We’ve Lost a Giant

We’ve lost a giant.

Not in size or stature, not in fame or glory, but a giant we’ve lost.

There are certain people that come into your life that you’re lucky enough to just meet. Maybe you don’t realize it at the time, but when you do, you realize they’ve changed your life, impacted you in a way you didn’t know was possible, made your life better, simply by knowing them.

These people don’t come around often, but when they do, it is truly something special. Honorableness at the core of their being, kind-heartedness ingrained in their very soul, goodness in human form.

This was Frank Bice.

I was lucky enough to have Mr. Bice as my eleventh-grade theology teacher at Sacred Heart Academy in Hempstead, NY. Looking back on it, there was no better person to be teaching that class than Mr. Bice. Teaching theology to a group of sixteen-year-olds is very different from teaching physics to a group of sixteen-year-olds. Not only in content, but in expectations.

We can quantify how well students understand the laws of motion, but we cannot quantify how well students understand the importance of living a moral life. You see, you can test students on the Bible and memorizing scripture, but that doesn’t get to the heart of the matter; and for Mr. Bice, the heart of the matter was being a good person.

Never being one to say something he didn’t mean, Mr. Bice lived his life just as he urged us to. He was a constant source of optimism, kindness, and truthfulness. If that isn’t enough, he lived this way after enduring a life-altering injury during his senior year of college.

A true All-American athlete, Mr. Bice captained both the football and lacrosse teams at Siena College. However, during the third game of his senior year, he made a tackle that instantly changed his life forever. The play left Mr. Bice a quadriplegic, and for a while unsure if he was to live. When he would talk about his accident, Mr. Bice was never bitter, he took full responsibility for his injury, he knew how to play football and said not raising his head in time was his fault, nobody else’s. During his tail, his voice was never filled with sadness but rather filled with hope and gratitude.

Eleventh grade was quite some time ago, and while I can’t remember ever story he shared with us or every passage we read, I do remember his passion, liveliness, and happiness. It was with this I remembered him by ever since I graduated Sacred Heart Academy in 2013.

Out of the blue one day, I did remember something Mr. Bice had said at the front of the class all those years ago. At the time I foolishly thought I understood what he was saying, but it wasn’t until seven years later that I truly began to understand his words. Moved by this realization, I emailed Mr. Bice hoping I would reach him. I wanted him to know he made an impact, that behind all the blank stares and whispered conversations, I heard him, and what he said mattered.

One cold day in early 2019, my phone started to ring and an unknown long island numbered popped up. Despite no longer living in NY, I know a long island area code when I see one. I answered the phone and was taken aback when Mr. Bice was on the other end of the line.

It wasn’t a long conversation, but it is one I will cherish for the rest of my life. We chatted about what each of us had been up to since 2013, me moving to Boston, him working at the Canterbury School. He thanked me for emailing him, said it was just the thing to help motivate him to get back in the classroom after months of bed rest. I still think it’s funny that he thanked me when I have so much more to thank him for.

He looked forward to staying in touch and I echoed the sentiment. Goodbyes were said and I promised myself I would continue to reach out. And I did, I emailed twice, both went unanswered. I figured he was busy and would get back to me when he could. My only regret now is that I didn’t just pick up the phone and call. I will forever be grateful for that phone call back in 2019, for being reconnected with a man who was the definition of inspirational, and yet too humble to agree.

Mr. Bice was one of those rare people that you’re lucky enough to just meet. He changed my life, impacted me in a way I didn’t know was possible, he made my life better - he made me better. Honorableness at the core of his being, kind-heartedness ingrained in his very soul, goodness in human form.

We’ve lost a giant. Not in size or stature, not in fame or glory, but a giant we’ve lost.