Ivar - What's In A Name?

I STOOD IN LINE AT Ivar's Indian Salmon House, smelling the alder smoke, smelling the industrialized north end of Lake Union, and that stupid little ditty went through my mind again and I smiled:

"No longer the slave of ambition,

I laugh at the world and its shams

And think of my happy condition,

Surrounded by acres of clams."

How many thousands of times did Ivar Haglund sing that song ("The Old Settler," written by Francis D. Henry in 1902)? His seafaring captain's hat cocked back on his head, an impish smile, strumming, his quavering voice lifting.

The last time I heard him sing it was a half dozen years ago. He was teamed with Don Steele, the former superintendent of Seattle's schools, who was a frustrated cowboy singer. They had cut a tape together and wailed out such parochial, if obscure, standards as "Run, Clam, Run," "Hark, Hark, the Shark" ("Hark, hark, we say. Here comes the shark full of vitamin A . . . ") and "Keep It Green" ("We love our state so evergreen but not the folks who kindle/The forest dry around Quilcene, Skamokawa or Prindle/That's where our school fund cash is/Unless this futile waste we stop/This wealth will turn to ashes.")

After a collective gasp, that media-relations concert ended - the purpose was to raise money for marine biology instruction in Seattle schools - and the assembled press fell into an astonished and prolonged silence before fleeing back to their assorted agencies of manipulated reason.

Sweet suffering saints, what a genuine character the man was.

Ivar Haglund died in 1985. His restaurants (which now number 33), his fireworks displays and his folk legends remain.

Before his death, Haglund had turned over the operation of his restaurants to two managers who had been with him since their teens: Scott Kingdom (at that time general manager and vice president) and James Moons, who was in charge of general operations. Kingdom, Moon and businessman Jim Seaver bought the corporation in 1986 from the University of Washington.

Haglund had no children. He bequeathed his estate to the University of Washington School of Business and to Washington State's school of hotel and restaurant management.

In a few more years, the memories of the man himself may fade.

Today he is still remembered as an absolute and unabashed genius in the art of self-promotion. Echelons of editors fought to keep his name and picture out of the freestyle newspapering of the '40s and '50s and '60s. To no avail.

"I had several friends who were reporters and photographers," Ivar explained years ago, when I was a fledgling columnist. "They were often thirsty."

About that same time, I attended one of his annual meetings with his employees, during which he would thank them, and tell them all what the state of their pension funds and profit-sharing were. He concluded that meeting (in 1976) by stating: "Let me make this clear. I did this all for me. But I couldn't have done it without you. Now, let's get out of here and work like hell!"

Presumably, they did.

Haglund was a successful restaurateur, but that was only part of it. He started out as an entertainer in 1936 with a shabby (his word) little nickel-and-dime dockside "aquarium" on the Seattle waterfront.

He had somehow obtained a "collector's" license and periodically jumped into Puget Sound with a net.

" . . . It was all so simple," he once told me. "All you had to do was get whatever was in the Sound up into a tank! People came in to look at the octopus. We had a seal that was with us for years. And dogfish. We called them sharks, but they were really dogfish."

He charged a dime for adults and five cents for children, "and if you took in $10 or $20 in those days you were really living."

He was born in West Seattle, and attended Alki Grade School, West Seattle High and the University of Washington, from which he graduated with a degree in economics in 1928 - just in time for the Crash of '29 and the Great Depression.

The Depression didn't affect him greatly. While others were out looking for work, Ivar had concluded that was hopeless. So he stayed home.

"For the next eight years, I took things as they came," he said. "That is, I did nothing."

Nothing?

"Nothing at all. I had a small inheritance to live on."

After the aquarium began to draw reliable numbers, Ivar installed a fish-and-chips bar next door in response to tourists looking for quick-fix meals. He prospered.

After the Second World War, he negotiated the use of Pier 54 from the Washington Fish and Oyster Co. and opened the Acres of Clams. He prospered some more. Twenty years later he bought the pier for a half-million.

Those were the days before media-relations consultants. Those were the days of no-holds-barred press agentry, and Ivar and his cronies knew all of the holds - as they would soon demonstrate.

In 1946, Ivar promoted an underwater "boxing match" between the aquarium's pet octopus - a 75-pound cephalopod named Oscar - and a washed-up heavyweight contender named Two Ton Tony Galento, who tipped the scales at 350 pounds.

Galento's singular claim to fame (other than what subsequently happened to Oscar) was that he once had decked heavyweight champion Joe Louis before being himself trounced.

In any case, Galento agreed to the waterfront bout and came to Seattle to fight Oscar. "It took us 50 minutes to get all the boxing gloves on the octopus," Ivar said. "Then we pushed them both into the tank set up outside on the dock."

(Sensitive readers, animal-rights activists and supporters of PAWS may wish to stop reading at this point and resume reading at the line: "After the death . . . ")

Amid great thrashing, splashing, grappling and bolo punching, the Battle in Seattle proceeded in 48-degree salt water until a frantic Two Ton Tony leaped from the tank, claiming a foul.

"He later swore," said Ivar, "that the octopus had fouled him under the waterline, but that doesn't mean he pulled anything."

Fouled or not, Galento took his check and left town - whether as victor or loser not clearly determined. But shortly thereafter Oscar was discovered dead.

History, decency and murky water shroud what Galento did to the cuttlefish, but shortly afterward, Haglund proclaimed private grief, a period of public mourning and the acquisition of Oscar II.

After the death of Oscar, but before a full surge of local lamentation (or slack-jawed consternation) could set in, Ivar had his replacement octopus open for business.

It was later admitted that the fight had been rigged. Really rigged. Oscar (the First) had died of natural causes. Before the fight began. Long before. Two Ton Tony was fisticuffing a limber stiff.

The next year, 1947, Ivar founded his Pacific International Free Style Amateur Clam Eating Contest. Dick Watson, a Seattle cab driver, won (eating 120 clams in 10 minutes).

Ivar continued his ambitious streak in 1952, when he asked City Hall for permission to build a replica of the Denny cabin at First and Yesler, from which he hoped to sell clam juice. Permission hotly denied.

But as luck would have it, a railroad tank car full of sorghum syrup ruptured across the street from the Acres. Ivar called the press and raced outside in hip boots, carrying a stack of pancakes.

He sold clams and fish and chips and good will. He put up a sign limiting the amount of clam juice (an alleged aphrodisiac) a man could drink, unless he had a signed note of permission from his wife. He popularized "Viking Stew," a commendable Northwest seafood soup.

His book of Puget Sound ballads came out in '53, including the immortal "Run, Clam, Run."

New restaurants followed: The Captain's Table in '65, the Salmon House in '69. The various fish-and-chips stands thereafter. He bought the Smith Tower in '76 and hung an outrageous salmon windsock from its flagpole.

In 1983, abetted by an outrageous campaign manager - Emmett Watson - Ivar initiated a prank-inspired run for port commissioner. He tried to withdraw from the race, won the primary by a landslide and was elected by a 4-to-3 margin.

"He was genuinely surprised - and possibly offended - when he discovered that he was actually expected to attend port meetings," noted Jean Godden, now a Seattle Times columnist. "But he was not a bad port commissioner. When you get down to it, how can anyone be a bad port commissioner?"

Haglund began his Fourth of July fireworks exhibitions in 1967. When asked how he could justify such annual extravagance, he replied:

"It's $18,000 gone up in smoke. But at least you know where it's gone."

I suppose we can say the same for him. Maybe no city gets or deserves more than one Ivar Haglund in its history.

VIKING STEW About 2 1/2 quarts (10 servings)

For the roux:

1/2 pound butter

1/2 pound flour

For the stock:

3 pounds fish bones

1/2 cup dry white wine

1 large leek, white part only, coarsely chopped

1 large onion, peeled and coarsely chopped

1 bouquet garni (2 bay leaves, 1 teaspoon dried thyme, 6 black peppercorns, 4 parsley stems tied into a piece of cheesecloth)

3 quarts water

1/2 pound cod

1/2 pound halibut

1/2 pound salmon

For the soup:

2 1/2 quarts fish stock

2 medium onions, cut into 1/4-inch dice

2 cups celery, cut into 1/4-inch dice

1 1/2 tablespoons salt

1 teaspoon white pepper

1 quart half-and-half, heated

1 pound potatoes, cooked, peeled and diced

1/4 pound bay shrimp

1. To prepare the roux: In a large saute pan melt the butter over medium-low heat; slowly whisk in the flour. Cook and stir until light tan in color. Set aside.

2. To prepare the stock: In a 1 1/2-gallon stockpot combine the fish bones and white wine. Cover and simmer over low heat for 10 minutes. Add the leek, onion, bouquet garni and water. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat and simmer 35 minutes, skimming as necessary.

3. Reduce the heat to a low simmer, gently lower the cod into the stock and poach about 5 minutes or until the fish flakes with a fork but remains firm. Gently remove from the stock and place on a platter. Repeat with the halibut and salmon, being careful not to overcook. Place all of the fish in refrigeration to cool and firm. Strain the stock through cheesecloth.

4. To prepare the soup: In a large stock pot, bring the stock to a boil and reduce the heat to a simmer. Add the onions and celery. Simmer about 10 minutes; add the salt and pepper.

5. Whisk the roux into the half-and-half, which has been heated to just below the simmering point. Gently stir the cream mixture into the stock.

6. Remove the fish from refrigeration and cut into 3/4-inch cubes. Add to the stock with the potatoes and shrimp. Adjust the seasonings.

Note: For a thicker soup increase the roux measurements by 1/4 pound.

JOHN HINTERBERGER'S FOOD COLUMNS AND RESTAURANT REVIEWS APPEAR SUNDAYS IN PACIFIC AND FRIDAYS IN TEMPO. HE ALSO WRITES A WEDNESDAY COLUMN FOR THE SCENE SECTION OF THE SEATTLE TIMES. VIC CONDIOTTY IS A RETIRED TIMES PHOTOGRAPHER. MAUREEN EDWARDS OF THE TIMES FOOD DEPARTMENT TESTED THIS RECIPE.