Yes, I do have my own little Dolphy story, one that showed me first-hand how magnetic the King of Comedy was—and how he had none of the airs that a star of his stature had every right to put on.

It was about 10 years back, in the shoot for an ambitious anniversary cover of Metro Magazine, which our team had built up into a nationally known glossy.

To be featured were a dozen lifestyle and show-business icons of the day, including actress Nora Aunor, restaurateur Margarita Fores, model du jour Sarah Meier, and more, being shot by veteran lensman Jun de Leon in his Roxas Boulevard studio.

The stars were trickling in one by one, with varying degrees of tardiness (one was a mind-boggling eight hours late, but that’s another story).

Then, about 15 minutes after his scheduled time slot, Dolphy quietly walked in with an entourage of two, one of the men rolling in a luggage trolley on which was hung three immaculate white suits. He didn’t quite walk, he strutted—but with an almost shy smile on his face. His skin was fair and clear, his eyes twinkling, his hair jet black, and he smelled not of fragrance, but like he had just taken a shower.

“Hi sir,” several of us gushed to welcome him, and his voice was soft and gentle. A clueless stylist inquired about his suits, and he replied, good-naturedly, “Eh sabi ninyo magdala ng puti na suit, so nagdala ako.”

Within minutes he had sat down to a brief interview with me while an artist did his makeup, and he emphasized how grateful he was to still be around to pose with all the other famous folks at the shoot, at his age. “Ako na pinakamatanda dito,” he chuckled.

We posed him, in his white suit and red pocket handkerchief, beside the towering Sarah Meier, whom he looked up and down before teasing, “Napakatangkad naman nitong batang ito.”

We were done in half an hour, including the few minutes it took for cast and crew to crowd around him for a photo op—which, incidentally, we didn’t do for anybody else. We were thrilled, and every time one of us would say so, Dolphy simply said, “Naku, salamat po.”

Another celebrity, I don’t remember who (who would?), had arrived and required attention by then, but I felt obliged to escort Dolphy out, in sheer gratitude to him for just brightening up the room. I rode with him and his quiet companions in the elevator, noticing how he smiled and waved at all he passed, and how he left wide, beaming smiles in his wake.

Just seeing him was a sheer delight to everyone.

At the hotel lobby, I said my final goodbye as his helpers loaded the suits back into a white van.

“Thank you so much again, sir,” I said—and he squeezed my upper arm, bit his lower lip, and gave me a wink.

I remember understanding completely at that moment why women fell easily at Dolphy’s feet, because I was totally charmed—and I stood in the lobby, staring and unabashedly starstruck, until the van had driven away.