NEW YORK CITY -- Not since the opening of King Tut's tomb had there been such a level of curiosity, bordering on stark voyeurism, about how one ultra-prominent member of "the other half" lived.

Earlier this year, when Sotheby's formally announced it had acquired the right to auction the estate of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, the auction company knew it was opening the floodgates for an invasion - from both press and public - unlike any that had been seen before. At all costs, Sotheby's was determined to maintain the dignity of the sale. There would be no media circus.

Possessions of the dearly departed rich and famous are nothing new to Sotheby's. The estates of Warhol, Garbo, Dietrich and, in part, the Duchess of Windsor have all passed through the hallowed doorway at 72nd and York to face the auctioneer's gavel. But with Jackie... this was a very special case, and Sotheby's knew it.

After Mrs Onassis's death in May 1994, the auction house had been asked by the executors of the estate to quietly appraise the contents of her three homes and bank vault.

"At the time," said Diana Brooks, Sotheby's president and CEO, "we did not know there would be an auction. We had been asked to provide a valuation, nothing more."

It took nine months to assess the inventory of Mrs Onassis's Fifth Avenue apartment, the sprawling house property in rural New Jersey and the oceanfront vacation home on Martha's Vineyard ("She never threw anything away," commented Brooks).

The efforts of Sotheby's must have impressed the right people, for soon afterward the firm was awarded the blue ribbon commission to sell the furniture, art, antiques and sundry personal possessions that comprised the estate of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.

This had not been some cold-blooded decision made by insensitive relatives or mercenary executors, as some wags initially suggested. The decision to sell "with style and grace" had been made by Jackie Onassis herself. Never one to leave important matters to chance, she had discussed the subject of inheritance matter-of-factly with her children, Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg and John Kennedy, Jr, informing them there would be a heavy tax burden facing them after her death. In her opinion, it would be wise for certain steps to be taken.

She stated her wish that documents, photographs, books and other articles of historical significance be donated to the John F. Kennedy Library Foundation in Boston. The children were then to take whatever they wanted from the estate, with the remains being sold to offset taxes.

An auction, she had surmised, would be a wonderful way for the possessions of a great President to go "to the people," while at the same time raising the necessary cash to pay the piper.

And so the day came nearly two years after the death of America's most beloved First Lady that the world's press corps - representing 40 countries - found itself outside Sotheby's under a cloudless blue sky in pursuit of a once-in-a-lifetime story. Devoid of paparazzi, the carefully screened gathering of journalists waited to be ushered through the serpentine canopy, into the private viewing area. Hardened hacks accustomed to far less glamorous assignments exchanged bits of trivia with urbane George Plimpton look-alikes, each hoping to learn some new snippet of information that had somehow slipped past them.

The sale would not begin for another five days, on April 23, but the figures were already startling: 40,000 absentee bids from over three dozen countries; 75,000 catalogues sold (with profits earmarked for the JFK Library); salesrooms in New York, Los Angeles and Chicago outfitted with 90 separate phone lines. The most, the biggest, the best... with every new statistic or update came a new superlative.

As the line began to move, a television director instructed his cameraman in low reverent tones, "I want you to shoot the settings that suggest rooms in her house, room by room."

Inside, Sotheby's staff, including directors, had checked their egos at the door. They worked through the night with decorators to transform a cavernous salesroom into a series of loosely structured exhibitions. Each had a theme: The New York Years; The White House Years; The Book Collection; The Jewelry.

Over 1,200 lots had been organized and already some clear favorites had emerged: Caroline's rocking horse, Jackie's cigarette lighter with a "J" initial on it, the triple strand faux pearls, John John's rocking chair and, not to be overlooked, the Presidential golf bags.

Although undeniably desirable, these were not like, for instance, the two John Singer Sargents consigned to the sale. Easily priced, paintings see the marketplace every day of the week. But President Kennedy's personal golf clubs? How could anyone know how to value them?

"The public will know how," De De Brooks replied, flashing a smile, "next Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday."

Brooks was right. The invitation-only crowd, mostly well-heeled and in some cases well-known, opened wallets and threw caution to the wind as one lot after another soared meteorically past estimates: Caroline's footstool, $29,000; the rocking horse, $75,000; and Jackie's monogrammed tape measure, $42,000.

Most of America began to realize their life savings was not going to even constitute the opening bid on a minor fragment of the Kennedy legend.

Celebrities appeared in the audience or called in by phone: Joan Rivers, Raoul Felder, Lee Iacocca, Montel Williams. Valentino phoned in from Italy, Milton Berle, from California, Jimmy Buffett, from "the road." No one, it seemed, could resist this final taste of Camelot.

When the "serious" lots came up, there were ample bidders ready to step up to the plate and play hardball - $400,000 for JFK's oak rocker; $700,000 for the golf clubs; $1.432 million for the desk upon which President Kennedy had signed the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty; and an astounding $2.35 million for the Aristotle Onassis engagement ring.

"The American economy in trouble?" actress Dina Merrill remarked on the prices. "Somebody out there has some money!"

After the dust had settled, after the final fall of the hammer on April 26, the question begging to be answered was: Who were the real winners? Certainly the estate had reaped a fine harvest, perhaps as much as $50 million. Sotheby's? The auction firm took home a big slice of the cake too, with a multi-million dollar commission from the sale and the promise of many future consignments as a result of global publicity.

And then there were the bidders - the fortunate few who could afford to pay a queen's ransom. No one can argue their status as winners.

Yet, in the final analysis, it was Jackie who, two years after her death, had triumphed above all. In the end, the attic was cleared, the taxes got paid and the kids got to keep the farm.

And, not surprisingly, Jackie had done it her way.

Full coverage of the Sotheby's auction of the estate of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis will be presented in next week's issue of Antiques and The Arts Weekly. Sale prices do not include the buyer's premium.