Ask folks about Fred Grandinetti, and their responses range from the unabashedly adulatory to the tactfully amused. "I’m happy to be involved with him," says an acquaintance in California, "but he’s a leeeetle — what’s the word? — dogged."

"Our friend Fred," chuckles an employee at the Atlanta-based Cartoon Network, who says she receives a letter a week from Fred, in addition to the hundreds he encourages his friends to write. "He really is a, mmm ... force."

He’s known across the country as the King of Popeye, the World’s Number-One Popeye Fan, and, in some cases, Mr. Popeye. But in his hometown of Watertown, they just call him Popeye. Indeed, send a letter addressed to "Popeye, Watertown, MA," and chances are it will land on Fred Grandinetti’s doorstep. "Oh yeah, that guy," says an employee at the Watertown Post Office. "When [mail addressed to Popeye] comes through, we know who to send it to."

Fred, 40, is co-founder of the International Popeye Fan Club, which has around 1500 members. He’s published three books on the cartoon character, engaged in countless advocacy efforts to encourage promotion of the scrappy sailor, launched a local-access cable show to memorialize the old cartoons, and collected enough vintage Popeye paraphernalia to house something of a mini-museum in his home, where he lives with his mother and brother.

Fred’s devotion doesn’t end there: two years ago, he turned over his bedroom to Popeye, when his 2000-plus collectibles claimed so much space he no longer had room for his bed. Now, he sleeps on the couch in the family room with his dog, not surprisingly named "Swee’ Pea."

Relentless, obsessed with minutiae, and conspicuously un-ironic, Fred Grandinetti embodies all the characteristics of a Super Fan. Until you realize one thing: he doesn’t just admire Popeye; at times it seems he actually believes he is Popeye. "I yam what I yam," says Fred, explaining how Popeye’s well-worn mantra has become his own.

ON A RECENT evening, Fred is perched on the edge of a low, 1960s-style sofa in his living room. He’s absently patting down Swee’ Pea, a fluffy, orange-haired yapper of a dog, with a green-plaid hand towel. Fred’s house is a shrine to Popeye. On top of the couch, neatly arranged, are more than a dozen little dolls, most of which are replicas of Popeye or other characters from the cartoon. And occupying one of the two armchairs in the room is a life-size Olive Oyl doll. In the back of the house, Fred shows off a bedroom teeming with Popeye figurines, tchotchkes, books, and Bluto punching bags dating back to the 1950s. He estimates there are more than 2000 items — but he’s reluctant to say how much they’re worth. "I really don’t want that publicized," he whispers conspiratorially.

Tonight, the slight man is dressed casually, in a blue fleece sweatshirt, green corduroys, and black leather bucks, his brown hair combed flat on his head. He’s just come home from his job down the street as the periodicals librarian in the Adult Services Division at the Watertown Public Library. Behind large rectangular glasses, and above his prominent cleft chin, Fred’s eyes are intense, focused, kind. Altogether, he gives the impression of a sheepish, geeky teen stuck in an adult’s body. In case you’re wondering, he looks nothing like Popeye.

As co-founder of the International Popeye Fan Club, Fred isn’t just an insatiable collector of memorabilia and factoids; he’s also something of a Popeye activist. Normally, he says, he comes home from work every night and hits the computer, the phone, and the Popeye-fan-club circuit. His goal: getting Popeye more play. At a time when the Powerpuff Girls reign supreme on the cartoon circuit, Fred is casting a vote for Popeye and what he represents: the Way Things Were, when right was right and wrong was wrong; when cartoon characters ate healthy vegetables and saved the world in small ways.

Mostly, Fred’s efforts center on pushing forward the production and release of Popeye cartoons in prominent slots on television and video. Popeye is being neglected, he laments. The longest-running cartoon in animation history has yet to have its own video series, and the Cartoon Network has relegated Popeye to a late-night "cult" time slot.

Late last year, the network — after being bombarded by requests from Fred and his Popeye-fan friends — decided to put together a show of old 1930s Fleischer Studios Popeye cartoons, generally deemed the golden era of the series. The show, I’m Popeye, runs three restored cartoons at 1 a.m. on Sundays.

But Fred’s far from pleased. In one of many irate letters to the Cartoon Network, he calls it a "graveyard time slot." "Anything’s better than 1 a.m.," he groans.

For some, the late-night slot might have sparked a few disappointed sighs. For Fred Grandinetti, it inspired serious action. "I went through the fan club, I went through the Web sites that focused on Popeye, and I went on eBay and I contacted people who sell Popeye items," he says. "I sent them e-mails, and I told them about the show, and I said, ‘You have to e-mail this person at the Cartoon Network.’ "

Even among Popeye enthusiasts, though, there was some reluctance to join Fred’s grassroots movement. "One of the difficult things was getting people to e-mail the Cartoon Network," he recalls. "Because they were just thrilled that [the old cartoons] were on. They were like, ‘I don’t care if it’s on at 1 a.m.; I’ll just set my VCR.’ And we were like, ‘No — no-no-no-no — this isn’t good. We’re thrilled, but we gotta get this on earlier.’ "

Fred posted the e-mail addresses of prominent Cartoon Network employees on various Popeye-fan Web sites, and soon enough, the folks in Atlanta were deluged. "I’ve been getting e-mails daily from Popeye people to get it on earlier," says Lorie Goldberg, the Cartoon Network’s public-relations officer. "Fred would write to us, like, all the time with petitions," adds Dea Perez, vice-president of programming at the network. "Popeye," laughs Goldberg. "There’s something about Popeye."

But the letters aren’t likely to do more than annoy folks at the network, which counts children as two-thirds of its viewers. "As soon as [kids] see black-and-white cartoons, they say ‘old’ and click off," says Perez. Jerry Beck, an animation historian in Hollywood, adds, "Most kids think of Popeye as a fried-chicken brand." And Beck suggests another reason the cartoon character might encounter resistance in today’s market: "He’s an older-man character, he smokes, he punches, and a lot of things on the old cartoons are out of date."

But Fred thinks the network’s programming decision was prejudiced. "What gets me angry about this is that between the hours of nine and 10 on a Sunday night, you can occasionally see a black-and-white Porky Pig, or a black-and-white this, or a black-and-white that," he says. "So why are you picking on Popeye?"

In addition to haranguing the Cartoon Network, Fred’s also pursuing companies like Warner Bros., Time Warner, Hearst, and the King Features Syndicate, all of whom own parts of the Popeye empire. The companies, he says, aren’t working together to put out videos, a fate that leaves Popeye fans stuck with setting their VCRs to tape the late-night showing.