"Whose guest was he?"
"Mine," I said.
"But you're not a member, are you?"
"No, sir. I'm not."
"He wasn't entitled to be out there, Bill," Mr. Roberts said. "I could have sent him off the course and off the club property." There was most likely a pause. "You won't do that again, will you?"
"Then that's over and done with. Now, will you stay here and join me for dinner?"
From that day forward I had a friendly relationship with Mr. Roberts. He could be stern, but there was more to him than that, much more.
2 The Winner's Dinner
On the afternoon of Masters Sunday in 1984, one of my favorite people, Ben Crenshaw, won. Later I was invited by a club member to one of the charming Augusta National traditions that until then I had never experienced: the Sunday club dinner with the new winner, at that time held in the Trophy Room, a large, first-floor dining room. Hord Hardin, a good friend of mine and then the chairman of the club, announced the dinner's ground rules before the soup course: There would be no speeches, and everyone was to leave the champion alone so that he might enjoy his dinner. I am one to follow rules, but when I found myself 30 feet away from Ben with a clear line to him, I could not help myself. I walked over, put out my hand and congratulated him. Hord saw me and was not pleased. He came over and said, "You shouldn't be doing this." I said, "I'm sorry, Hord, but I couldn't not do it." Ben observed this exchange and looked amused. The rest of the dinner, I'm glad to say, unfolded without incident.