready - and laid out the 50 cents a couple for the dance program, filled it up with other senior's names, and felt pretty snazzy strolling into the Seattle Yacht Club with pretty Charlotte Campbell, an eighth grade student from John Marshall Junior High. I had met her in Sallie Sue's class, and she was a good dancer.

Although Lloyd Nelson accused me, at the dance orally, and in writing in my school annual: "Watta cradle robber!" - I noticed that neither he, nor any of the other males, found it any great chore to dance with her.

Back at school, who can forget Allie Blough's stern hand in running the study hall (auditorium), and the punishment for "rummies," of having to sit on the "turndowns"?

Or the day Miss Lulu Hotchkiss had an altercation with Vice President Daniel J. Lothrop in her art class. (Both had come with the school, back in 1907.) Unfortunately for Lothrop, who had dropped by on an attendance problem, he had the temerity to make a suggestion about a painting technique - actually complimenting what she had just said. But Miss Hotchkiss would have no amateur artist dabbling in her bailiwick - and she actually ran him out of the room.

On the other hand, I was always afraid that Principal Leroy M. Higgins would drop by Bertha Martin's Typing I class and become upset with the jazzy phonograph music of Ted Lewis' Orchestra, which she used to develop rhythm in our typing technique. I'm sure he would have much preferred that classic, "March of the Toy Soldiers," the only record possessed by Irene Taake, who taught Typing II. To this day, when I hear that tune, my index fingers automatically begin typing out "f, j - f, j."

And then there was the custodian, Reginald LeBrun, who kept sports-minded students abreast of the World Series each year by posting a running score, inning by inning, over the window of his tiny basement office.

One of the most touching scenes I recall while at Lincoln was during a football game at the old Civic Field when Starr Sutherland Jr. was kicked out of the game part way through and ultimately headed for the stands, where his father, Starr Sutherland Sr., was watching. I witnessed the two walking towards each other on the top row, silhouetted against the setting sun, and father putting his arm around his son, comforting him as best he could.

Sports was very big at Lincoln in my days, particularly in track and football - but still, even though Lincoln usually encountered the Thanksgiving Football Championship Game in the University of Washington Stadium with the best record - Garfield High School always won the deciding game.

At every football game, we had a naughty yell which persisted, though frowned on by the school administration, with embarrassed teachers and yell leaders sort of looking the other way when it was given. However, in later years, it was officially recognized - the offending word "hell" becoming somewhat acceptable to use in public. Actually, we didn't say "hell": it just sounded like it. The yell went like this:

"We've gotta high school,

We've gotta yell,

We've gotta team,

That fights like

L-I-N-C-O-L-N!"

I remember Coach Bill Nollan for his sharp pencils, his roll-taking method in gym classes (if you weren't standing on your number on the gym floor when the student roll-taker came by - you were absent), and after graduation, his passing out student record cards when he ran into you at the most unexpected places.

Nollan graded on the A or E system. You could get half an E by being absent without an excuse or by failing to take your gym clothes home periodically for a thorough washing. Two half-Es, and you got a full E on your quarterly report. One half-E, or none at all, and you got an A.

And who can forget the intensity of the basketball games in the old Lincoln gym, where the din was terrific, the players and spectators packed in like sardines and hanging from the running track above the floor. Or the intensity of Baseball Coach Shirley Boselly, chin jutting out, arguing with the ump?

There were Depression days, but we still managed to eat out.

Probably the most popular hangout was Broome's, home of the "Aristocratic Hamburger," where a dime bought one. The place was always crowded, particularly on Friday and Saturday nights, sometimes three-deep behind the stools, with some of the patrons being college kids - in tuxes, even. Broome's was also our first experience with drive-in eating, and pretty carhops.

The Beanery, right next to the school, attracted a lot of kids who didn't buy their lunch in the school lunchroom. And reasonable, too. A Thanksgiving Turkey Lunch, for example, cost 15 cents.

For those with a sweet tooth, there were delicious malted milks at the Lincoln Pharmacy for 10 cents and ice cream sodas for 5 cents or 15 cents. And at the Mountain Creamery, buttermilk lovers could drink all they wanted for 5 cents, filling their glass from a faucet coming out of the wall.

Convenient to Bruen's 45th Street Theatre (now the Guild 45th) was Ullan's, with homemade chocolates, or double decker ice cream cones for a nickel.

Another popular spot was the Igloo, on Aurora just north of downtown, where we used to eat in our cars at midnight or later, and listen to radio station KXA and Stay-Up Stan, the All-Night Record Man.

And then there were my days on the staff of the Totem Weekly, Lincoln's student newspaper, in Room 101; being praised by one student for my "fine job as editor - particularly the last issue" (which had actually been put out by the Cub Staff). Being whacked on the palm by a ruler by the adviser, Bernice Dahl, for missing a deadline. Unbeknownst to her, I think, was that behind her back we called her "Bunny." She was one of the best teachers I ever had.

Barbara Blake was News Editor at the time - a very nice girl, but unfortunately in love with Nelson Eddy. Her love for music eventually led her to Bill Wells, an attorney, and both have "sung their way through life" in Anacortes. They are good friends of mine.

My editorials and articles were not very controversial in those days - as they later were on the Outlook. One I wrote, on order from Principal Higgins, was titled "Bury the Paintbrush." It resulted from the action of a bunch of Roosevelt High School students who had painted the school and our big rock green and yellow. At the Railsplitter-Teddy football game, student leaders actually buried a paintbrush in the middle of the old Civic Field in an attempt to cool the situation.

And Carl A. Pitzer, our famous music director, was not too happy with my criticism of the school band for not wearing its new uniforms to ALL the games.

The best-read part of the Totem was probably the feature page, particularly the gossip columns, with names like Totem Tom Toms, Totem Scout Saw, and Totem Pole - generally relating what boy had been seen with what girl, where.

I'll never forget Dick Benham, of the sports staff, picking up Betty Lee Wilkins and setting her upon the counter in the Totem Office, and (more or less on bended knee) singing to her, "I'm In the Mood for Love."

Wow! If I only had had such nerve!

And there was Bob Ward, a real humorist in both his writing and linoleum block illustrations that graced the feature page.

I was, of course, associated with the Outlook community newspaper all of my life, from carrier boy to printer to publisher. It was a family operation, produced for many years in the basement of our home, near Lincoln. We also printed the Totem Weekly.

I recall an incident, several years after graduation, when we had just finished printing the Totem, and someone had tied the papers up in five bundles - of quite varying sizes. I called up the adviser, Willard Bergh, and instead of just saying the usual, "Come and get 'em," (they usually just walked over and carried them back), I told him the bundles were of assorted sizes: two big ones and three smaller assorted sizes. "Send me two big guys and three girls - one tall blonde, one medium redhead, and one short brunette."

Much to my surprise, within five minutes, in walked exactly what I had ordered. (Being as it was lunchtime, I think that Bergh had just gone out into the hall and filled my order.)

Then there was the scene of Jim Knapton playing "Deep Purple" on my dad's grand piano, as my sister, Pat, listened. The two had co-edited the 1937 Totem Annual. ... Dale Riepe selling my his Lynx Club sweater. ... The Boys' Club assembly that had to be canceled when it got out of hand. ... Clif Keil tossing a paper airplane over the windowed partition area in the back of Elizabeth Graves' creative writing class, with a message for the teacher. ... The hundreds, or was it thousands, of rubber bands that had been shot up into the study hall-auditorium chandeliers that so filled the bowls you could hardly tell when the lights were turned on. ... The day a foot or two of snow fell on the roof, and nearly every teacher on the third floor had to set up buckets to catch the dripping water from a leaky roof. ... How when you first came to Lincoln you were assigned one of those awful "bird cage" lockers on the third floor. ... and on and on. ...

The quality that made Lincoln great wasn't the building itself, fine as it was. No, it wasn't the sticks and stones, but the human beings involved - the faculty and the students.

While Lincoln was closed as a high school in 1981, our memories of the good life will remain with us until we die - that cannot be taken away!