Recently I heard author-producer Vicki Riskin at the Gazette’s Tuesdays in the Newsroom. With a down-to-earth vivacity she told tales of growing up in Hollywood while she promoted her new memoir about her actress mother Fay Wray (King Kong’s lovely love) and her writer father Robert Riskin (It Happened One Night). She spent her childhood among show biz celebrities. In some way I could relate. I spent the childhood of my journalism career among show biz celebrities, writing profiles.

At 23 I became the youngest member of the Greater Boston arts press corps. This means each time some entertainment company came to town to publicize its latest offering or release, time was set up for a media interview. Most of the time this was done as a lunch held in a private suite in a hotel, a place that could accommodate the star of the moment, a small public relations entourage and six to eight ink-stained wretches, representing dailies, weeklies and broadcast groups.

From the mid-1960s to the mid-1990s, I worked for the Quincy Patriot Ledger, Boston After Dark, The Real Paper, Boston Phoenix, Boston Globe, WCVB Channel 5 and WGBH Channel 2. Early in the game, I was doing a celebrity interview about every other week. Lately I’ve begun assembling a written chronicle of these tales. What follows is a memory diary of a few high points of yesteryear.

In the fall of 1966, Michael Caine, 33, came to Boston on a tour for a film that would jumpstart his star’s ascent. Alfie was the turning point for a career that ignited with Caine’s portrayal of Len Deighton’s espionage agent Harry Palmer in The Ipcress File and Funeral in Berlin. That tall, blond, blue-eyed guy with glasses had that library look. Without the glasses, as womanizing Alfie, he had that bedroom look. “Can’t see much without me specs. Take ‘em away, my lids come down like awnings and — voila! — sex appeal!” The Cockney accent was memorable and warm.

After lunch, he turned to me: “Do you have to rush back to your paper? I’ve never been to Boston. Can you give me a tour?”

What do you think I said? He folded his frame into the passenger seat of my 1965 Mustang and off we went, cruising Back Bay and Beacon Hill. After an hour, he stared out the windshield: “Makes me homesick. Reminds me very much of London. Thanks for doing this. You didn’t have to, I hope you know.” A pleasure I’ve not forgotten. Caine was and is a guy’s guy, a regular bloke, a mensch. Ask his wife of 46 years.

In 1970 the ever effervescent Mel Brooks came to town. The 44-year-old funny man was plugging his second directorial feature, The Twelve Chairs. His first, The Producers, was still considered acquired taste. But it was surely mine. We hit it off right away. As lunch for eight was served, he asked the waiter for salt. The chatting was lively. A few minutes passed — he asked again for salt. More chatting about comedy and still no salt.

A wild-eyed Brooks leaped up onto the table like Rumplestiltskin on Ritalin: “What’s a guy gotta do around here to get some salt?!?!” The condiment came in a flash. Brooks plopped back into his seat, as if we didn’t see what we saw.

Years later I was having lunch with Dom DeLuise, a featured actor in The Twelve Chairs, and his wife Carol. I was regaling them about the Brooks lunch and mistakenly referred to the film as The Thirteen Chairs. Carol interrupted, correcting me. Not to be embarrassed, I quickly replied, “I saw the unedited version.” In mid-bite of spaghetti, Dom DeLuise cut off a large laugh, smiling in appreciation. It made my day.

In January, 1977, I had dinner at a Boston hotel with Jeanne Moreau. I have no memory of the food. What I can’t forget is that sensual face, those questioning eyes, those answering lips.

“You will tell everyone about my film?” asked the smoky voice next to me.

After acting in such films as The Lovers, Jules and Jim and The Bride Wore Black, she was making her directorial debut with Lumiere, screened that day at the now defunct Paris Cinema. Just turned 49, she was on her way to marry director William Friedkin (The Exorcist). The wedding didn’t take.

“How is it you’ve seen so many of my films?” she asked.

Because you’re a beautiful magnet and I’m a helpless iron filing. But I don’t think I said that. She was half French, half English. I was all jelly. I know there were three of us at the table, but that other diner is a memory ghost.

Arnie Reisman and his wife, Paula Lyons, regularly appear on the weekly NPR comedy quiz show, Says You! He also writes for the Huffington Post.