As Hong Kong's leader, the gracious, even unassuming, Tung has enjoyed the heady feeling of having the support of Beijing's most senior leaders and the pain of losing the support of his own people.

The eldest son of shipping magnate Tung Chao-yung, he was the dark horse in 1996 when he was picked as the first Chief Executive ahead of more popular rivals Peter Woo and Yang Ti-liang.

He was elected on December 11, 1996, with 322 votes, rising from relative obscurity to the international stage. His rivals, Wharf Holdings chairman Woo and former chief justice Yang, received only 42 and 36 votes respectively.

Despite originally pledging to serve only one term, Tung was re-elected with the backing of Jiang Zemin to an uncontested second term on February 28, 2002.

It was a famous handshake with then-president Jiang in 1996 that pointed to Tung as Hong Kong's first post-colonial leader.

Since then, people became used to Beijing's unreserved backing for the former tycoon during his nearly eight years on the job.

In virtually all of his publicized visits to Beijing, top officials - from former premier Zhu Rongji to his mentor Jiang - would pose hand in hand with Tung for photographs before giving him their full support, in good times and in bad.

Time and again Beijing drummed out statements that it will ``implement the basic policy of `one country, two systems''' and ``give full support to the government of Hong Kong under Tung to maintain long-term prosperity and stability'', giving the impression that Tung and his cronies would be around until at least 2007.

During the first term, things were already going off the rails - including the property crash that was blamed on his over-ambitious public housing policy and an avian flu strain that swirled out of Hong Kong - and Tung's ratings plummeted.

But in late 2000, hopes for change were quashed when Jiang backed Tung yet again in a rather odd interview in Zhongnanhai, China's center of power.

``Do we support Mr Tung? He is now the Chief Executive. How can't we support him?'' he snapped at a Hong Kong reporter. ``The questions you keep asking are too simple, sometimes naive! Understand it or not?'' he said.

Then came the Article 23 fiasco. More than 500,000 people took to the streets opposing the pending anti-subversion law that many felt would undermine SAR civil liberties and tighten Beijing's grip on Hong Kong.

Tung was accused of not responding to public demands and was forced to withdraw the bill.

Calls for his resignation mounted.

The protest resulted in a reshuffle of the Executive Council and the departure of secretary for security Regina Ip.

Beijing entered into full-fledged crisis management. Pro-Beijing figures were invited to the capital and told to remain united in their support of the Tung administration.

President Hu Jintao said, in a rare high-level reception for Tung, he had full confidence in the beleaguered leader and that Beijing's support for Tung had not changed.

The high-profile gesture gave Tung a political lifeline and saved him from imminent collapse, but the writing was on the wall.

He became an object of ridicule, the main character in a comic series entitled Silly Old Tung that attacked the inadequacies of his government.

His wife, Betty, became a target when she set up her own office adjacent to Tung's. She was also reported to have complained to the cabin crew of an airline when her favorite seat on a flight was occupied by another person.

The Standard's cartoonist, Gavin Coates, lampooned Tung mercilessly, and the Tungs were regularly speared in the now-defunct weekly magazine, Spike.

Through it all, Tung remained stoic and never complained about the treatment, perhaps because he has had his share of adversity in life.

Born on May 29, 1937, to a prominent Shanghai family, Tung arrived in Hong Kong at the age of 11 with waves of other refugees from revolution and war. He was later educated in Britain, and employed in the United States.

In 1960, he graduated from the University of Liverpool after reading marine engineering for his bachelor of science degree. Tung went on to work for General Electric in the United States before returning in 1969 to join the family business, which was renamed Orient Overseas Container Line to reflect the move to containerized shipping.

The shipping giant he inherited from his father was one of the world's largest container, dry bulk and tanker operators at the time. It is now a wholly owned subsidiary of Orient Overseas (International), which listed on the stock market in 1973.

Four years later, Tung became chairman and chief executive. He formally took over the family business when CY Tung retired in 1978.

Tung faced rough seas soon after when the industry slumped during the 1980s. By 1982, the company was about HK$20 billion in debt, and that year the senior Tung died of heart attack.

The company continued to run in the red and three years later suspended the trading of its shares on the stock market.

But Tung did not give up the company and eventually gained the support of 200 debtors for a financial re-structuring program that saw a turnabout in the company's fortunes and a profit in 1992.

It was at this point that the confluence of business and politics may have determined Tung's career.

It has been widely reported that the company was saved from collapse by a loan made possible through Tung's connections with the Chinese Communist Party - especially the powerful Shanghai figures that were then ascendant.

Throughout his bumpy and frustrating political career, Tung has proven himself to be, of all things, loyal to the mainland. He has never been known to raise a critical voice in public or to differ with mainland decisions on Hong Kong or anything else.

The litany of failures and problems at home meanwhile mounted.

The Cyberport deal was attacked as cronyism favoring the powerful Li family.

The Harbour Fest gala was looked on as wasteful.

The Link Real Estate Investment Trust collapsed in court and the massive West Kowloon Cultural District development is plagued with problems.

If these problems are not all of Tung's making, he has also been unable to offer convincing explanations or find a new direction for the government.

In the end, all he seemed to have left was loyalty to Beijing, so when an embarrassing reinterpretation of the Basic Law was ordered by the central government last year to rule out full democracy for Hong Kong by the 2007-08 election cycle, Tung called it a wise move.

But his popularity was so low by that point that no one seemed to be listening.

Reports have now emerged that a vicious power struggle was already under way within the government, with cabinet secretaries jostling to position themselves as a replacement for Tung. The government was in disarray.

Loyalty and the support of backers such as Jiang were not enough in the end. Tung's road got rockier as Jiang faded from the political scene.

In December, Hu, who took over from Jiang in March 2003, reprimanded Tung over his failings, and said the SAR administration had to address its own inadequacies.

The unprecedented public rap on the knuckles, delivered during Macau's fifth anniversary celebration of its own handover to the mainland, was an extremely public dressing-down and spurred speculation that Beijing would change direction.

At the time, Hu paused and shook Donald Tsang's hand for a full six seconds, reminding many of Jiang's famous greeting of Tung.

The torch, it seems, had already been passed.

teddy.ng@singtaonewscorp.com

dennis.chong@singtaonewscorp.com