Seeing Ben Crenshaw today at the CVS/Caremark Charity Classic brought back memories of his emotional Masters win in 1995, just days after he attended the funeral of his lifelong mentor, the famed teaching pro, Harvey Penick.

Here's the column I wrote from Augusta National that Sunday night 16 years ago:

AUGUSTA, Ga. - There are ghosts all over Augusta National, spirits on every hole.

You can't see them, of course. But you can sense them, the way Brian Henninger did when he rolled in a 60-foot putt Saturday at 16.

"When I made that," Henninger said, "I remembered Jack Nicklaus making one there from the top of the green down to the bottom in 1975, and I could just feel his presence there with me on the hole."

The spirit of Gene Sarazen, dressed nattily in knickers, stands under the trees at the top of the hill on 15, waiting to see if anyone can duplicate the double-eagle he made there in 1935.

Ben Hogan tips his white cap to each golfer who crosses the bridge named for him over Rae's Creek.

And the late Bobby Jones is everywhere - sitting on the clubhouse verandah, walking the fairways he designed, standing on the porch of the cabin bearing his name.

There are ghosts all over Augusta National and, yesterday, there was a new one - a thin man in a checked cap telling his former pupil, Ben Crenshaw, to "take dead aim" on a second Masters championship.

"I believe in fate," said Crenshaw, whose final round of 68 gave him another green jacket to go with the one he won in 1984.

"Fate has dictated another championship here, as it has done so many other times. You know how this tournament has gone.

"It was like someone put their hand on my shoulder this week and sort of guided me through."

That someone was the late Harvey Penick, who died last Sunday in Austin, Texas, at the age of 90.

"I had a 15th club in my bag today," Crenshaw said. "It was Harvey."

Crenshaw was six years old when Penick gave him first lesson, in 1958.

He gave him last lesson two weeks ago, sitting up in bed while Crenshaw practiced putting on the rug in Penick's bedroom.

"I was here eating at the club Sunday night when we got the call that Harvey had passed away," Crenshaw said. "Tom Kite called and said that Harvey had passed away at 5:30 Sunday.

"We made arrangements to fly to Texas Wednesday morning for the funeral, and come back here in the afternoon. We got back here at 6 Wednesday evening.

"I came back searching for something," Crenshaw said, "trying to come to terms that my lifelong teacher was gone, my friend.

"Obviously, I was emotional the first part of the week. But we had known that it was going to come for a long time. I tried to put it somewhat in perspective. I think that he wanted us to play hard."

Crenshaw had been working hard on his game, because he hadn't been playing well.

But, after returning from Texas, things somehow came together for him.

"I started hitting balls on the practice tee and, you know, somehow, this transformation occurred."

He began to split the fairway with his drives. His iron shots went right to the flag. And, most importantly, his putts started dropping."

"Harvey always said, 'There's nothing that can help your confidence more than holing a few putts.' I saw a couple go in on Thursday, and I felt like a contender again."

He was in contention all the way, shooting 70 on Thursday, 67 on Friday, then a 69 Saturday that left him tied for the lead with Henninger going into the final round.

Crenshaw was tied for the lead with Davis Love with three holes to go and Love already finished at 13-under.

He had just missed a good birdie chance at the par-5 15th, but came right back with back-to-birdies on 16 and 17.

Crenshaw hit a perfect 6-iron to 5 feet on the par-3 16th, then rolled in the putt.

On 17, he hit a 9-iron to 13 feet, than sank what he called "one of the prettiest putts I ever hit."

With a two-shot lead, Crenshaw was able to finish with a bogey, making an 18-inch putt for the win.

There are joyous scenes of victory that are indeliby etched in America's sporting memory.

Bobby Thomson bounding around the bases, Yogi Berra leaping into Don Larsen's arms after his perfect game, Jim Valvano racing on to the court, looking for someone to hug.

But Crenshw, instead of looking up and smiling, bent over and cried.

When his ball went into the cup, he dropped his putter and put his hands over his face.

"It's hard," Love said, "for anybody to look at Ben and understand why he wasn't jumping up and down.

"But that was a lot for him to overcome. It's like losing his father and his best friend at the same time."

Crenshaw said he learned more about life than golf from Penick.

"It was the way he dealt with people. He was the kindest, gentlest individual. He always had time for you. He was always helping you. He gave us life lessons, no question about it.

"I saw (former LPGA pro) Kathy Whitworth the other day at the funeral, and she said, 'Harvey came as close to living a perfect life as anyone I ever met.' That's how we all felt about him."

When Crenshaw stood over that last putt, he felt his emotions welling up in him.

"I said, 'If you can get through this foot-and-a-half putt, then you can just go ahead and cry.'

"I did make the putt. And I did cry."

Love, whose father had played college golf for Penick at the University of Texas, knew what Crenshaw was going through.

"That had to be a hard thing for him to go Wednesday, and come back and focus on his game," Love said. "I think it was just meant to be that Ben would play well.