All in, forever: Clemson professor discovers meaning of life, plans to give school $2 million

Editor's note: This story was originally publised Dec. 1, 2017.

Here’s something to think about during this holiday season: What is the meaning of life?

Todd Schweisinger can tell you what it’s not.

It’s not about acquiring wealth or power or fame, or even driving a nice car and living in a fine house.

It’s about giving it all away. About living for others.

Schweisinger, a senior lecturer of mechanical engineering at Clemson University, has found a tangible way to do that: by leaving it all to the university.

The 42-year-old California native who came to Clemson as a graduate student in 1997 lives in the same $60,000 house he bought when he was in grad school and gets around in a 1982 Chevy pickup and a 1988 Chevy minivan that he’s been driving since he was a teenager.

But he plans to give $2 million to Clemson University – $1 million by the time he retires and another million after he’s gone. He has pledged 95 percent of his estate, whatever it ends up being.

The money would go into an endowment that will provide scholarships for two financially needy students at Clemson – forever.

“I kept thinking gosh, maybe I don’t need that new car right now. One more year. Maybe I’ll get it next year,” he explained. “And then it just keeps turning into, I think I’d rather use the money for this thing, which has a better value, just trying to hit that target.”

When I heard about what was doing, I decided to go pay him a visit to get a better idea of what kind of fellow he is.

I drove to his house, just across Lake Hartwell in Oconee County in a small neighborhood of small houses.

Inside, it’s a lot like you might expect a grad student’s house to look. He has artwork pulled from couple of the doors from his college room at the University of California-Irvine, where he earned his bachelor’s degree in physics.

One of them is a promotional placard for a hip-hop concert by somebody called RUN DMC. I don’t know anything about hip-hop artists (because I can barely stand to listen to hip-hop). But Schweisinger developed an affinity for it when his family ran a skating rink in Compton, California, that played host to performances by rappers and D.J.s, including Eazy, Dre, Cube, Yella and a few whose names I will decline to mention.

I've tried to do hip-hop, but it comes out more like funk-rock or something. You can hear a clip of one of my attempts here.

I don’t know who any of these artists are, but I read about them in a story from The New York Times that described how Skateland, the Schweisinger family’s business, became a major hangout for such characters back in the ‘80s.

Todd, who is unmarried and has no kids, became a DJ himself after doing whatever it is DJ’s do at an eighth-grade dance. He kept on doing it until recently, when he sold his equipment to help make a down payment on some property near his house.

He has bought several parcels in his neighborhood as an investment that he hopes will help him reach his $2 million goal.

Other things you will see around the living room of the humble Schweisinger abode are a remote control helicopter, a remote control sailboat and several remote control cars, in various states of repair.

Todd, who looks like a southern California beach boy, has built a little racetrack in his backyard for remote control trucks, and he likes to invite his students over to race them.

But he’s a serious mechanical engineer. He holds a patent on a device that can be used to map underground cracks in the bedrock through which water flows. He invented it, along with his advisors, when he was a PhD student.

As far as he knows, it’s not being commercially used. At least he’s not making any money off it. I told him he’d better check on that.

Todd says he got his start on the path toward mechanical engineering as a kid, tinkering around in his grandfather’s machine shop, then working on cars as a teenager.

There’s no doubt that his blood runs orange, but strangely enough, it has very little to do with football.

“I have attended football games, and I enjoy watching Clemson football, but I would not describe myself as a big football fan,” he said. He did go to the national championship game in 2016, though – the one Alabama stole by trickery (my analysis, not Todd’s).

But for a guy who had never set foot on campus until 1997, I think he has learned very well what it means to be a part of the Clemson Family.

“Clemson had a big impact on my life, and I think that it could be equally transformative for somebody else with financial need,” he said, thinking ahead to the scholarship fund he plans to establish.

“I think Clemson would be a good steward for my money when I’m gone.”

He knows a little about what it's like to be a needy student.

In his early days at Clemson, he had to take out student loans to pay tuition and other expenses. He later secured some assistantships and was able to wean himself off the loans.

But just as he did, he was diagnosed with Type I diabetes. Insurance premiums alone cost him $500 a month, which was about half his earnings at the time, he said.

He had to go back to the student loans.

“I ended up borrowing about $80,000 by the time I graduated, which is all paid off now,” he told my friend and former colleague Paul Alongi, who works for Clemson now. “It was easy for me to do because once I graduated, rather than getting these things everyone else was buying, I said, ‘I’m going to live like a graduate student.'’’

In this season of giving, I’d rate Todd Schweisinger a superstar.

My visit with Todd made me think, like he did, about what’s really important in life. And it occurs to me that he has found the key to happiness.

When you can leave your mark on the world in lives transformed by your generosity, and know that you will be helping others in perpetuity, that must be a good feeling.

I think that’s the true spirit of a Tiger.