A 2009 "Vanishing Seattle" calendar arrived on my editor's desk the other day.

The calendar spotlighted golden oldies like Dag's Beefy Boy Burgers, the Twin Teepees Restaurant, Hats and Boots gas station and Abruzzi's Pizza on Pike Street.

(Abruzzi's lives on in a Normandy Park offshoot.)

I've spotlighted vanishing Burien spots like Bells of Burien, Dad and Lad and Lou's Drive-in in previous columns.

Sadly, it's not only buildings with character that have vanished, but also the old characters.

Around here, we lost Dick Dahlgard and Joe Brennan this year, among others.

A recent "70th anniversary" promotion at the Burien Ivar's rekindles memories of another colorful Puget Sound character--Ivar Haglund.

I'm tempted to try the impress the young people behind the Burien Ivar's counter by casually mentioning, "Hey, I worked for the old man."

It was back in the last century-40 years ago-- when I was hired on during a college summer break as a busboy at the Acres of Clams, Pier 54 at the foot of Madison Street.

It was a lateral career move from my previous summer's stint as a dishwasher at the Burien Denny's.

My immediate boss was Ruby, a formable former waitress whose main job was seating customers.

I liked to joke that eventually she'd quit hostessing after becoming paranoid that people were always following her.

As for the icon, Ivar, I must be the only one who doesn't have a funny story about him. I would spot him occasionally chatting quietly with the manager at a corner table.

But colorful stories abound about Ivar.

As owner of Seattle's first aquarium, Ivar staged a wrestling match between Oscar the Octopus and washed-up prizefighter Two Ton Tony.

As reported on HistoryLink.org, "...it was revealed that the prizefighter had been wrestling not Oscar but an already kaput substitute whose grimacing trainers-Ivar included-seemed to be restraining the frightening eight-arm pugilist when they were actually animating it with underwater thrashing."

There's also the syrup story.

The coupling on a tank-car hose ruptured and spilled a thousand gallons of syrup on the tracks across from his restaurant. Ivar called the newspapers, whipped up a batch of pancakes, grabbed a big spoon, sprinted over to the spill and started scooping syrup onto the pancakes while assuring the assembled reporters and photographers that Ivar's was always generous with its syrup portions.

As for me, I really only have one semi-interesting story from my Ivar's days.

After my shift one night, I was walking along the waterfront when I heard a woman's faint voice calling, "Help," from down a darkened pier.

Now, I was a callow boy from the suburbs of Burien and not sophisticated in the ways of the big-city waterfront.

But even I knew not to wander down a dark pier in downtown Seattle, lured by a woman's voice.

So when I walked down the pier, I discovered a young woman in the water hanging on to a piling.

"What are you doing down there?" I asked logically.

"Oh, I got mad at my boyfriend so I jumped in the water," she answered back just as logically.

Well, I couldn't think of any way I could save her so I hurried back to the restaurant to seek help.

The restaurant was closed so the only entry was through the employee's door at the street-side fish bar.

The guys didn't want to listen to me and definitely did not appreciate me opening the door with people milling around outside while they were counting the night's cash receipts.

I was afraid I was going to be the one in need of rescue.

So I phoned the police.

"Has she been drinking? The dispatcher asked.

Well, at the time, I had had no experience with alcohol, but I took an educated guess.

"Yeah, I think so," I answered.

Ivar's employees, police officers and I converged on the darkened pier. Fortunately for me, the damsel in distress was still there.

One of the fry cooks jumped from boat to boat, hauled her out of the water and into the arms of the law.

I went home.

Not as colorful a story as scooping up syrup from the train tracks but that's my story and I'm stuck with it.