When I was a kid, the only ''old'' person, place, or thing I ever thought I'd credit for my manhood was my paternal grandfather . . . and eventually my dad, when he too turned gray.

Still, there are some things that older people can't teach you (largely because you won't listen) . . . but old magazines can.

So perhaps you'll appreciate when I say that Esquire, celebrating its 75th anniversary this summer -- the first issue was dated October 1933 -- helped make me the man I am today. Sure, as a teenager I sneaked peeks at Playboy, so I could determine for myself which female body parts were most arousing. And the articles were good, too.

But when James Sr. passed away, and my dad, a career U.S. Naval officer, was away at sea, I needed someone, something, to tell me how to be a man.

I was an old soul, and even then, at 18, I didn't want to wait to learn how to dress for success or how to steal the show in a job interview. An uncle and family friends helped. But none of them ever provided me with a chart dissecting a perfect double-Windsor necktie knot.

None of them ever explained to me why black leather shoes called for a black leather belt, or why a gentleman never loosens his necktie and top shirt button, unless he plans on removing the tie altogether.

Esquire taught me that flat-front trousers offer a slimming effect -- unless the wearer is too hefty to use ''slim'' when describing himself.

Esquire taught me that monogrammed shirt cuffs may seem classy to the untrained eye, but are really tacky affectations best reserved for men who tend to forget whose clothes they're wearing.

Esquire taught me that before I turned 30, I could have fun with a business suit and garnish it with tennis shoes, instead of Stacy Adams.

Esquire taught me that if I was going to sidestep the suit and engage in ''rugged'' outdoor activities I should do it with two parts machismo and 49 parts each of knowledge of the activity and the best equipment I could afford.

Through Joe the Bartender's column, Esquire taught me to frequently but subtly compliment my significant other about characteristics she'd never expect me to notice.

Esquire taught me how to crack jokes about politics, and without making light of the serious issues affecting Joe Citizen that politicians are so often clueless about.

By way of the annual Dubious Achievements issue, I learned from Esquire that it really isn't sour grapes to take shots at out-of-touch rich people.

Esquire taught me that conversation, at least good conversation, hinges not on mundane chatter about myself, but about current events, from politics, to sporting events, generational events and cultural events.

And where would I be without Phillip Moffitt, the legendary former editor of Esquire who declared it A-OK for men to care about their feelings?

Moffitt, who left the magazine in 1987, is credited with getting professional men to look deeper than the quality of their suits and penny loafers and focus some attention on their inner selves.

Many men's magazines have come after Esquire. And some of 'em are classy too. Thank you GQ, Details, Ebony Man, and Men's Vogue.

But the elder statesman always deserves a little more credit.

So men, next time you're in the mall and you stop at the Clinique counter for a moisturizer that'll lessen dark circles under your eyes, next time you stop into the salon by your office for a manicure, next time your girlfriend shows off her new taffeta gown and you nod with complete understanding of what taffeta is, and you know you're not less of a man for it.

Thank Esquire for 75 good years.

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