Hollywood isn't cherished for its long memory. In fact, it's often derided as incestuous and infested with a particular brand of shark that jealously devours those whose movies don't excel at the box office. However, even a town as insecure and unapologetically larcenous as Hollywood can sometimes reach a meaningful consensus about real art.

That happens to be the case concerning the legacy of song-and-dance man Gene Kelly. He is venerated everywhere in the film capital as a true original -- no small achievement in a place with more than its fair share of poseurs and mere technicians. Since Fred Astaire's death in 1987, Kelly has stood alone as the reigning high priest of a joyous and uniquely American art form -- the movie musical.

It was the summer of 1978 when we first met Kelly. As newly minted high school graduates, we had put in three hard months vending beer at Minnesota Twins baseball games to come up with the airfare to get us to Los Angeles. After nearly two years of persistent correspondence, Kelly had finally green-lighted a "brief visit" to his home in Beverly Hills.

To say we were fans of the Golden Age of Hollywood musicals, and in particular Kelly's huge contribution, would be understating the case. Our consuming passion for that era had inspired us to found a film society that brought the musicals of Kelly, Astaire, Garland and others to shut-ins at Twin City area nursing homes. True confession: under cover of that humanitarian guise, we were able to indulge our obsession by viewing obscure, forgotten musicals that didn't even make it on TV's late, late show.

For almost half a century Kelly has lived in the same French colonial house with red window shutters on Rodeo Drive in the Beverly Hills flatlands just south of Sunset Boulevard. On the appointed day, he strolled over to us from his favorite room, the library, with an almost syncopated bounce in his step. We had seen it dozens of times before in his movies; whether gliding alone down a backlot "rue" at MGM as "An American in Paris," or with two buddies in New York City out for a day "On the Town." It was a jaunty, confident and athletic stride.

Kelly said that he and his two children, Tim and Bridget, had been over at neighbor Harry Warren's house using the tennis court, as they often did, for a few quick sets. In 1950, Warren, a three-time Academy Award-winning songwriter, had written the score for "Summer Stock" starring Gene and Judy Garland.

"Wonderful, wonderful Judy, she was the greatest," he said. "She wasn't a trained dancer but she was such a hard worker. We did a number in that film in a barn called 'The Portland Fancy.' She was terrific, picked up the steps so quickly. And it wasn't an easy dance to do.

We asked him about "Singin' in the Rain," perhaps his most enduring film and a benchmark by which all other musicals are measured. The movie is a timeless treasure trove of great numbers, but the "Moses Supposes" dance with Kelly and Donald O'Connor tapping out a rhythmic Morse Code like a couple of pneumatic drills, never fails to electrify audiences.

"Donald and I rehearsed that dance for days, but most critics dismiss it as a zany Marx brothers romp," Kelly said. "They remember the clowning around with the vocal coach that precedes the number, but not the dance itself."

Kelly told us that he didn't own any prints of his movies. "MGM had a strict policy; they never gave out any films, even to the movies' stars," he said. Now videocassettes make buying most movies a $19.95 proposition.

As he walked us to the door, Kelly gave us the thumbs-up signal, which he said he had also given to Barbra Streisand when he directed her in "Hello Dolly." It was his message to her at the end of each camera take that she was on cue.

Every Christmas thereafter, without fail, we would receive a greeting card, some picturing the Kelly clan posed in their backyard along with whatever family pet was within grabbing distance when the shot was taken. For our part, we kept Gene supplied with copies of our various entertainment articles when they were published.

After 16 years of sending these missives to each other, we had the great pleasure to return to Kelly's home on Oscar night, 1994, where we chatted some more about old movies and future aspirations.

Dressed in chinos, a white, Ralph Lauren polo shirt and leather loafers, Kelly, now 83 years old, slowly made his way over to greet us. His steps were halting and measured due to "nursing a bum leg." Shortly after the interview he was hospitalized in San Francisco with cellulitas (a potentially dangerous infection) in his leg. In July 1994 and in early

1995 he was hospitalized again -- this time as a result of mild strokes. He's now back home and on the mend.

For an instant it was hard to reconcile Kelly's enduring movie image of explosive athleticism with the reality before us -- that of a slightly enfeebled octogenarian. But if the march of time has slowed Kelly's machine gun footwork to a slow shuffle, age had also sharpened his wit and deepened his memory.

"Historically speaking," Kelly said, "I'm one of the last ones left who can correct inaccuracies about MGM musicals in show biz books these days." As an example, he cited Hugh Fordin's "World of Entertainment," a book about producer Arthur Freed and his creative unit at MGM. "I, along with Vincente Minnelli, Judy Garland and dozens of others, was part of that unit in the 1940s and '50s," Kelly said. "You'd think that when the author was compiling facts, he'd have wanted to consult me. He didn't, and there are several mistakes as a result."

Kelly says history continues to be rewritten to this day. The misinformation ranges from an erroneous birthdate in a popular biography of his life, to a German journalist who recently reported that MGM studio chief Louis B. Mayer "foisted" Debbie Reynolds on Kelly as his co-star in "Singin' in the Rain."

"That is patently untrue," Kelly said. "Mayer wasn't even at the studio in 1952 when we shot the picture."

Some undisputed Kelly history was evident last year with the selected market release of "That's Entertainment! III," another time capsule of classic MGM musical moments that began with the release in 1974 of the hugely successful "That's Entertainment!" Kelly, along with stars June Allyson, Cyd Charisse, Lena Horne and Mickey Rooney host segments of the anthology. The film is now available on video.

"One clip features Cyd and I dancing the 'Heather on the Hill' number from 'Brigadoon,' " Kelly said. "Another segment is an outtake from 'Annie Get Your Gun' with Judy Garland cast as Annie Oakley. Betty Hutton eventually replaced her and starred in the movie."

Truth to tell, Kelly says that the best musical material from those days has already been used in the two prior "That's Entertainment" films. "But there are some historical oddities -- like footage of vocal dubbing -- that MGM would never have released to the public during its heyday," he says.

"On the Town," which Kelly co-directed with Stanley Donen, remains his all-time favorite musical, mainly because it was his directorial debut at MGM and the opening number, "New York, New York," and some establishing shots were filmed on location in New York City. "That was no small achievement back in 1949, especially when you consider the studio had a standing New York set that looked more authentic than parts of the real city," Kelly said.

In an issue of "The New Yorker" magazine (March 24, 1994) Pulitzer Prize-winning author John Updike, in a tribute to Kelly, cited "On the Town" as his favorite movie, too. However, he lamented the fact that Kelly rarely seemed to pair up with a female partner to good advantage, the way Fred Astaire did throughout his career.

"I thought Updike did a good job of summing me up," Kelly said, "but he should know that the roles I was given were way different from Fred's. The mode of dance in the 1940s and '50s was no longer ballroom like it was with the Fred and Ginger pictures in the 1930s."

In spite of such comments, ample evidence exists to dispel the notion that Kelly's best dances were solo numbers. "My few quick turns with Rita Hayworth in 'Cover Girl' to those beautiful strains of 'Long Ago and Far Away' were akin to the kind of dancing Astaire did," Kelly said.

Kelly admits that, overall, movie musicals are largely icons of the past. Their decline might be due to savvy audiences that just can't bring themselves to suspend disbelief when an off-camera orchestra begins to swell moments before a song number. However, others see MTV, with its quick-cut camera work geared to short attention spans, as the modern-day spawn of old-time musical numbers. Kelly agrees.

"Film editors have become the choreographers today," he said. "Everything is 'bam!' a tight shot of a shoulder, a leg, half a pirouette, an ass. In my day, editors were simply called 'cutters;' now a whole musical can succeed or fail based on the editing."

Up until suffering the strokes, Kelly traveled the college lecture circuit discussing his old movies to sellout crowds. "If they can meet my price, I'll give 'em a spiel," he said. Last year Kelly lectured in Atlantic City and was surprised when his old friend and 'other' "Brigadoon" dancing partner, Van Johnson, showed up in the audience.

Future plans include finishing an autobiography for publication in 1995 and quashing the curious notion that he has departed the earth for more heavenly climes!

"The mix-up started with those GAP print ads, 'Gene Kelly Wore Khakis,' " he said. "Besides myself, the first group of ads included Arthur Miller, Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart and a few others. Along with the phrase being in the past tense, all the other personalities were famously dead, except Arthur and me. People leapt to the natural conclusion. You wouldn't believe the number of phone calls I got from friends trying to figure out whether I was still here or not," Kelly said.

Now that's setting the record straight!