He was the high school football embodiment of Teddy Roosevelt's famous proclamation nearly 50 years earlier: speak softly but carry a big stick — the stick, in this case, being the aura that surrounded the beloved coach.
But while he was no-nonsense, he made it a point to never, ever curse at his players.
"He knew how to motivate each kid differently. One player he might have to get on, another he might pat on the back. But he always said the right thing," said DiVincenzo.
"With Charlie, you always knew where he was coming from," added Manuel. "You didn't have to guess what his feelings were. There were no complainers on his teams; he instilled that work ethic in us as players that the only thing that mattered was the score at the end of the game."
Hamor, who grew up on Gardner Street right next to Walsh's Pearl Street home and played with the coach's sons, Billy and John, all the time as a youngster, recalls never seeing Walsh leave his house without a sports coat and tie on. "Everyone knew who he was," Hamor said.
The way he presented himself wasn't just for show, either. If someone else didn't follow his coaching code of ethics, Walsh knew how to best handle that situation, too.
Take the time that visiting Lawrence High came to Beverly for a scrimmage. Like the hosts, the Lancers were one of the top squads in the state and the contest figured to be beneficial to both programs.
Only problem was that Lawrence head coach Ed Buckley — a former Marine drill sergeant with a penchant (at least on this day) for using salty words — was none too pleased after Beverly quickly scored 4-5 touchdowns against his squad and let them have it.