Crenshaw’s Friend Is There by His Side

The secret to being a good caddie, Carl Jackson was saying, was “you’ve got to have some instincts.”

Instinct. That must have been what led him to make the right choice five decades ago, the decision that led to his long-term career, the choice that connected him to the man who eventually provided him with life-saving financial assistance, the choice that led to him standing here now, beneath the famed oak tree outside the Augusta National clubhouse, enthralling reporters as he provided the sidebar to Ben Crenshaw’s surprising opening-round 71 at the Masters.

It’s not as if Jackson had many choices back then. He was a black child in the South in the 1950s. The options ranged from A to B.

“I needed a way to make some money,” Jackson said. “I lived over there on the sand hill. On Saturday morning, I’d walk out there and I could see the golf course over here, and the cotton truck was parked close to my house. Some people got on the cotton truck, but I never did.”

He caddied. First at Augusta Country Club and then, starting in 1961, at Augusta National. Thirty years ago, when the rules still required Masters competitors to use the club’s caddies, he wound up with Crenshaw.

“They were trying to find a caddie that could get along with Ben,” Jackson said. “We talked it out, and 30 years later here we are. We just hit it off.”

The bond endured. Even after players were given the option to use their own caddies in 1983, Crenshaw stuck with Johnson. If the first Masters since 1955 without Arnold Palmer leaves you wanting a link to the old days, here they are: old-school caddies Buck Moore and Jackson, the man with the owlish, John Chaney-like face, right by Crenshaw’s side.

“I’m always there for him,” Jackson said.

Sometimes it’s club selection, sometimes it’s a putting line. In 1995 it was a shoulder to cry on. When Crenshaw won his second Masters in the week after his mentor Harvey Penick died, the image of Jackson hugging an emotional Crenshaw became one of the most memorable in Masters history.

Five years later, when Jackson was about to succumb to colon cancer, it was Crenshaw who provided the assistance.

A doctor had suggested a new treatment plan. Jackson knew he couldn’t afford it.

“I had told the doctor, ‘Let me go,’ instead of running up the big bills,” Jackson said.

That’s when Crenshaw came in. He and Augusta National member Warren Stephens gave Jackson enough money to cover the treatment and allow him to stop working and concentrate on recovering.

Now he’s living cancer-free in Little Rock, Ark., managing the caddies at Stephens’ Alotian golf club, preparing to send his two youngest kids to college.

“I’m blessed to be here,” Jackson said.

He was back on the bag in the 2001 Masters. But Crenshaw’s game was gone. Crenshaw hasn’t made the cut here since 1997, and the lengthening of the course that started in 2002 threatened to put weekend play permanently out of reach.

The combination of a newfound groove for Crenshaw, plus the driest weather for Masters week in several years, set Jackson’s imagination going the last few days.

“I saw a lot of good swings,” Jackson said. “I said, ‘It’s not wishful thinking. Ben is swinging well.’ By golly, he did a good job.”

Good enough to earn a spot on the leaderboard, tied for eighth, four shots behind leader Vijay Singh, one shot ahead of Tiger Woods.

“I enjoy playing here so much,” Crenshaw said. “It’s meant a lot to me. I’ve been fortunate to be a champion here. With Carl, my caddie, who is just a great friend, wonderful person. We’re just enjoying being here, really.”

Yes, that was the 59-year-old Jackson high-stepping and fist-pumping when Crenshaw drained a 50-foot putt on 16.

The green-jacketed lords of Augusta National Golf Club exert so much control over all that transpires within these gates, it wouldn’t be surprising to hear they ordered up an opening day with perfect weather, rich story lines and, most of all, a proper sense of perspective expressed by everyone. The golfers seemed to reach a consensus that the addition of 155 yards to the course does not constitute cruel and unusual punishment, and taking a double bogey on a par-five hole is not the equivalent of the apocalypse.

Maybe it was the life-and-death issues that have been faced by Jackson and, lately, Woods and Tom Lehman.

Woods’ father is ailing with cancer back in California, a topic Woods addressed at length in his pre-tournament news conference Tuesday. So Woods was rather uncharacteristically upbeat after an up-and-down opening round that included an eagle on 14 followed by a double bogey on 15 when his ball landed in a divot and he chunked a shot that landed in the water.

He surprised most media observers with an uncharacteristic appearance in the news conference room, not a trip he normally makes after an even-par round. Then golf’s ultimate perfectionist said: “I thought I played really well, actually.”

He was practical and lighthearted, a description that also fit Lehman two days after his courtesy car was shot while he was driving to the airport.

When you hear an Escalade got shot up by a 9-millimeter gun, you’d expect it to be at an awards show in Miami, not during Masters week in Augusta. But Lehman heard a loud explosion on his way to pick up his family Tuesday night, then got out and saw a hole in the door. (Police arrested local resident Troy Willis Smith and charged him with two counts of aggravated assault for allegedly shooting at Lehman and another car.)

“Very random thing,” Lehman said. “Random things happen in this world. I’m most happy that the guy tried that thing before I got my kids. Otherwise my 3-year-old would have been sitting in that seat.

“All’s well that ends well.”

Yes, even in the often pointlessly cruel game of golf, the good guys can prevail, as if by sheer karma. Ask Jackson. Or Crenshaw. And something tells me we’ll still hear more from Woods.