As Curt Sampson reveals in The Masters, a cold heart beats behind the warm antebellum facade of this famous Augusta course. And that heart belongs to the man who killed himself on the grounds two decades ago. Club and tournament founder Clifford Roberts, a New York stockbroker, still seems to run the place from his grave. Roberts, an elusive and reclusive figure, pulled the strings that made the Masters the greatest golf tournament in the world. His story - including his relationships with presidents, power brokers, and every golf champion from Bobby Jones to Arnold Palmer to Jack Nicklaus - has never been told. Until now. No mere recitation of birdies, bogeys, and tournament winners, The Masters is the intricate tale of the interplay among the town, the tournament, and the club. It is an amazing slice of history, taking us inside the presidency of Dwight D. Eisenhower, Augusta's most famous member. It is a look at how the new South coexists with the old South: the relationships between blacks and whites, between Southerners and Northerners, between rich and poor. It is a portrait of a tournament unlike any other as well as the town in which it lives and breathes - with such characters as James Brown, the Godfather of Soul; the great boxer Beau Jack; and Frank Stranahan, the playboy golfer and the only white pro ever banned from the tournament.
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