By STAN STAPP

PETER SCHNELLER, former Principal of Ballard High School (1962 to 1974), died Jan. 3. He was 86. His first wife, Roma Coit, who married him in 1941, died in 1978.

He married Barbara Allen Conway in 1984, who survives him, as do two daughters, Sharon Henry and Patricia Schneller.

I first became acquainted with Peter Schneller in 1963 when he became embroiled in a controversy over free speech and the "Ballard Forum." In my column in the Outlook newspaper, I had written: "The Ballard Forum, a student instigated project, that provides Ballard students with the opportunity to listen to and challenge speakers first hand on a variety of subjects, was put in serious jeopardy last week."

It seems that when a member of the Socialist Workers Party, Frank Krasnowsky, was scheduled to speak, the right-wing John Birch Society attempted to ban his appearance. A lot of pressure was put on Principal Schneller to disallow the right of Krasnowsky to express his views and the right of the students to hear them.

Principal Schneller wisely postponed the Forum meeting for one week while he researched the problem - in the end praising the students for their efforts - and gave them permission to proceed as planned. The Outlook, in reporting details of the controversy required a page of space: for my column, for Principal Schnellers' statement, and a bold headline that read: "FREE SPEECH TRIUMPHS OVER JOHN BIRCH."

Some 30 years later, in the early '90s, my wife Dorothy and I got to have lunch with Peter and Barbara at what is now the Urban Bakery, but was originally Peddler's, and then the Green Lake Line Cafe at the north end of the lake. We also all got together to eat a time or two at the former Twin Teepees (which was recently torn down). On some occasions we met after we had walked around the lake and one time Peter and Barbara showed us their new condo at 7111 Linden Ave. N.

* * *

MARGE LUEDERS, another friend of Dorothy and myself, and well-known to hundreds of people through her interest as a social activist, died Jan. 22 at the age of 85. She was involved in a variety of causes: universal health care, world peace, civil rights, the Gray Panthers, Older Womens' League, Unitarian-Universalist Association, and many other organizations.

We knew her through the University Unitarian Church, mainly in the '70s, when we all served on various boards and committees. Marge was also a journalist, editing the church council's monthly newspaper, the Source, and a columnist in several weekly newspapers.

When Dorothy and I returned to Seattle from a five-year residency in Anacortes in the early '80s, Marge invited me to join the Source staff, which I declined (but probably would have accepted, if at that time I hadn't become heavily involved with the Fremont Forum, forerunner to several other publications).

A couple of years ago, Marge moved from her home at 5240 17th NE, to Denver to live with her daughter, Peggy Kent. Two other daughters survive, Kathy Morgret and Suzanne Reynolds. I last talked to Marge about six months ago when, on a visit to Seattle, she came across a copy of the Jet City Maven - now the Seattle Sun. She was excited then about plans which had her and her daughter's family moving from Denver to a home on Hood Canal in a year or two.

Memorial services for Marge Lueders will be held Sunday, Feb. 17, 3 p.m. at University Unitarian Church.

* * *

JULIE DOYLE became a waitress in 1966 and quit this Jan. 8 - the last 27 years at Claire's Pantry in Lake City, where she was their most veteran employee.

Dorothy and I have eaten there about once a week for the last seven or eight years - probably some 300-400 times. And we made a point of being at Claire's on Julie's final day as did many others to mark her birthday and retirement.

There was a lot of laughing, kissing, hugging, and a few birthday cards as friends fondly wished her farewell. She wore a crown which said HAPPY BIRTHDAY, apparently made of cardboard and lollipops. At the same time I quietly celebrated my own Jan. 8 birthday, my 84th, noting that two other well-known persons, also born on the 8th of January, surely must be marking the occasion somewhere: ex-Sen. Slade Gordon, and Elvis Presley (wherever he may be). A Republican politician, a rock & roller - with Julie and I somewhere in the middle.

Julie lives in Kingston and made the trip to Claire's daily via ferryboat as a walk-on, her husband getting her to and from the ferry, and a second car getting her to and from the restaurant. The sad thing about waitresses quitting is that most of the time you never see them again. Will that be the case with Julie? I don't know. But I did get her address - just in case.

* * *

DURING THE DEPRESSION, when I was a Wallingford kid, we used to play football out on the street, or in a "sandlot" or playground. It was inexpensive for all we needed was a second-hand football: cost $1. We could play Tackle or Touch on the lot or playground and Touch only in the street - the cement pavement being too hard for Tackle.

The other day, Hans Loffler and I were comparing notes on the subject. Hans, when a youngster and an Outlook carrier, lived then at 3719 Bagley Ave. He attended the same schools as I: Interlake Elementary, Hamilton Junior High, and Lincoln High. He graduated in 1941; I in 1936. Hans now lives at 1520 N 82nd St. in the Licton Springs neighborhood, just north of Green Lake.

HANS: I was very handy to a sandlot playing field at N 34th and Wallingford Avenue, next to a shoe factory.

STAN: That would have been Forester Shoe Manufacturing Co., 3402 Wallingford. It later moved to Western Avenue. Then Grandma Cookies took over the Forester Building. You may remember the big sign across the roof, "GRANDMA COOKIES," that could be seen from the Aurora Bridge.

HANS: Right. Well, anyway, that lot had all the lumps and clumps of an unplowed field - sand would have been a welcome addition.

STAN: Hamilton School was conveniently located for you, across the street from the Outlook newspaper office at 4203 Woodlawn Ave. where once a week you could pick up your papers for delivery. (Most readers of this column know by now that our office/plant was in the Stapp Family basement.)

This was in the days when carriers were required to give "doorknob delivery," not just toss the paper on the porch, or in the bushes. The Outlook in those days usually had only eight pages and was light enough to blow away if not deposited in the handle of the front door or tucked under the doormat. You couldn't do that now, delivery of newspapers door-to-door, for there are few kids anymore willing to deliver a route like that every week.

HANS: They'd rather play organized games these days, such as football or soccer - providing they can wear neat uniforms. Goal posts and yard markers for us? You gotta be kidding. Our vacant lot was longer than most city lots and about 80 feet wide, calling for a lot of passing up the middle.

One of the regulars had an uncle on the West Seattle High School staff who secured some worn-out and ill-fitting equipment - such as a four-pound helmet on a one-pound head, which distributed the impacts clear down to the shoes.

Which was just as well - for nothing was covered by insurance, penicillin hadn't been invented yet, and Band-Aids were patent pending.

The owner of the football generally dictated the length of the game, with early dinners and darkness often determining quitting time, which was just as well for by then our clothes had absorbed much of the vacant lot dirt, and shirttail Handywipes were saturated.

The football was another thing. It was the pregnant mother of the streamlined balls of today. The inside of the ball controlled the outside. It was a bladder, and like many bladders couldn't hold its contents indefinitely. Inflation required removing the lacing, pulling the stem out, pumping it up and stuffing it back - a chore that fell to a lot of fathers.

A ball that started to go soft was easier to grip, but lost yardage when thrown or kicked. You couldn't have it both ways.

STAN: My "gang" (we were nice guys) played Touch Football out in the street, not Tackle - usually on Ashworth Ave., south of N 42nd. (You couldn't do that today because car traffic is much heavier now.) Twice I bought used footballs from Lincoln High Coach Bill Nollan, for $1 each.

The first one was short-lived. It had been taken home by Bill Finlay, who lived at 4135 Ashworth Ave. He soon got to running around inside his house, trying to hide the ball from his cousins. Finally, he managed to get far enough ahead of them that on the next pass through the kitchen he slipped it in the oven - and forgot about it - for awhile. Later Bill's mother, preparing for dinner, turned on the oven, unaware the ball was in it.

Shortly thereafter - WHAT A BOOM! The ball exploded, blowing apart in several pieces. The next day I bought our second ball.

Poor Bill, he had been turning out for the Lincoln football team, and not faring very well. On one occasion Coach Nollan bawled him out, describing his "STANCE as more of a STENCH."

HANS: Our football plays were designed in the dirt, directing players movements without regard to modern day rules. Disputes were highly vocal, but guarded, depending on the ball owner's position. Leaving in a huff with the ball ended the game right there.

Sometimes we would form one team and challenge other teams at the Lower Woodland Park Playground. A ragtag operation if there ever was one, the length of our games determined by a number of factors: a rain storm, chores at home, paper routes, or getting skunked. Thus our energy and wardrobe had to be preserved for the long walk home from the park.

Surprisingly, despite this, a number of players became outstanding high school athletes, as well as college football players. I can only add that we played with the best of them in our early years.