"No one of us gets to be a competent adult without other people taking an interest in us, without loving us," he used to say.

For more than 30 years, Fred Rogers helped millions of children and parents with the lessons of love, kindness and friendship he delivered on public television's "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood." That sprawling and appreciative population now mourns him.

Rogers died early yesterday of cancer at his Pittsburgh home. He was 74. He had been diagnosed with stomach cancer shortly after the holidays, family spokesman David Newell said.

Rogers met his wife, Joanne, when they were both music majors at Rollins College in Winter Park, Fla. In 1991, the college laid a stone in his honor in its Walk of Fame, right outside the house where he lived as a student.

His death was the top story on morning news programs. "He created a safe place for kids on TV," said Harry Smith of CBS' "The Early Show."

He is survived by his wife, Joanne; two sons, two grandsons and millions of grateful neighbors, Katie Couric said on NBC's "Today."

Diane Sawyer of ABC's "Good Morning America" said she hoped the 900 episodes of his show would run forever and recalled the special treat of interviewing him.

"When he'd come to the studio, he would end it always by hugging you, hugging members of the crew and saying, 'Think about what you're doing today' to remind everybody this isn't just a job. It's your life you're creating," Sawyer said.

It's a lesson that people in the TV business would do well to ponder after the cheesiest ratings period ended. Flooding the airwaves were the sagas of a deluded pop star, a fake millionaire and pampered celebrities in the Australian jungle. The foolish programs catered to the lowest common denominator, unlike the classy Rogers. But he wouldn't criticize others. That wasn't his style.

Rather, the ordained Presbyterian minister tried to reach the best in his audiences. During a 1997 awards ceremony in Los Angeles, he received a career achievement award from the nation's TV critics.

"I realize more and more that even if we do all the right things in television scripting and production and editing and promotion, even if we should deliver the perfect program that everybody in the world would see, if we don't have love for the people we're working with and the audiences we're working for, our whole industry will someday dwindle," Rogers told the audience. "Love and success, always in that order. It's that simple and that difficult."

He followed that approach on his program, which was produced from 1968 to 2000 at WQED, the Pittsburgh public television station.

He was much loved everywhere. His sweet singing of the show's theme ("it's a lovely day in this neighborhood"), his cardigan sweater and his gentle voice delighted young viewers and reassured parents that there was an oasis of beauty in an increasingly coarse medium.

"His legacy will be that he made millions of children feel safe and comforted in a time when so much of the bombardment of the media is overwhelming," said Linda Ellerbee.

The veteran newswoman, who has won acclaim for her Nick News programs, called Rogers a wonderful example. "For everything that we all agree is bad about television and children, he was the good of it," she said. "Nothing is as bad as he was good."

Audiences serenaded Rogers wherever he went. One of his sweaters hangs at the Smithsonian. Eddie Murphy spoofed him with "Mister Robinson's Neighborhood," a "Saturday Night Live" skit that Mister Rogers enjoyed.

Beyond the trappings and fame, "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" touched on serious themes, from war to love to feelings. He was gratified to hear parents, who grew up with the program, say they were sharing it with their children.

"If those parents can, through watching again, recapture some of their own childhood, that's going to help them be in tune with their children and their growth," Rogers said in 1997.

John Sinclair, chairman of music at Rollins College, called his longtime friend "the epitome of a gentle spirit" and a great ambassador for the school. "Through his kindness, he educated all of us on what it was like to be accepting," Sinclair said. "He liked everyone just the way they were."