Dabo Swinney took over as Clemson’s head coach in 2008, but he wasn’t just inheriting a program that he’d turn into a dynasty. He was also inheriting a platform that he’d use to ease a lot of lives by turning his family’s grief into something meaningful. Dabo and his wife, Kathleen, have spent the better part of two decades building the All In Foundation, a charitable organization with a mission to raise awareness about critical education and health issues across South Carolina.

On Monday, Dabo Swinney shared news that the All In Foundation is closing in on $15 million raised for charitable causes. And among those causes, breast cancer awareness sits at the heart of their mission. “It’s been a blessing,” Dabo Swinney said. “We’re just thankful for the platform that we have.” The milestone comes after years of grinding with annual galas, Jersey Mike’s Days of Giving, and their signature Ladies Clinic that brings thousands of women to Littlejohn Coliseum every summer for a day of football, fellowship, and fundraising. 

Just last year alone, they distributed $1.7 million, with $1.2 million going to 276 separate grant recipients statewide. This October, during Breast Cancer Awareness Month, the foundation presented $250,000 specifically for breast cancer detection and research in the local community.​ The foundation started from a place of heartbreak and grief. It was a tragedy that rocked the Swinney family to its core. In 2003, Kathleen’s sister Lisa Lamb was diagnosed with breast cancer at 38 years old. She fought bravely, underwent a double mastectomy, went through chemotherapy, and beat it. 

For a while, everyone thought she’d won. But Lisa discovered she carried the BRCA gene mutation, which drastically increases cancer risk and is hereditary. She urged Kathleen and their younger sister Ann to get tested, essentially giving them knowledge that could save their lives. Lisa’s cancer returned, and in April 2014, just two days before Easter, she passed away at 49, leaving behind her husband and two sons. “She was amazing,” Dabo Swinney recalled years later, remembering the phone call when Lisa first got diagnosed. “It’s just not how you plan your life.”

Lisa’s diagnosis set off a chain reaction that probably saved Kathleen’s life. In 2005, Kathleen went to see a genetic counselor and discovered she, too, carried the BRCA gene mutation. Doctors told her there was an 89-90% chance she’d develop breast cancer at some point. “It was a surreal moment,” Dabo remembered. 

By the time they left the doctor’s office, Kathleen had made her decision that she’d have a double mastectomy. “I didn’t even waver,” she said. “Lisa got this at 38, I don’t have much longer; it’s going to come.” Three months later, in the middle of the 2005 football season, Kathleen underwent the surgery. She was 34. At 40, she also had a hysterectomy to reduce her ovarian cancer risk. Her sister Ann, also a BRCA carrier, made the same call. Lisa’s death devastated the family, but her insistence that her sisters get tested likely saved both their lives.​

When Death Valley goes pink

All that money the Swinneys have raised through the All In Foundation is not limited to helping people in need. Another purpose for the initiative is to keep Lisa’s memory alive in the most visible way possible. Every season, Clemson designates one home game for breast cancer awareness, and Death Valley transforms from its iconic orange and purple into a sea of pink. Players tape up their ankles and wrists in pink, throw on pink gloves, sideline personnel sport pink caps, and the stands fill with fans waving pink pompoms. 

Dabo himself has walked out in a full pink suit on gameday, looking like he stepped out of a Miami Vice episode, but doing it for a reason that matters. “I think it’s huge because it shows people that they care, that they’re not alone,” Dabo told WLOS about the annual tradition. “There’s wind that gets put in people’s sails when they see generosity or just support.” Even Clemson’s basketball program has gotten in on the pink-out tradition, making it a campus-wide movement.​

The tradition is deeply personal for Dabo, who grew up alongside Kathleen and her sisters and considered Lisa more than just a sister-in-law. “You’ve got to understand, Kath and I have known each other since the first grade. So, Lisa was like a big sister to me,” he said. “We grew up together, and I just had a close relationship with her.” After Lisa passed away in 2014, Dabo held onto her text messages for a good six months afterward. Sometimes they’d make him smile; sometimes they’d wreck him. 

“We all have a journey and we have to deal with what comes our way,” he reflected. “Then, when you’re a family member, you have to come alongside and you go through that with them.” That pain never disappears, but the Swinneys found a way to channel it into something bigger than themselves.​