It happened on a Thursday. October 19, 1978. In the posh, high-ceilinged corridors of The Osborne on West 57th Street, the police made a discovery that would effectively freeze a piece of Hollywood history in its darkest possible light.
Gig Young was 64. His bride, Kim Schmidt, was just 31. They had been married for exactly three weeks.
When the news broke, people were shocked, but maybe they shouldn't have been. Hollywood has always had a knack for polishing the exterior while the foundation rots. Young was the epitome of that. He was the guy with the martini, the tuxedo, and the effortless "light-hearted sophistication" that made him a staple of 1950s and 60s romantic comedies.
But behind that Oscar-winning smile was a man spiraling. And Kim Schmidt, a German magazine editor he met while filming in Hong Kong, walked right into the middle of a storm she couldn't possibly calm.
Who Was Kim Schmidt?
Most history books treat Kim Schmidt as a footnote in a crime report. That’s a mistake. She wasn't just a victim; she was a woman with her own trajectory before it was cut short.
Born in Germany, Schmidt worked as a magazine editor and was also a script girl. She was sharp. She was professional. In 1977, while Young was in Hong Kong working on the Bruce Lee film Game of Death, they met. Friends later described her as someone who truly cared for Young, someone who desperately tried to help him get his drinking under control.
She wasn't some starstruck kid. She was 31, established, and apparently believed she could be the anchor for a man who had already been through four marriages and decades of alcoholism.
The Oscillating Career of Gig Young
You can’t understand what happened to Kim Schmidt without understanding the slow-motion car crash that was Gig Young’s later years.
Young wasn't always "Gig." He was born Byron Barr. He took his stage name from a character he played in the 1942 film The Gay Sisters. It’s a bit of irony that he spent the rest of his life trying to live up to a name that wasn't even his.
He was incredibly talented. He notched three Academy Award nominations for Best Supporting Actor:
- Come Fill the Cup (1951)
- Teacher's Pet (1958)
- They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (1969)
He finally won for They Shoot Horses, Don't They?, playing a cynical, hollowed-out dance marathon promoter. People said it was the performance of a lifetime. The truth? It was probably the closest he ever got to playing himself. He once told a reporter that out of 55 movies, maybe five were actually good. He hated the "second lead" trap he was in. He wanted to be the hero, but he was always the guy who lost the girl to Cary Grant or Clark Gable.
The Downward Spiral
By the time he met Kim Schmidt, the alcohol had taken its toll. He was being fired from jobs. He was replaced in Blazing Saddles on the very first day of filming because he was physically unable to perform due to alcohol withdrawal.
Imagine being Kim Schmidt. You see this man who has an Oscar, who has history with icons like Elizabeth Montgomery (his third wife), and you think you can save him. They lived between Hong Kong and New York, communicating via long-distance calls before she finally joined him in Manhattan.
They married on September 27, 1978.
October 19, 1978: What Really Happened
The details from the NYPD report are grim. There was no suicide note. There was only a diary found in the bedroom.
📖 Related: Kennedy McMann Eye Color: What Fans Always Get Wrong
The diary was open to the entry for September 27. It simply said: "We Got Married Today."
Police determined that Young had used a .38-caliber Smith & Wesson to shoot Kim before turning it on himself. They were found in their home at The Osborne, an apartment building known for its celebrity residents and its thick, soundproof walls. No one heard the shots.
Some people try to paint this as a "suicide pact." Honestly? There’s zero evidence for that. Kim Schmidt had her whole life ahead of her. She had been trying to get him sober. This wasn't a romantic tragedy; it was a domestic homicide followed by a suicide.
The Aftermath and the "Oscar Curse"
After the bodies were found, the Oscar statuette Young had worked his whole life for was found in the apartment. It became a symbol of how little "success" actually matters when the interior life is in shambles.
Young's will was another layer of weirdness. He left his worldly possessions to his daughter, Jennifer—a daughter he had spent years claiming wasn't actually his. He had spent a fortune in legal fees trying to prove he wasn't her father, only to leave her everything in the end.
Why the Story of Gig Young and Kim Schmidt Still Matters
We talk about "mental health" a lot more now than they did in 1978. Back then, Young was just a "troubled actor" or a "heavy drinker." Today, we’d recognize the signs of a man in a full-blown health crisis.
But we also need to talk about the Kim Schmidts of the world. The partners who think they can fix a person who doesn't want to be fixed. It’s a dangerous position to be in.
Lessons from a Hollywood Tragedy
- Professional success is not a shield. You can win an Oscar and still be profoundly miserable.
- Alcoholism is a thief. It didn't just take Gig Young’s career; it took his mind and, eventually, two lives.
- The "Fixer" Trap. If you find yourself in a relationship where you are the primary support system for someone's addiction, you need external help. You cannot do it alone.
If you or someone you know is dealing with domestic volatility or substance abuse, there are resources that didn't exist in 1978. Don't wait for the "three-week mark" of a crisis.
Next Steps for Support:
- Contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline (800-799-7233) if you feel unsafe in a relationship.
- Reach out to SAMHSA (Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration) at 800-662-HELP if addiction is tearing your home apart.
- Understand that history doesn't have to repeat itself. Recognizing the patterns in stories like Gig Young and Kim Schmidt is the first step toward choosing a different path.