PAIGE YOUNG, A FORERUNNER OF UVALDE.

A Playboy Centerfold Death That Went Unnoticed Even by the Police Who Let Her Die

I've gone over this many times, most recently in Secrets of Playboy. My next door neighbor in 1974 was Paige Young. She murdered herself by putting a gun to her head in a desperate attempt to warn other young women of the horrors she experienced as a Playboy centerfold. Today I want to share with you how this was handled by the West Los Angeles Police Department. Because that was a horror all by itself.

Paige came to my bathroom window on Saturday to ask me to see something in her apartment. I told her I would, but I forgot. So she came back the next day. This was months after I met up with her in our neighborhood sauna where she told me she was "leaving." I thought this meant Los Angeles. She also told me of the abuse she had experienced at the hands of the famous director, John Huston, at his castle in Scotland. Huston moved or hid her shoes in a gaslighting attempt to undermine her sanity which was already in jeopardy due to her unwitting participation in a video taking by David Shane, a frequent flyer at the Playboy Mansion. Paige was no innocent bystander. She actively participated in sex orgies in the Playboy grotto. She was a companion of Bill Cosby. Paige got around. Paige liked sex and didn't see why women couldn't engage in the same activities that men do. But this video was different. She was shaken by its existence. It pushed her over the edge.

On that Sunday, Paige met me at the door with a gun in her hand. She proceeded to show me a pentagram with candles on the floor and a large hall wall leading to her bedroom that she had painstakingly covered with clippings and pictures and memorabilia of her experience with Playboy founder, Hugh Hefner. In bold red letters resembling blood, she wrote, "Hugh Hefner is the Devil." For the finale of her tour, Paige laid on her bed on top of an American flag and put the gun in her mouth to show me how her death would be carried out. She also explained that she trusted me with her secret.

She said I would understand. And I did. I let her know I didn't agree with her lifestyle. She was a promising and talented artist. She was serious about painting. Unlike many others, her colors were custom mixed. Most notably a 6' canvas of horses that hung in my roommate's bedroom in yellow and pink. This idea that men and women were equal was not a reality in Hollywood. Men were still actively treating women as second class citizens. And I was already aware the police department was an offender.

Paige occasionally visited the Neuropsychiatric Institute at UCLA. I'm not at all sure why, but I had dropped her off for a weekend visit. While there, she picked up another patient and brought him home. I ran into him in the sauna. Naked. I knew who he was because I saw in my house earlier. Nudity was a common practice. However after turning off the lights, he began strangling me as he ordered me to take off my bikini bottom. I refused to participate in my rape, but soon realized I was going to lose consciousness. With all my strength and pumping adrenaline I lifted him up and threw him out the sauna door where he fell on his back — giving me time to jump over him and run out. Paige heard me screaming and ran down the stairs with a gun as he put on a white lab coat and ran down the street. My roommate, Paige and I called the police. Sitting in the living room of our highly decorated little jewel box home courtesy of my roommate's grandmother, me with a handprint bruise on my neck, three white "privileged" women begged for the authorities to catch a man who tried to kill me. The two policemen were not moved. There was no urgency. Nothing was done. Nothing at all.

When I got back to my duplex, I dialed the West LAPD because as it turns out I couldn't handle the responsibility of Paige’s information. And here is where this story gets doubly tragic. The police showed up quickly at my house. A lot of action began to take place. Police were everywhere: Talking on walkie talkies, talking to each other, strategizing, walking in and out of the house. Police cars with flashing lights were parked in front of the house. They were cordoning off the street. They considered putting a marksman in an apartment building window next door. But no one was helping Paige. I became annoyed and told them I was going to check on her myself. That's when they locked me in my room for my own protection. I tried climbing out my window. They caught me and stopped me. It was the Keystone Cops. It was a shitshow. Later, too much later, an officer came to have me enter her apartment because they realized if I didn't do it, they would have to. I climbed the stairs of the carriage house with a row of police officers, guns drawn, behind me. Turning the corner of the hall, I saw Paige laying on a blood soaked flag, dead. She had a pleasant look on her face. As I quickly turned around, I bumped into men close behind me while navigating past more bodies on my way down the steps. I was pissed and crying. Did Paige have to die? I don't know.

Similar to Uvalde, Texas, the police refused to help Paige and physically restrained me from helping her. They have no record, other than the coroner’s report, of her death, and no pictures of the mural she took months to erect. There was no investigation. This was 50 years ago. Nothing has changed. I also had an armed home invasion robbery in 1996. It took the Hollywood police three hours to reach my apartment despite the fact the Mara Salvatrucha gang had already left when I made the 911 call. The police are cowards.

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UPDATE: Because of this post, I was contacted by a reader who suggested I look at vigilantcitizen.com. There is an article about Paige’s death and how she fits the profile of an MK-Ultra sex slave. When I first heard about this, I rejected it outright. Too crazy. But over time, I have become convinced Paige’s actions during her death ceremony were very “programmed.” Very zombie-like. She showed absolutely no emotion. She said, “I would understand” which I totally took to mean — in a way that other people wouldn’t. There is also Tom O’Neil’s book ‘Chaos’ if you want to explore this further.

UPDATE 2: Almost on the anniversary of Paige’s death, I was visited by Holly Slavic, who was in the the Playboy miniseries with me. She has a site www.paigeyoung1968.com where she explores Paige’s life in great detail. She brought with her the police report, which I didn’t know existed. It was full of so many errors and things that were just made up. For example: Paige was nude. Why would she take off her clothes before lying on the bed and shooting herself in the head? And many things involving me that just didn’t happen. Really shocking at its lack of veracity. Nothing that substantially changed the events, but why lie? The police, our police departments, are incompetent lying cowards. And this goes back to the 1970’s. Check out Holly’s site.