MELVIN DURAI'S COLUMN - (A TRIBUTE TO JOHN F. KENNEDY JR.

We knew him first as a young boy, the playful son of a beloved president and a member of the distinguished Kennedy clan.  And then, right before our eyes, he developed into something else: The Sexiest Man Alive.

At least that's what People magazine dubbed him, after an exhaustive, worldwide search turned up no comparable male. His handsome face graced the cover of People and other magazines and forced scores of women to swoon and scores of men to feel terribly inferior.

Yet, as we've been reminded since his tragic death, the magnetic appeal of John F. Kennedy Jr. went far deeper than that. He was gracious and unpretentious, giving 
and loving, loyal and respectful. He could laugh at his own follies and toast the triumphs of others. He was, in some respects, an ordinary guy. But, of course, we'd all like to be that ordinary.

It is sad, in a way, that his looks were celebrated more than his character, but that's partly because he was so strikingly handsome that next to him the cast of Melrose Place might have looked like the cast of The Munsters.

Most men, including me, are reluctant to compliment the looks of other men. We'd rather drink antifreeze. So when women would rave about John's looks, we'd say things like, "Oh, he's not bad." But we knew, deep down, that a plastic surgeon would demand more money than Bill Gates earns to make us look that good.

John knew he was gorgeous. How could he not? They don't put just anyone on the cover of People. They don't fantasize about intellectuals. They don't go crazy whenever Newt Gingrich takes off his shirt.

When John was shirtless in public, it was a major media event, sort of like the moon landing. If a picture is worth a thousand words, a picture of John shirtless was worth a thousand swoons.

But for all the attention and privileges he received, John was as mannerly and unassuming as one could expect. He tried to live, work and play like a regular New Yorker. He wanted to be one of the guys and introduced himself only by his first name. He never said, "Hi, I'm John F. Kennedy Jr.," or "Hi, I'm the sexiest man alive."

By all accounts, he was as nice as they come, even to the hordes of tabloid photographers, who followed him around and used up more film than Steven Spielberg.

When he failed the New York State bar exam, he was the butt of many jokes and ridiculed by the tabloids, one of which declared "The Hunk Flunks." Yes, the hunk endured a lot of bunk. But he took it well and joked about it. And when he finally passed the exam on his third try, he acted like it was no big deal, though he may have wished for another tabloid headline: "A Slam-Dunk for the Hunk."

Rather than entering politics, like other Kennedys, he made his own path and started a politics-and-celebrity magazine, George. He created a pleasant work environment and was so nice to his employees that many of them, to this day, do not understand Dilbert.

He supported several charities and helped start a school for underprivileged children in East Harlem, but sought little publicity for these acts. It was enough to know he was helping others. Besides, he wasn't about to give any more news to those tabloids.

Celebrity, he was born into. Charity, he showed. Dignity, he earned.