"King of Horror Movies", the elegant Mr. Vincent Price was a man of many talents. Raconteur, gourmet cook, author, art collector. A frequent guest on The Tonight, he once showed Johnny Carson how to poach a fish in a dishwasher.

He appeared in theater, in dramatic film roles, and on Broadway, but is best remembered for his horror films. He showed himself to be a master of that genre, appearing in a series of Horror films from the late fifties well into the seventies.

A gentle, witty man in real life, Vincent Price came to epitomize the tortured evil soul in such classics as The Tell-Tale Heart, The Pit and The Pendulum, House of Wax, and scores of others. His voice seemed almost to drip blood.

Born Vincent Leonard Price II in May 27, 1911, in St. Louis Missouri, son of Margeurite Cobb and Vincent Leonard Price , Sr., then president of the National Candy Compant. Young Vincent attended St. Louis County Day School, and later, Harvard where he studied Art History and Fine Art.

In the 1930s, he became interested in theater, and appeared professionally from 1935. Married three times, he and his first wife, Edith Barrett, had a son Vincent Barrett Price. He and his second wife Mary Grant Price endowed the Vincent and Mary Price Art Gallery for East Los Angeles College. Thier daughter, Mary Victoria, was born in 1962.

Price's last marriage was to Coral Brown, an Australian actor, who appeared as one of his victims in Theatre of Blood in 1973. He converted to Catholicism to marry her, and she became a U.S. citizen for him.

Price, a lifelong smoker, lost his battle with lung cancer on October 25, 1993, but in between his first steps upon the stage and his last film voice overs, he thrilled and delighted generations of horror film fans.

I remember Vincent Price mainly from late night television, where he was the undisputed king of the horror genre.

Staying up late watching TV was an occupational hazard , or one of the perks, of being a regularly employed baby-sitter, depending on your point of view.

After the little darlings were safely tucked into bed, and your homework was finished, the television came on and the rest of the evening was yours.

Most of the baby-sitting was restricted to non-school nights, usually Fridays and Saturdays, and if you wanted a steady gig - one that would guarantee to augment your income at least three out of the four weekends every month - you bit the bullet and cut back your social life.

That said, tying up the house phone chatting to one's friends was out of the question, so, in the days before personal cell phones, home computers, the internet, and "texting", what on earth was there to do?

Well, you could read, and I was an avid reader, but staying awake could be problematic even with a riveting plot, and checking on the kiddies every half hour or so.

On the plus side of the coin, though, I received a film education second to none.

The late-night television of my youth was dedicated not to infomercials and paid programming, but to old movies - usually anything black and white that wouldn't bring them much in advertising during the day.

Now called classics, they were simply"old movies" then, but many were excellent examples of cinematic art. Among those treasures, were gems of the early horror genre. Some held up quite well, actually, and were genuinely atmospheric - quite frightening in spots.

I remember being quite enchanted with a werewolf movie that featured a very young and extremely good-looking romantic lead who was miraculously saved from the curse by his true love, lucky wench! My goodness, but Michael Landon was quite handsomely impressive with his shredded shirt and tousled locks.

My favorites, though, were the great films that starred Vincent Price. His films were always good for a shiver or two.

As well, I learned a lot of things one shouldn't do while alone in the house, babysitting. I learned that you should never phone strangers and tell them you know what they did. I learned that you should never walk up a long creaky staircase and open the door at the top.

I also learned not to take up with any charming but slightly effete artists who seemed mildly tortured by something from the past. I learned to be leery of mild-mannered, snappy dressers who spoke beautifully, but kept dark secrets.

Vincent Price had a way of making it all so believably eerie and actually, kinda scary. I loved the way he could make you look behind the couch when the floor creaked suspiciously as you got up to check your charges during the commercial break.

I even loved the horror-schlock flicks he made in the seventies. Having already seen quite a few of his earlier films, I enjoyed his arch villainy. He was sending up his own characterizations, and doing a beautiful job of it.

I recall seeing him on the Johnny Carson show (no, I missed the fish-bake), discussing his extensive art collection. On one of these occasions, he was promoting a book, "Treasury of Great Recipes", written by him and his wife, Mary. That was when I discovered that the man whose voice dripped blood was a gourmet cook.

I had been taught to never judge a book by its cover, but this was a revelation indeed, and I resolved then and there to try harder to see the person behind the face shown to the world.

One more thing I learned from the elegant Mr. Price.