When I told his press secretary that I wanted to interview him, she said his schedule was packed and suggested I attend the opening of a fountain in Prospect Park.

It will be busy, she says, but she can pull him aside for a moment. Call me old-fashioned, but in my book, only creeps accost people in parks – and so I let this opportunity to meet Marty, as he’s known to one and all, drift on by.

Knowing I needed to work a little harder to obtain a proper interview with the Brooklyn borough president, I dragged my friend Clover to his annual singles bash at Kingsborough Community College.

He was easy to spot, standing by the hot-dog line in a short-sleeved shirt with huge pineapples printed on it. I am on the other side of the crowd, stuck with a foreign film-loving man who has barnacled himself onto Clover. Marty’s press secretary must feel somewhat sorry for us, for she miraculously appears and leads us Marty-ward.

Before I can get a word in, he starts talking about my shoes. One of his staffers has a similar pair and to prove his point he sends another staffer to find her and bring her over so I can see for myself.

His talking continues, in a nonstop and eye contact-less way that I don’t know how to respond to apart from standing there like a lump. I’m afraid I’ve dug my hole deeper. The next time I bother his press secretary, she’ll probably suggest I sit under a tree in Prospect Park and pray he blossoms into my lap.

It’s more than a bit of a surprise when she calls me a few days later to tell me I’m in luck. I arrive at Brooklyn Borough Hall on time for my 9 a.m. appointment and take a seat in the reception area. It’s an elegant, high-ceilinged space, filled with several efficient-looking ladies seated at mahogany desks.

A few minutes pass, and in bursts the 59-year-old Mr. Brooklyn. He’s wearing a light-gray suit and carrying a briefcase. “Good morning, good morning, good morning, good morning, buenos dias, good morning,” he sing-songs as he barrels down the hall and disappears into his office. His employees just shake their heads and giggle.

When I walk into his room, he’s talking on the phone and looking as adorably chipmunk-cheeked as ever. Soon he’s off the phone and sitting in a chair next to me, with his tasseled left shoe on his lap. He sits still throughout our entire conversation, every so often slapping his shoe when he wishes to emphasize a point.

I ask if he’s always been a Marty. Always. “Never Martin. I don’t remember ever being called Martin.” And only the newspapers use his last name, Markowitz.

Since becoming borough president in 2001, he has come to be known as the funny guy who throws events such as concerts in the park and borough wide aerobics classes with Richard “Sweating to the Oldies” Simmons. Many say he’s a charming entertainer.

But there are some who question the point of a $135,000-a-year civil servant who runs around Brooklyn acting like a cruise director.

His response is marked with tranquility. No shoe-slapping here. “My role has been a modest one. This city is a mayor-dominated city.” He says it’s his job is to promote Brooklyn by coming up with ideas, opportunities, and programs, for which he has a $4.7 million operating budget. He’s also here “to be a nudge, to those that can actually make it happen.”

When he came on board 2 1 /2 years ago, he says the biggest problem besetting Brooklyn was “how Brooklynites look at themselves.” That would explain the cutesy manners improvement and weight-loss campaigns he’s launched.

He does deal with serious issues, but they don’t seem to come that naturally to him. The idea of asking him to tackle, say, the poverty in Brooklyn’s more benighted areas would be like asking Madonna to do “La Traviata.”

Brooklyn’s gravest problem now? “I don’t know, I really don’t know.” Looooong pause. “I think Sheepshead Bay could be and should be a great place for tourists to go to, and I think we have to do something to increase the fishing village atmosphere. So that’s a challenge.”

He fishes around for a more thoughtful answer, and then – eureka! – he remembers, “I think the biggest problem in Brooklyn is the lack of affordable housing.”

Then, as if some tube in his memory’s just been unclogged, the rest comes spurting out.

Job creation – even though, he adds, new additions like Ikea and Fairway supermarket are making it better. And crime – even though, he adds,crime rates are going down. And education – even though, he adds, the schools are getting better.

But it’s the Mr. Brooklyn stuff that he does fluently. He encourages his constituents to call him, which they do, and he hears from about 25 each day. “I need the touchy-touchy,” he says. “I need the feely feely touchy touchy.”

Marty grew up in Crown Heights. When he was 9 his father died, and, at 16, the family moved into public housing. “It was a very nice experience. It was a much nicer building and apartment than the one we had.”

He put himself through night school at Brooklyn College by working odd jobs. At 26, he founded the Flatbush Tenants Center, and a politician was born, eventually landing a seat in the State Senate in 1979. He lasted 11 terms.

And if he hadn’t gone into politics? That’s an easy question. So easy he starts to answer it before I’m done with the asking. “Concert promoter.”

He does love the fun stuff, the Brooklyn danceathons and high school graduations. He’s been giving the same “May the force be with you” light saber-enhanced speech at high school graduations for decades, long enough for some of the students to grow up and see the speech again as parents. “Parents say I haven’t changed my speech much, and they’re right.” He slaps his shoe.

The more complicated stuff seems to be less fun.

Take the Brooklyn Arena, real estate developer Bruce Ratner’s plan to build a Brooklyn Nets stadium and 17 high-rise buildings, which has sent community activists in a tizzy. Jezra Kaye of Develop – Don’t Destroy Brooklyn, an organization which claims more than 5,000 members, says the project would cost taxpayers around $500 million and would bring serious traffic problems, pollution, and devastation to small businesses.

“Any argument you make to him, he responds with ‘I’m no expert on financing, but…’ or ‘I’m no expert on eminent domain, but…'” she says. “Marty claims to love the diverse voices of Brooklyn but on this topic he’s not listening. He pretends to be naive. Either that or he is naive.”

So what does he make of his opponents’ point of view? Is he actually listening closer than they think? “Yes, there will be a change. There will be more people working there, more people living there, more people traveling there. We have to prepare traffic issues.”

The project is the largest affordable housing development in Brooklyn in decades, and the city expects the expanded tax revenue will cover the costs. “One thing I’ve learned: You can’t try to please everyone. The benefits to the community are going to far outweigh the modest change that will happen,” he says, starting to sound excited. “It’s good for Brooklyn.”

Marty is persistent when he gets set on an idea. In 1999, lonely Marty was handing out concert leaflets on the beach when he was struck by a woman lying out, doing the crossword puzzle. When she left, he chased after her, gave her his card, and offered his company for dinner. “I said, ‘I’m Marty Markowitz, I bet you’ve heard my name.'” She said, “No,” and failed to call him. He ran into her again, and this time he was more convincing.

They got married that fall, and the couple now rents an apartment on Prospect Park West. With Marty’s job keeping him out until 10 most nights, they don’t get to spend that much time there together, and they haven’t really gotten around to decorating the place. “It’s very Spartan,” he says. “There’s always the hope that one of these days we’ll be purchasing.”

The hardest thing about marrying so late in life? The fact that it’s too late for Marty to have kids. “Unless you want to be an old father, but frankly I don’t think it’s fair to the kids. I see lots of guys with ponytails – they have no hair over here but they have ponytails. If it makes them happy, who am I to say? What I would like is a dog.” Shoe slap.

Mrs. Marty has nixed the dog idea, but they recently adopted Peep, her parents’ African gray parrot, as both of her parents passed away this year. Parrots live until they’re about 80. Peep is 3.

I ask Marty if his feelings ever get hurt. Sometimes people don’t always say the nicest things. Some cynics dismiss his role in the city government as worthy of a Burger King crown.

“I am what I am. My intelligence is average,” he says. “I’m not a genius. I got out of college with just the marks you need to graduate. But you don’t have to be a triple-A student to be a public servant.”

And what about his reputation as not putting on a serious enough front? “The job requires someone who is serious and not so serious. Someone who is not beyond wearing a pineapple shirt.”

On my way out, I mention that when I was living abroad and missing Brooklyn, my mother used to clip goofy pictures of him in the newspaper and mail them to me. He lights up at this. “Who’s your mother? What’s her name?” I tell him I don’t believe they’ve met. “Tell your mother to come to my concerts!”