These are some of the most powerful men in America, yet they are thrilled by receiving a silver box they could easily buy—because they won it on the golf course.

"Everybody plays a nassau," says another member, also speaking on the condition of anonymity, in describing the competition at the fall Governors Party. "If you win $75, you had a helluva great day. If you lose $75, you had a horrible day. And if you break even, you're lucky."

What would Mr. Roberts do?

When Cliff Roberts ran the place, the Jamboree was not only a time to celebrate the club but was also a time to poke fun at his own autocratic rule. Each year he would show a short movie at the party. One time he depicted himself making a hole-in-one on No. 16 and then walking on water from the tee to the green, a feat pulled off by the construction of a bridge just under the surface of the pond. To add to the effect, his caddie was shown tumbling into the water. Another time, the movie had a bear chasing golfers across the course. Then the camera pulled in for a close-up of the bear—the head was lifted off to reveal Roberts. Several times Roberts showed himself singing to a rubber duck.

"There is still a six- to eight-minute movie shown at the Jamboree with a mix of a little comedy, golf course beauty shots and sentiment," says someone who spends a lot of time inside the gates of Augusta. "There might be a piece on a member who recently passed away." Perhaps this year there will be a tongue-in-cheek reference to the membership confrontation with Martha Burk.

Although the legend of Jones is at the heart of Augusta, the essence of Roberts is its soul. The single-minded efficiency—some would say arrogance—with which Roberts ran the club as chairman from 1934 to 1976 established a road map for other chairmen to follow. Ask an Augusta member about a club policy, and the answer is likely to begin with the words: "Well, Mr. Roberts felt ... " Though Jones is listed as president in perpetuity, it is, in fact, Roberts who still rules.

"I'll tell you, he had a great sense of humor," Johnson says. "He'd kind of let you know what he was thinking without being too harsh sometimes. When shorts first came in on the golf course, men wearing shorts, Mr. Roberts was having lunch when Charley Yates bounded up with his shorts on. Mr. Roberts looked at him and said, 'Charley, what are you doing this afternoon?' And he said, 'Well, I'm going to play golf, Cliff, of course.' And Mr. Roberts said, 'Well, I hope the course is nearby.' It didn't take Charley long to change the shorts."

So what would happen if a member showed up now wearing shorts?

"We wouldn't look too favorably on it," Johnson says with a chuckle. "It's all right for ladies to have down-to-the-knee shorts. But men, we don't look too favorably on that."

When Johnson, 72, speaks of Augusta National, it is with a genuine affection. He first set foot on the grounds shortly after World War II, first played there 50 years ago and became a member, at the suggestion of Roberts, in 1968. Time and again as he shares stories about the club his sentences are punctuated with laughter or interrupted by wistful pauses as if a particular fond memory is replaying in his mind.

"The Closing Party is a great party," Johnson says. "We have a barbecue down by the Par-3 [Course], and we hit balls to the first green down there and all walk around with our drinks and our chef, James Clark, he'd get into it with us. He usually ended up winning the money. I only say those things," Johnson says, pausing to collect the words he wanted to use. "It's just a ... " Again he stops and laughs a private laugh as if remembering a story or a long-ago incident.

"There is a great camaraderie among the membership," he says finally.

"One of the greatest things I see is when two members, who likely haven't seen each other in several months, meet on the practice tee," says one who has been there to witness such reunions. "It's like two old college buddies meeting for alumni weekend. It's just good guys who like golf and each other's company."

Because of the difficulty of getting to Augusta (the town is almost a three-hour drive from Atlanta—many arrive by private jet and fly into Augusta's tiny airport), members begin arriving on a Wednesday night for the big parties. It is those intimate gatherings when people are trickling in that Johnson remembers with the greatest fondness.

"There might be just 25 or 30 people, and we have a great get-together up there [in the Library]," he says. "And it's just an intimate place, a warm place. Most of the time we go to bed at a reasonable hour, but every now and then we might be up a little while."

The club frowns upon lights being on after midnight (the New Year's Eve countdown takes place at 10:30). But there are some nights when the rules are bent just a little. Especially when one of those sharing stories and playing bridge or gin rummy is the chairman, who most likely is beginning a yarn with the words, "I remember the time Mr. Roberts ... "

Washington Road is just a short par 4 away, but the harsh lights and honking horns don't make it far enough past the gates of Augusta National Golf Club to reach the clubhouse. Getting past that gate is a privilege reserved for 300 members escaping the demands of one world for the pleasures of another—and for the chosen few they bring in with them.