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Closeup, Young neither looks nor acts like a fighting man. He is quiet and soft-voiced, shows anger only by a slight tightening of his lips, a slight glint in his pale blue eyes. Only 5 ft. 6 and weighing only 135 Ibs., his body seems fragile. His thin shoulders are stooped. He looks more than his age: at 50, he could easily be taken for 65. His narrow face is florid and wrinkled, with the kind of puffiness that usually spells dissipation. "My dissipation," says Young, who doesn't smoke and only occasionally takes a cocktail, "is my work."
Far from the Office. Young does his work as far from Wall Street as possible. With a personal fortune estimated to be in the neighborhood of $10 million (he draws only $20,000 a year as board chairman of Alleghany, another $7,500 as board chairman of C. & O.), he lives most of the year at Newport, in a 40-room Tudor-style house, "Fairholme," where a picture of Napoleon by David hangs in his room. From there, he usually goes to New York each Monday night, goes back each Thursday night. As befits a railroad baron, he always travels in his private car. His Cleveland office is a Kubla Khanish relic of the Van Sweringens. But his offices in Manhattan's Chrysler Building are small and unlisted on the building directory. He does not need a large office because "I carry the business in my head."
In Palm Beach, where he now spends his winters, he lives in a large, cream-colored Spanish villa called "The Towers," which he bought last year for $160,000. Young ordinarily gets up at 6 a.m., goes for a quick dip in the surf, eats a quick breakfast, then quickly gets to work. His workroom is a second-floor bedroom facing the ocean. For a desk he uses two ordinary card tables, pulled together. Scorning ghostwriters, he writes all his own magazine articles, personally turns out copy for C. & O. ads.
Afternoons, Young tries to get in some golf, often breaks 80. At night, he likes to read. His favorite authors are Mark Twain and Dumas (Young sometimes refers to himself as "the D'Artagnan of the 20th Century").
For long the upper stratum of Palm Beach and Newport society was chilly toward the Youngs. In 1936, they gave their only child, Eleanor, one of the most spectacularly lavish coming-out parties in Newport's history. But since 1941, when Eleanor was killed in an airplane crash, the Youngs have become much less active —and entirely acceptable. If nothing else, their closeness to the Windsors would generally insure them top seeding in social tournaments.
Punk & Railroad. Out where Bob Young was born, in the Texas Panhandle, the Social Register doesn't mean a thing. His father was a well-fixed cattleman, banker and hotel proprietor in the little cow town of Canadian.
Young was a runt of a boy with a large head and orange-colored hair. Inevitably, he was called "Punk" (short for "punkin-head"). Because of his initials, one prophetic friend called him "Railroad." As a boy, Young learned how to ride horses, handle guns and use his wits to compensate for his lack of bulk.