For a man who describes himself as “extremely aged and tenderized,” Bruce Morrow has a surprisingly firm handshake. Known as Cousin Brucie by his listeners, Mr. Morrow has been a mainstay on public radio since 1957. He began his career at WINS AM playing rock ‘n’ roll, and currently hosts two programs on WCBS FM – “Cousin Brucie’s Yearbook” (Wednesdays, 7-10 p.m.) and “Cousin Brucie’s Saturday Night Party” (7-11 p.m.).

At the age of 66 you’d hardly know Mr. Morrow is a day past his 12th birthday. He has the positive attitude of a happy-go-lucky boy and he keeps himself physically fit by taking frequent hiking excursions with his wife, Jodie – whom he often mentions on the air. But he credits his job as his personal fountain of youth. “I’m the luckiest guy in the solar system,” he says. “I look forward to when that microphone says ‘on air.’ I’m as enthusiastic and energized as I’ve ever been.”

Amid his collection of antique radios Morrow lounged on a plush oversized white couch. His carriage house-style apartment in NoHo is tastefully arranged with radio Americana. His prize possession, a 1939 Wurlitzer Peacock, is filled with 1950s hits like Chuck Berry’s “Maybellene.” The antique jukebox only plays 78s, all of which Morrow had specially made to reflect the music he listened to as a teenager.

Jokes frequently slip from his mouth. “I took payola once,” he admits. “It was two cherry pies and they were good.” But that’s nothing compared to the jokes he tells about musicians he’s interviewed. “Bob Marley was a kind soul,” he says of a meeting with the king of reggae. “But you could catch a contact high just from being in the same room with the guy.”

Born and raised in Flatbush, Mr. Morrow attended PS 206 for grade school. A shy, nervous kid, he admits he “never wanted to stand up in class.” But his English teacher encouraged him to do the school’s PA announcements, and she later enrolled him in the All-city radio workshop. But it was his role as a cavity in the school’s annual hygiene play that hooked him on performing. “When I was onstage I felt good and powerful,” he says. “Something inside me wanted to get out and that’s how it started.”

He continued on to James Madison High School and then to Brooklyn College. But he dropped out after six months. He jests that he “couldn’t find the classes.” Then he adds to the joke, “they kept moving them on me.”

New York University came next. Mr. Morrow founded the school’s radio station before earning a Bachelor of Science in Communication Arts in 1957. Sensing an opportunity to crack yet another joke he continues, “I graduated with a B.S. That’s very apropos for me.”

The Cousin Brucie moniker was bestowed upon him by chance when he worked at WINS in 1959. An old lady came into the studio during a broadcast, and, after getting Mr. Morrow to agree that all people are related, promptly asked, “Cousin, can you lend me 50 cents to get home? I’m broke.” He gave her the change.

That night while driving home through the Battery Tunnel, Mr. Morrow decided he was changing his radio personality to Cousin Brucie. “I’ve got my shtick,” he recalls saying to himself. “I can almost take you to the exact tile in the wall where it hit me.”

The Radio Hall of Fame inducted Mr. Morrow in 1987, just as his bestselling autobiography, “Cousin Brucie!: My Life in Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio,” arrived in bookstores. The National Association of Broadcasters Hall of Fame followed suit in 1990. And Mayor Guiliani officially named West 52nd Street “Cousin Brucie Way” in 1994.

Outside the radio station Mr. Morrow spends most of his time raising money for Variety, the children’s charity he established 17 years ago. He organizes telethons and also sells his photography to further the cause. The basement of his apartment houses his photo studio. He shoots digital and prints his own photographs, which are often on display at the restaurant Ennio & Michael on La Guardia Place He professes to love gadgets, like his 14-megapixel Kodak DCS Pro SLR/n camera, but quips, “I hold on with great fervor to my analog-ness. touch a record and I get sexually ex cited.”

It’s not often that you find a per former who has withstood the test of time. But Mr. Morrow doesn’t think of himself as some type of rock ‘n’ roll relic. “There is one difference between the beginning of my career and now,” he mentions nonchalantly.

“Nowadays, the kids call me Cuz.”