Posts Tagged ‘History of Art’

My Favorite Week – Conclusion

April 19th, 2010 Comments off


When we last left our intrepid heroes… they were ‘trapped’ in the projection booth of the newly-renovated 1984 Yale Art Gallery Auditorium. A throng of 400 ardent fans circulated outside, and Mr. Vincent Price was overwhelmed and remained inside…

Like Mark Linn Baker‘s Benjy Stone in “My Favorite Year,” I probably lived ‘My Favorite Week’ as I was the ‘handler’ (personal assistant is a much nicer term) for Mr. Vincent Price, Yale Class or 1933, when he returned to our alma mater to attend a retrospective of his films.


My Favorite Week: Conclusion

Being stuck inside a narrow projection booth with a nervous Vincent Price wasn’t my idea of a good time, even if it meant increased time with the man I had grown to know and respect. For one thing, there were probably 5 or 6 of us in the small booth, and we had a GREAT view of all the people (his loving audience, really), who had remained in hopes of getting Vincent Price’s autograph after seeing “House of Wax” with him. To keep Mr. Price distracted, I showed him a copy of the current Yale Alumni Magazine; it contained a feature I’d written about the new Yale Film Study Center; he skimmed the article, then peered eagerly at the byline and turned to me and said: “Your name is Barrett?” I nodded, and he responded “But your friends call you ‘Barry.'”

“Your college pals call you ‘Vinnie,” I replied. “It’s just a nickname.” Mr. Price leaned into me and smiled. “I named my son ‘Barrett.’ ‘Vincent Barrett Price.'” Not knowing this at all, I simply smiled. And Mr. Price smiled back. It was undoubtedly a ‘moment’ between us. Especially when you look into those blue eyes. Even my wife agrees – the guy was suave.

I exited the projection booth and, with the help of students and others, got Mr. Price’s most faithful fans to depart through the main doors. Some lingered for a few minutes, but eventually we got everyone out of the auditorium and closed the main doors. Moments later we emerged, out the fire exit, onto High Street. Although it was cold (after all, we’d sat through an entire feature film, and it was now evening), Mr. Price and I headed up Chapel Street, towards his hotel. As we neared the hotel, Mr. Price expressed a preference for a drink (a preference I shared), and we descended into the “Old Heidelberg” restaurant. As we walked down its steps, Mr. Price suggested the place had been declared by his older brothers as a a ‘speakeasy’ during Prohibition; I told him that my dad, Yale Class of ’48, had declared the place a ‘passion pit.’ In spite of (or perhaps because of) its various reputations, we spent a very warm and hospitable evening there mainly due to the generosity of the restaurant staff and its patrons.

At the time, Mr. Price was the host of “Mystery” on PBS; his current assignment was to introduce episodes of the great BBC spy series “Reilly, Ace of Spies.” More than one ‘Reilly’ fan arrived at our table and asked Mr. Price “How will it end?,” only to be met with an autograph, a thank-you and his sweetly suggested “Watch it next week…” As we drank our beers and enjoyed tremendous fried calamari courtesy of the establishment, Mr. Price and I had the times of our lives. As one of the last autograph-seekers left before I escorted Mr. Price back-up to his hotel, I asked him the question that had been lingering for me: Why was it that HE thanked autograph seekers, rather than the other way around? He smiled, laughed his ‘Vincent Price laugh,’ and responded, very sincerely “Without THEM, you see… I wouldn’t BE Vincent Price!” I guess he always knew where his fan base was… and where his next meal was coming from.

What impresed me about Mr. Price was his memory: he recalled not only all kinds of minutae about his favorite films, but some of the stuff he did ‘for the money,’ as he readily admitted. Where the two intersected was interesting: to do the voice-over on Michael Jackson’s multi-platinum, Grammy Award winning album “Thriller,” Mr. Price was paid A FLAT FEE of $5 thousand dollars – AND Jackson never thanked him at the multi-Grammy winning ceremony. But, while explaining that, Mr. Price very proudly admitted being cast in his ‘first’ animated voice-over role as ‘Ratigan’ in Disney’s “The Great Mouse Detective.” The movie wouldn’t come out for a few years… and I think that suited Mr. Price quite well. Because, unfortunately, both he and his wife were sick…

To Be Followed by: My Favorite Week – Epilogue

My Favorite Week – Part 2

April 10th, 2010 Comments off


Much like Benjy Stone, the lead character of “My Favorite Year”, I had the privilege of ‘handling’ Vincent Price, Yale Class of 1933, while he visited New Haven for a retrospective of his films in the spring of 1984…

My Favorite Week: Part 2

When he showed up in New Haven after the start of a week-long retrospective of his films, Vincent Price was 73 years old, and showing his age. It was cold outside, and his cough sounded bad as we moved from the train station to the university. Once we were ensconced in the warmer History of Art Department office, “Mr. Price,” as I always referred to him, warmed up considerably and spirits rose as his cough seemed to fade. It was planned to show him the newly-installed 35 millimeter film projection equipment on which many of the prints of his films would be shown, so we walked over to the Art Gallery Lecture Hall and took a look around the recently-renovated 400 seat auditorium. A few days earlier, as his film retrospective began, one of Mr. Price’s favorite films was screened: “Dragonwyck”. “It was Joe Mankiewicz’s first film,” Mr. Price told me (although Mankiewicz – brother of “Citizen Kane” scribe Herman J. Mankiewicz – had directed one movie prior to “Dragonwyck,”). Mr. Price delightedly described it as “a gothic drama set in New York state.” Another film he specifically requested was 1950’s “The Baron of Arizona,” 

Baron of Arizona

in which Mr. Price plays a scheming forger who creates false deeds  granting himself and his wife

ownership of the state of Arizona. Again, his rationale for making the movie was that “It was one of Sam Fuller’s first films.” Actually, it was Fuller’s second film, too. Both films did well at the box office. Sophmore slump, indeed…

Time with Mr. Price was highly-structured. It became clear the Yale University Development Office had caught on and they were hard at work attempting to transform Mr. Price’s fame and reputation (previously ignored by the university) to bring in donor bucks. As a result, Mr. Price and I attended a series of events together designed to elevate his film retrospective’s status as an ad-hoc fundraiser. On his second day at Yale, we attended a luncheon held by the Development Office at Mory’s, the venerable (and currently bankrupt) eating ‘club’ that was such a part of Yale during the 1930s, when Vincent and his two older brothers attended the university. Lunch at Mory’s with Mr. Price was a fun and eye-opening experience. We gathered in a private upstairs room, and the lunch was attended by Mr. Price, several of his Yale ’33 classmates and their spouses (all in their 70s, of course), plus an executive from the Yale Development Office, a large film-industry related donor, my former film prof., Donald Crafton, and me. I did my best to soak it all in as “Vinnie,” as his buddies called him, held forth in a glorious amalgam of true Hollywood stories, Yale reminiscences and sonorous flattery.

What stays with me to this day is the unaffected friendship and honest merriment of Mr. Price and his peers. At one point, Mr. Price recalled and described a cartoon drawing he’d received during his college years from his Harvard pal James Thurber. In Thurber’s drawing, Vincent is greeted at the gates of heaven by St. Peter as several of his friends/classmates stand by sheepishly behind him… Later, during the luncheon, one of Mr. Price’s classmate’s spouses asked me about the food, some sort of chicken with a sauce. “I think it’s… Chicken Piccata,” I answered, trying to sound authoratative – or at least not completely ignorant. Mr. Price, sitting beside me, leaned in and said, very casually – and ingratiatingly- “Where I come from, this would be called pan-fried chicken… with gravy.”

We left the Mory’s luncheon and headed out into the cold spring weather. I lit a cigarette (a terrible habit I quit some years later), and Mr. Price put out his arm to stop me as we walked on the sidewalk in front of Mory’s. “I’m sorry, Mr. Price,” I said. “Is this smoke bothering you?”

“No.” Mr. Price replied, his blue eyes twinkling. “Give me a cigarette,” he responded cheerily. I handed over one of my menthol cigarettes, and he lit up. And he looked delighted, although I later learned he HATED menthol. And I also didn’t realize he’d already been diagnosed with emphysema. I was just having too good a time hanging out with such a neat guy…

To be continued…