Burke is direct but not dogmatic, and his disdain for the rigid approach of golf gurus knows no bounds. Burke’s stories illustrate what real players know—there’s no one true path for anything in golf.

With a full head of gray hair, penetrating blue eyes and a magnetic vibe, Burke looks good for a man of 60—yet he’s 83. He still practices the martial arts he learned and taught as a Marine, and still hits balls almost every day, working the ball left and right, high and low.

When he’s not practicing or giving lessons, he’s running his 1,000-member, 130-employee club. Champions opened in 1959, three years after Burke’s Masters victory anchored a career season in which he also won the PGA Championship and was named Player of the Year.

The 1956 Masters was played in weekend winds so strong pine trees nearly doubled over, greens became marble and sand plumed out of bunkers, irritating the eyes of players and spectators. Amateur Ken Venturi, a brooding, 24-year-old cross between Marlon Brando and Byron Nelson, shot 66-69-75 for a four-shot lead entering the final round, with Burke eight back. But when Venturi faltered (see sidebar), Burke found himself tied for the lead on the final green, with a six-foot putt for par, dead downhill. As he recalls: “I said to my caddie, Pappy, ‘It’s inside the left edge—isn’t it?’ I didn’t want a dissenting opinion.”

Wisely, Pappy nodded. Burke tapped. The putt dripped across the lip and into the hole, and wound up being the winning margin of victory. Playing partner Mike Souchak, an ex-football player, slapped Burke on the back so hard he spun in a circle.

The following year, Burke committed the faux pas of his life at the Champions Dinner. The defending champ barely knew host Bobby Jones but figured, under the circumstances, he ought to say something. “Tell me, Mr. Jones,” he said, presumably out of ignorance, “what year did you turn professional?” Jones reportedly turned a bright shade of red.