For 57 years, Michel Georges Alfred Catty, known to all as Michou, has run the transvestite Cabaret Michou on the Rue des Martyrs at the base of Montmartre in Paris. With his white demi-bouffant, oversize sunglasses and eccentric ways (he dresses only in blue), he is so recognizable that passers-by stop him on the street - to chat, perhaps, or to ask to take his photo. "I sit on the terrace and 20 people come up to me to take pictures," he said over a glass of Champagne at La Mascotte, the bar-restaurant on the Rue des Abbesses where he holds court at 6 p.m. nearly every day. And I love that! How I love to be recognized! You are Michou? The real Michou? Ah, I adore it. To your health! I am the last muse. But Michou, 81, is not a caricature of seedy old Pigalle or Bohemian Paris. He is a showman; a successful, self-made businessman; and a beloved member of the community. Long before the term "drag queen" was used, he created the first song-and-dance show after World War II in which male performers impersonated female stars of the era. The cabaret is said by some French cultural critics to have inspired Edouard Molinaro's 1978 film, "La Cage aux Folles." For years, Michou has been a trailblazer for gay rights, a promoter of the art scene of Paris and a supporter of neighborhood causes. A 92-year-old charitable and cultural organization called the Republic of Montmartre has named him its "minister of the night." "I am the best-known and the most-loved homosexual of France," he likes to say. Michou, who was raised in Amiens (north of Paris) by his maternal grandmother, moved to Paris penniless in 1948 at the age of 17. He vowed that if he ever made it big, he would never turn his back on the elderly. So he hosts a free monthly lunch in his club - with wine and entertainment - for more than 80 elderly residents of the 18th Arrondissement, where his club is located. When he celebrated the 83rd birthday of Régine, the veteran nightclub and discotheque queen, at the cabaret in February, Bertrand Delanoë, the mayor of Paris, turned up. When some residents recently wanted to tear down the children's carousel on the Place des Abbesses - too noisy, too intrusive, too tacky, they said - he lobbied and helped win to keep it there. He called it a symbol of the chaos and whimsy of the street. Michou sees himself as a symbol of Montmartre's glory days, when poor artists and writers were celebrated and everyone in the neighborhood knew everyone else by name. Gentrification has brought the invasion of upscale women's clothing boutiques and overpriced bistros, and despite neighborhood opposition, a Starbucks is soon to open on the Place du Tertre. So he picks his battles - and his causes. Last January, he donated his blue bicycle to L'Association des P'tits Poulbots de Montmartre, which supports a neighborhood group of teenage military drummers. It was raffled off, and raised 6,800 euros. In early April, the group honored him with Champagne, a tower of blue macarons from a local bakery and a performance by five drummer girls. "How thrilled I am," Michou said. What a great moment. ""Long live Michou!" one of the spectators exclaimed. Here's to prosperity and happiness. Michou is so respected that in 2005 President Jacques Chirac decorated him as chevalier of the Legion of Honor. You are being decorated "as the artist but also as the man with a big heart who discreetly brings such active support to great humanitarian causes," Chirac wrote in a letter that hangs on a wall of Michou's rambling, eighth-floor apartment with a grand terrace in Montmartre. "I didn't want to accept it, but everyone said, "You must!"" he said. Now he's so proud that he pins the slim red ribbon every day on the left lapel of a royal blue satin dinner jacket that is part of his uniform, along with a blue shirt, blue tie, blue sunglasses, blue shoes and blue cashmere-blend overcoat - all different shades. He calls Bernadette Chirac, the former first lady and fellow humanitarian fund-raiser, a friend. "I like her very much," he said. She sometimes criticizes me for drinking too much Champagne. One day I said to her, "Madame, I don't touch girls; I respect them. I don't touch cocaine. I don't touch hashish. Champagne keeps me young! The framed photos that line the walls of the cabaret bear witness to his celebrity: Michou with Josephine Baker, Michou with Lauren Bacall, Michou with Jean-Paul Belmondo. And with Peter Sellers, Jacques Brel, Romy Schneider, Liza Minnelli, Gérard Depardieu, Sophia Loren, Jeanne Moreau, Serge Gainsbourg, Joan Collins, Jean-Paul Gaultier, Alain Delon, Claude Lelouch, Johnny Hallyday, former Prime Minister Alain Juppé. Michou's transvestite show happened by accident. For Mardi Gras in 1956, Michou, on a dare from a friend, dressed up as Brigitte Bardot and performed with him and a third friend. "Brigitte Bardot once told me that we have the same derrière," he said. Soon they were joined by other "Michettes," waiters and barmen who served drinks and dinner before shedding their aprons and dressing up for the show. The cabaret is small, dark and decorated with mismatched chandeliers, gilt-framed mirrors and a touch of Art Nouveau. It offers a three-course dinner (classic dishes like duck à l'orange and pear tart), with or without Champagne. Dinner is served at 8:30 and the after-dinner entertainment, more PG-13 than R, goes on until nearly 1 a.m. "There is never vulgarity," Michou said. On a recent evening, most of the crowd was over 50, under 80, respectable looking and French. Two groups were celebrating birthdays. "I will never, ever call you clients," he said to the packed house before dinner. You are friends! When the show started, a male singer in a sheer, low-cut shirt, tight jeans, a leather jacket and a shaved chest exclaimed, "What a beautiful night!" "Youpi!" the crowd replied. That's French for yippee. Marie-Pierre, a waiter, transformed himself into Maria Callas in a diamond necklace and red satin ball gown; Cher in a fur-trimmed and gem-encrusted headdress and robe; and Amy Winehouse in big hair. Fred, another waiter, did Edith Piaf so convincingly in an unadorned black dress that by the time she got from "Je Ne Regrette Rien" to "Milord," the crowd was singing along. Céline Dion, Lady Gaga, Patricia Kaas, Arielle Dombasle, Sylvie Vartan, Michael Jackson - they all performed (lip-syncing along the way). The impersonator of Dalida, one of the most beloved of all French performers who killed herself at 54, by contrast, performed live. When the show ended, the crowd was cheering, smiling and asking to be photographed with the stars. Michou, who has suffered from cancer and serious heart problems, is convinced that he is kept healthy by two things in his life: lots of Champagne every day and his cabaret. "This is my life," he said. If you tell me tomorrow that I can no longer come here, I would prefer to die the day afterwards.