Charles Harrell, the Babe Ruth of the White Rock Churches Athletic Association

One-hundred acre Norbuck Park, at the intersection of Northwest Highway and Buckner Boulevard, was established in 1929. At its southeast corner is a tarnished monument to a man named Rowland D. Adams. He organized the White Rock Churches Athletic Association in 1956. A member of Lakeview Christian Church, Adams coached baseball and basketball teams representing his congregation until his death in 1962. At that time, many of the homes surrounding Norbuck Park were new and the public schools were among the best in Texas. The WRCAA itself was quite a going concern as some 2,000 boys and girls participated; it was then the largest church-sponsored athletic association in the nation. Besides the aforementioned Lakeview Christian, I can remember a few others—Lake Highlands Baptist, St. Mark Presbyterian, Casa View Methodist, St. Patrick Catholic, Buckner Orphans Home, Bethel Lutheran, Shiloh Terrace Baptist, Northlake Baptist, Lake Highlands Methodist and Casa Linda Presbyterian. My family attended the latter church, and I played on its baseball teams for five seasons, spanning elementary school (Kiest and Hexter) and junior high (Hill).

CLP coaches, players

I recall one pre-season gathering at Winfrey Point on the shore of White Rock Lake. It seemed that all 2,000 of us, clad in our baseball uniforms and making lots of baby-boomer noise, were there. While CLP played some games at Winfrey Point and other parks, Norbuck with its four diamonds was the main venue. Our coach was Charles Van Dusen, ably assisted by Woody Harrell. Guys who went on to Bryan Adams High School include Kevin Nietmann, Mack Hamilton, Robert Harrell (class of 1970), Gregg Potter (class of 1972), Jim Shiner, Charles Harrell, Mike Gregory and me. The Van Dusen brothers, Buddy and Dennis, the coach’s sons, would have become Cougars had they not moved to New Orleans. Two rather prominent opposing players were catcher Tommy King and pitcher Mark Crouch, both of whom would make their mark as athletes at BA. The churches for which they played have long since been forgotten.

Let me emphasize that this was not really high-level baseball. If you went to a church and wanted to be on the team, you were on it. No tryouts, and thus no cuts or broken hearts. I would venture to say that on a typical team, one-third of the players had little experience with sandlot baseball, were poor athletes or both. A lot of the better boys were on Little League or American Legion teams. Playing in the WRCAA probably gave me an exaggerated sense of my talents as a baseball player. Forgive me for saying I made some good plays in the field and at bat. But there was also the time a game ended with me in the box, watching a ball zoom past me and hearing the ump bellow, “strike three!” I had, quite simply, choked.

Big fella

This story is not about me but one of my teammates, Charles Harrell (Woody’s son and Robert’s younger brother). He was a big guy, and he played first base. I cannot speak about his defensive skills, but Charles was very adept at putting wood on the ball. And he was not content with dribblers through the infield or line drives. No, moon shots were his thing. He hit home runs that could make opposing players weep. Many a time I was on first, second or third base and up came Charles. I took a healthy lead and had a good view of the proceedings. The pitcher surely knew who Charles was, and his coach must have warned him: “Be very careful with this batter. He can hit it a mile.” I’m watching, and the poor pitcher is sweating bullets. The coach probably told all three of his outfielders to move back. The pitcher fidgets, but not ole Charles. He is motionless. Louisville Slugger in his meaty hands, he is ready for whatever may come. The pitcher can delay no longer and throws. At the precise moment, my teammate leapt into action. He swung, and you better believe he connected. How often did this happen, 50% of the time? Maybe more. My memory cannot be right because it seemed to have happened every time Charles came to the plate—a booming home run in every single at-bat.

I will hedge by saying he almost always launched a rocket that went far over the heads of the outfielders. The opposing coach in his dugout (probably) put his hands on his head, the pitcher knew he had screwed up, the fans were screaming, and Charles was motoring around the bases. I crossed home plate well before him. You could not call him fast by any means, but he was somewhere between second and third by the time the outfielders got hold of the ball and threw it back toward the catcher. The Chuckster, having hit it so far, did not have to hustle home. I, my teammates and the coaches gave him a rousing welcome.

Regelsky misses out

Charles was on the baseball, basketball and football teams at Gaston, but he focused on the more sedate sport of golf at Bryan Adams. The ’71 El Conquistador states that he played on the B (sophomore) football team. Perhaps he did. But it curiously and incorrectly lists him as being a member of the B basketball team. The big question is, why no baseball for this latter-day Bambino? I have to wonder whether Dolph Regelsky knew he had such a hitter available in 1969, 1970 and 1971. He should have been bashing monster home runs for the Cougars just as he had for Casa Linda Presbyterian Church.