‘Hello, young and handsome!”

It’s a fine way to be greeted, but not exactly what one expects at the “21” Club, the Midtown dining institution where the cast-iron jockeys guarding the door and lobby number 34 – roughly the median dollar amount for an entree on its pricey menu. “Hello, rich and powerful,” perhaps.

But, “Hello, young and handsome!” is just what any man, captain of industry or tourist, will hear when he enters the men’s room at the one-time speakeasy. The man with the compliment is known only as the Rev. He is the restaurant’s long-standing men’s room attendant, a dapper and loquacious 62-year-old who performs his duties with diplomatic polish. He has never dined on the famous “21” burger – he swore off red meat in 1978. And, favoring temperance, the bottles of the restaurant’s storied wine cellar hold no fascination. Nonetheless, as a symbol of the place’s enduring appeal, the Rev ranks up there with the red-checkered tablecloths and the entrance’s filigreed gate.

Proud but not boastful, the man is not unaware of this. “You say the Rev, they know me in New York and all over the world,” he said. (Other publications have mentioned a “21” employee by the name of Lorenzo Robinson, but the Rev – while copping to having had a father called Roosevelt Robinson – will not own up to the label.)

The nickname is not figurative; the Rev first preached in 1957 and was ordained in 1962.”There were 39 Baptist ministers in my family,” he said. “My great great granddaddy, Lawrence Dudley, an ex-slave, built four churches in the panhandle of Florida.” Preaching is not the family’s sole occupational legacy. In 1949, the Rev’s uncle Otis Coles (known as the Deacon) began plying towels and running water at “21”; since then, the male lavatory has ever known a member of the clan. Coles brought in the Rev’s father. Together, they covered the lunch and dinner shifts for two decades. Another Uncle, Tommy Coles, clocked in 13 years of service, and a nephew, Charles Favor, lasted a decade.

“He was known as a man of style,” the Rev said of his uncle Otis. “He evidenced a fortified faith. He’d tell everybody ‘God Bless You.'”

Still, however inspiring, the Rev had no intention of following his uncle’s example when the latter died on April 14, 1989.”I simply called “21” to say my uncle had died. [Then owner] Mr. Jerry Berns answered the phone. He said, ‘Listen, Rev, you’ve got to come and give us a hand.’ I came in and the place grew on me. I became cognizant of the fact that this place has so much respect for my family’s commitment. I felt it was an honor to work here.”

The Rev’s domain is a snug, but not inelegant place. The men’s room has its own dedicated payphone, though the Rev can’t remember the last time anybody used it. The walls are adorned with whimsical pastel murals of monocled gentlemen and bustled ladies striking indecorous positions in pursuit of intestinal relief. They were executed in the 1930s by society artist Charles “Top Hat” Baskerville. Having met Baskerville before he died in 1994, the Rev is protective of the man’s legacy. “When children come in the bathroom, I make sure they don’t help the artist out with his work. It’s complete.”

Like many a Reverend, this one has a philosophical bent, one that extends to the world of ablutions. “See my shoes?” he asked. “If it rains or snows, I have a pair of shoes shined. I tell every client, ‘If you think you’re neat, look at your feet.’ I think it matters, everything we do. To be impeccable, to be neat.”

Home is in North Stamford, Conn., where he lives with his wife of 35 years, Jerri. The working day begins with a breakfast of four boiled eggs. (He removes the yolks – “They’ll kill you.”) Then, fedora perched on his head, he leaves the house, arms himself with copies of the daily papers to shore up his status as “a conduit of info,” and commutes into Manhattan. He is at his post before noon, the first seating of the day, and stays until the last diners – always called “clients” – have departed.

Two clients in particular managed to make an impression. One was Nelson Mandela. “It was his persona, his mystique, his quiet spirit, having been incarcerated 27 years.” The other was President Reagan. “He started to turn his water on. I said, ‘Excuse me, Mr. President. We don’t allow an American President to turn his own water on.’ He looked at me and said, ‘Then, come home with me. Nancy will not turn on the water for me at my house.'” At the time, a Daily News reporter was quietly washing his hands at the next sink. The exchange appeared in the paper the next day.

Not everyone is instantly charmed by the Rev’s soft, speedy patter and aura of blinding positivity. “There was one person,” he remembered. “He was never hospitable to any of the employees. Then, one day in the bathroom he fell down and he was dying. I’m a preacher, I’ve seen people dying. I went out and got Dr. Henry Baker, who’s a regular client here. They took him to the hospital.”

The man survived. “After that,” the Rev added, “he started to talk to me.”

The Rev plans to retire when he reaches 65, which is bad news for “21,” for there is not a Robinson or a Coles in sight to take his place at the faucets. “When I leave, it’s going to be an end of an era,” he said. The words are true in more ways than one.

“I don’t find today many people who were born in this country who will do what are perceived to be menial tasks,” he said, his tone betraying both regret and slight bewilderment. “Somehow, the young people don’t ‘get it,’ to use their jargon. They graduate from school and their daddy gives them a BMW. They want it to fall from the sky, like manna. They’ve been watching too many movie stories.” Or they may have been watching the news. New York attorney general Eliot Spitzer recently filed a $4 million suit against Royal Flush, the city’s largest supplier of restroom attendants, charging the company often paid no wages and claimed a portion of the workers’ tips. The Rev, fortunate in his employer, collects a salary and benefits from “21.”

After he retires, the plan is to take up an adjunct teaching position at Shaw University in Raleigh, N.C., where he has been a trustee since 1975. To make the commute a bit easier, he may move – not to North Carolina, but to Delaware. “It’s a tax friendly state, you know,” he smiled. Ah. You don’t gab with the clientele of “21” for 15 years and not learn a little something.