Feature Story: Saving Grace

December 18, 2023 | Field Hockey, Men's Lacrosse

There is darkness, the literal kind, the darkness just after the last rays of sunlight for the day fade or the light in the room is switched off. The eyes adjust. Shadows emerge. Images come back into focus. The mind continues forward.

There is also darkness, the figurative kind, a darkness of heartbreak, of anguish, of despair. The eye on its own cannot resolve this darkness. Moving forward becomes difficult, close to impossible; the mind, therefore, is compelled to look backward.

For better than 40 years, Bryce Chase lived a love story the likes of which has long inspired poets and songwriters. He and his wife Phyllis shared a partnership — a second marriage for both — that was so strong, so enduring, so endearing that the only words to describe it for all of their decades together were, aptly, “til death do us part.”

This past July 9, those words came to their inevitable fruition. Phyllis, the brightest light in Bryce’s world, passed away at the age of 79 due to pancreatic cancer, an opponent she fought courageously and bravely but an opponent that was undeterred by the love story it interrupted.

Bryce, 83, was suddenly alone. In the weeks that followed, he kept himself busy. The boxes on the calendar he keeps on his kitchen counter were filled with his barely legible scribble day after day — with children, with grandchildren, with golf, with meals, with friends. Still, there was darkness.

“It’s a very lonely house without Phyllis,” Bryce says. “It’s empty without her.”

Empty, at least in the tangible sense, it is not. There are photos of their lives together throughout, from framed pictures in the front room through the hallway where hang the collages for which Phyllis would take her scissors and cut up the prints of the photographs she took. Electronic photos? Not for Phyllis.

There are pictures of their five children and their 10 grandchildren. There are pictures of their friends. There are pictures of Phyllis and her longtime tennis group. There are pictures of weddings and parties and celebrations — everyone wanted Bryce and Phyllis to be there for whatever the occasion was. They, of course, made everything more fun.

And there is Princetoniana. Oh, is there Princetoniana, an army of Orange and Black memories, those from the 27 years that Phyllis spent as the Princeton Department of Athletics travel coordinator and the 60-plus years that Bryce has spent with the men’s lacrosse team, not to mention his place in the Class of 1963.

Ask him about Phyllis, and Bryce cannot speak without tearing up first. When she lost her fight with cancer, everyone who knew them had the same thoughts: What is to become of Bryce without her? Will he still be the same Bryce? Will he move forward? Will he eat?

And then, a quite unexpected turn occurred. Out of the darkness has come a ray of light. Out of the despair has come an unlikely friendship. And that is why on this morning in the house, there is only the sound of laughter. It comes from the laundry room, of all places, where one voice is insisting that the process of shifting clothes from the washer to the dryer is going smoothly while the other voice is skeptical.

Phyllis is watching over all of this, almost literally, her ashes in the house she and Bryce shared for all that time. Perhaps it was she, then, who sent him this light. There has to be something to that? How else to explain the series of events that brought this light to this particular house, just when Bryce needed it the most — and when the light itself needed Bryce. The impact they’ve had on each other is enormous.

Standing in the doorway, listening to the laughter, it’s impossible not to smile. Phyllis certainly would.

With the perspective of time, Grace Schulze now refers to what happened to her as a “silver lining.” It’s doubtful that her thoughts in the immediate included those words.

Schulze stands a shade more than five feet tall, but the best word to describe her is “strong.” It applies in the physical, yes, but also in other ways, such as her leadership, her character, her personality. If you sit on the Princeton field hockey bus, you’ll notice that it can get rather loud, and yet Schulze’s voice stands out despite never rising above the din. That’s what strength looks like.

She entered the 2023 field hockey season as the team’s leading returning scorer and one of its senior captains. After a breakout season for the 2022 Ivy League championship team, Schulze was probably going to be good for somewhere between 15-20 goals this year. That’s her best skill on the field. Pouncing on the ball and driving it into the cage. It’s a good skill to have — especially for a team that graduated eight senior starters and had its best player, a two-time first-team All-American, take the year off from school to play on the United States national team.

“I knew we’d lost a lot of players,” Schulze says. “I was really excited though. We had a strong incoming class. Every season, every year, is a new team. I was excited to see what kind of team this would be. What happened wasn’t exactly on the radar.”

Princeton opened its season at the Ivy League/ACC Crossover event at Penn with a 2-1 loss to a Louisville team that spent the entire season in the Top 5.

“I didn’t think a team with one returning starter could go head-to-head with a top five team in its first game,” she says. “That showed how much potential we had. There were so many positives that came out of the game.”

There were positives that came out of the next game too, which saw Princeton fall to defending NCAA champion and soon-to-be NCAA champion again North Carolina 2-1 on an overtime penalty stroke. Among those positives? The team scrapped. It played hard. It went the distance against the best team in the country. Every player contributed. So yes, there were positives. A healthy Schulze, though, was not one of them.

In fact, it took just 45 seconds for her season to be turned upside down. There was a collision in that first minute, and bang, or make that crack, Schulze’s collarbone was broken. If that wasn’t enough, she left the field to go to the nearby Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania and returned on the nearly 100 degree day with her arm in a sling and painkillers in her body. Literally as UNC lined up to take the game-winning penalty stroke, a cry came out from the Princeton bench to call 9-1-1.

“I heard that,” Schulze says. “That was the scariest part.”

A combination of the strong medicine and dehydration caused her to have a seizure. She left the field this time on a stretcher. The UNC stroke attempt was delayed by about 15 minutes and actually happened while Schulze was still being attended to on the sideline. After it went in, both teams gathered together at midfield in silent reflection, arm in arm.

This all happened on Sept. 3. Classes for her senior year were to begin two days later. She had two choices: stay enrolled and not play her senior year, or withdraw and come back to play in the fall of 2024. She had no lingering effects of her seizure, but she did need surgery on her collarbone, which would happen on Sept. 18. She chose the latter.

At the same time, she wanted to stay close to the team. She might not have been an active player, but she still was a captain. To do so, she’d need to find a place to live, and quickly. Her home in Greenwich, Conn., wouldn’t work.

It was then that she found out about Bryce and Phyllis’ basement.

Bryce Chase is asked a question that he is asked all the time these days: Are you free for dinner this week?

“I have to check the calendar,” he says.

Whatever he has coming up, he writes it by hand on the calendar. Doctors’ appointments. Lunch meetings. Whatever it is. Everyone wants to spend time with him these days, to keep him occupied and out of the house. The men’s lacrosse alums have organized golf outings with him. He meets with his regular Monday group at the local Mexican restaurant in Princeton.

Now, there are a few things you need to know about Bryce. First, he still works at his law practice. Second, he gets up really, really early, like 4:30 am or so, every day. He’s in his office by 6. He’s home by lunchtime.

He’s also an ex-Marine, and he looks like what you’d think an 83-year-old ex-Marine looks like, which is to say there is not an ounce of fat on him. Lastly, he speaks how you’d expect an ex-Marine to speak, in short bursts, most of them laden with some form of profanity.

“Oh wait,” he says. “I have to put my pants on, in case SHE’S out there.”

There was a word that he used between “my” and “pants” to, um, punch-up his thoughts. You can figure it out.

The “SHE” of whom he speaks is Grace Schulze. About halfway between Bryce’s bedroom and the calendar in the kitchen is a door that, if opened, takes you down to the basement apartment, one with a TV room at the bottom and then a bedroom to its right side, complete with a bathroom.

There have been 37 people now who have lived in that little apartment since Bryce and Phyllis bought the house. Most have been volunteer coaches at Princeton. Some have stayed for a year. Some have been repeat guests. Not one of them has ever paid a dime to live there.

Grace Schulze is the 37th. She moved in shortly after her injury, and the results have been astonishing.

For her, it was a chance to stay around her team and teammates while she healed. If the surgery healed her collarbone, being around the team as the season went along healed her spirit.

It was an interesting field hockey season. The Tigers, suddenly forced to play without the player who figured to be their leading scorer, fought through everything that was thrown their way, ultimately falling in the Ivy League tournament championship game on a goal with 35.7 seconds left that just trickled over the line.

“I would have loved to have seen what kind of impact I would have had, but I was so proud of how they fought every game,” she says. “By the end, we were really finding our stride. The ball just didn’t bounce our way. I had a lot of emotions at the end. Knowing I couldn’t be out there with my class was tough.”

As the year went along, she made her contributions however she could. Mostly she brought the force of her personality as a way of inspiring an entire team.

“I know for me personally, I’d always been more of a ‘lead by example’ type,” she says. “Being hurt caused me to use my voice more too. There were some positives of being hurt. I mean, it’s obviously not what I would have liked to have happened. But then again, if I hadn’t gotten hurt, then …”

… before that thought can be finished, there is some additional background that is needed. At the time of her injury, Grace Schulze had never heard of Bryce or Phyllis Chase, let alone met them. She found out about his empty basement through her coaches, who in turn had spoken to the lacrosse coaches, both men and women.

“I had no idea who he was,” Schulze says. “At first, I was just thankful I could stay in the Princeton area. First impression? I could tell he was a character.”

He is that. You already know how salty his language can be. He’s the life of every party. Every Princeton men’s lacrosse player for the last half-century or longer would take a bullet for him. He has a tough exterior and a heart of gold underneath it.

“Once I got to know him,” she says, “I was like ‘this guy is awesome.’ He definitely acts a lot younger than he is. He’s fun. He’s refreshing.”

Bryce and Phyllis were a classic pair. He tried to be a tough guy with her. She put him right back in his place. They laughed. They made everyone who walked into their house feel welcome. Their door was always open.

“There’s a famous line from a movie,” Bryce says. “It says ‘nobody’s perfect.’ Well, she was perfect.”

The tears were already welling up before he even answered the question about his wife. Her energy was boundless and infectious, even after her cancer diagnosis. She tried everything, whatever might help, whatever new trial there was. Almost until the very end, she was the same old Phyllis, her personality and spirit unchanged.

“They told her she had six months, and we ended up with two years,” Bryce says. “I’m so glad we had that time.”

Phyllis was to turn 80 on July 29. She’d planned for herself a big birthday bash for the big day, complete with a list of her favorite songs to be played. It seemed as if she would be there to celebrate, one more party for her and Bryce to share.

“The cancer eventually breaks down everything,” Bryce says. “You become susceptible to every kind of infection, and there’s nothing you can do about it. They flood you with antibiotics, but you have no physical reserve left.”

One day he came home from work around 9:30 and had to take Phyllis to the ICU. She would be placed on home hospice, and five days later — one week after hosting a dinner party and 20 days before her birthday — she finally lost the fight. Her birthday party instead turned into her Celebration of Life. Bryce spoke about what his wife had meant to him, read the love letter he wrote to her shortly after they met, cried in front of people who had never seen that emotional side of him.

“I can’t think of anyone who didn’t like her,” he says. “There are so many people who have reached out to say how much they miss her, and that means so much to me.”

His life in the weeks that followed was somewhat predictable. Children and grandchildren, friends, anyone — they all were there to spend time with him. Nobody wanted him to be alone, or at least allow him to be alone for as little time as possible.

The lacrosse alums especially stepped up. They’d all been there for the good times — the championships, the weddings, the celebrations, the births of children. Now the idea of a lonely Bryce was something none of them could imagine:

Distinguished Gentlemen Tiger Lacrosse Alums
With our beloved Phyllis' passing in July, so many of you, our Tiger Lacrosse alums want to see, support, and connect with Bryce more meaningfully, but don't really know how.
Solution: We have set up a weekly Tee Time Tuesdays 1:00pm at Springdale Golf Club, where 3 alums will join Bryce for golf, and Lunch before (Or dinner after) - the choice will be up to the group.

Still, by the time Grace Schulze had her injury, the other predictable piece of the equation had happened. Everybody had to go on with life. Bryce too. He had work. He rode his bike. He went to Princeton games. He went to almost every fall lacrosse practice. He played a lot of golf. He went out for a lot of meals. His face was brave. His heart was broken. And every night, he came back to the house that had been theirs.

“When this house is empty,” he says, “it blows.”

Babe Ruth had a lifetime batting average of .342. Why is Bryce Chase talking about this?

“Grace showed me how to look up stuff like that,” he says.

The calendar, after all, is kept by hand. Getting Bryce to send a text message was about a 20-year process. He still hasn’t quite figured out what the words “click on the link” mean.

Just as his latest houseguest formed an opinion of him, Bryce at the same time, well, sized her up.

“I saw her and thought ‘she’s small,’” he says. “She’s small, but she’s very lively and very, very self-assured. She does okay for herself.”

Bryce is a huge Princeton Athletics fan, a longtime season ticket holder for football and men’s and women’s basketball. Carla Berube’s father is one of his good friends. Almost everyone knows him, including the field hockey coaching staff. Carla Tagliente, the head coach, called him one day to tell him about Grace’s situation and asked if he’d be willing to meet with her.

He was at a home field hockey game in September when at halftime a woman came out of the stands to introduce herself. It was Grace’s mother.

“I got vetted,” he says. “I guess I passed.”

“I did know that he’d just lost his wife,” Schulze says. “I thought that if he was offering his house, then maybe I could repay him. He was going through something very sad, and I had learned that the house had always had people in it. He was in an emotionally challenging place, and I knew that he needed someone there.”

“I’m very grateful she’s here,” Bryce says. “She’ll come upstairs and shoot the breeze with me. She’s very easy to talk to. She’s very outgoing.”

“There was one time where he locked me out of the house accidentally,” Schulze says. “I had to Uber to a dinner he was at with his friends. At that dinner they were talking about Phyllis, and that dinner was the first time I’d heard him talk about her. It seems like she was a great person. It’s so sad.”

There is a great deal of Oscar and Felix in that house these days. Oscar and Felix?

“Who are they?” Schulze asks.

There is quite a generational gap between them, that’s for certain. Oscar and Felix, then, were the unlikely roommates in Neil Simon’s “The Odd Couple,” a play that was turned into a movie and then one of the greatest TV comedies ever.

When it is explained to Schulze that Felix was the neat one and Oscar was the sloppy one, she quickly figures it out.

“I’m the Oscar in this house now,” she says. “But hey, there has to be someone of the previous 36 who was messier than I am.”

Interestingly, the only time he talks about Phyllis and manages to smile is when he mentions life in the house with this Odd Couple.

“Phyllis,” he says with a small grin, “would be laughing at this.”

The impact that Bryce Chase has had on Grace Schulze has been important. She could have spent her fall sulking, sad and far from her teammates. Instead, his hospitality enabled her to find a way to have a positive influence on her team, and to learn about herself. She’ll be back next year, and Bryce talks often about going to see her play.

If the word to describe how he has helped her is “important,” then what is the correct word for what she has done for him? Is “life-saving” overstating it?

Not when you imagine what would have been without her. Not when you think about what that house would be like if he sat there all alone evening after evening.

And the thought that needed finishing? Remember what she said: “I mean, it’s obviously not what I would have liked to have happened. But then again, if I hadn’t gotten hurt, then …”

This is what she said next:

“… then I never would have met Bryce. For that, I’ll always be grateful.”

Whether she knows it or not, there are countless others who are grateful that she came into his world as well. She has been, after all, a shining light.

Actually, you can just call her his Saving Grace.

— by Jerry Price