For Darrin Goss Sr., it all began with football.
His years as a triple-option quarterback, which took him from the rec fields of James Island to Wofford College, taught him to evaluate the alternatives in front of him—and also consider those he might not be able to see. They taught him to not get caught up in either-or choices, but to look for less obvious routes that also might lead to success. They left such an impression that Goss still makes decisions the same way today, although he’s traded the gridiron for a seat at a boardroom table.
“When communities, team members, staffers or even board leaders try to frame issues as binary choices, my radar goes up, sort of my Spidey sense,” said Goss, president and chief executive officer of the Coastal Community Foundation, which is celebrating its 50th anniversary. “That really then causes me to lean into—what are we missing? What perspective is this coming from? Are we getting into groupthink? I think all that started when I was a little league football player, and my coach telling me, ‘Darrin, you always have more than one or two options.’”
That approach has served him well—Goss after his football career spent nearly a decade in the U.S. Army, after which he eventually made his way into the philanthropic world. He came to the Coastal Community Foundation in 2016, and in the eight years since his impact is evident in managed assets that have vaulted from $221 million at his arrival to exceeding $500 million by the end of 2024.
“It’s been really great, and a little frustrating. Because as much as we do, I think we have to do more,” Goss said. “There are people in our community who still don’t understand what we are and what we do. That’s part of my responsibility, to go in and build that understanding. It’s part of my role to inspire those people to find out more, and to consider working with us, no matter if they’re interested in arts and culture, preserving our wonderful coastline, or making sure every kid has high-quality educational options no matter where they live. That’s part of the frustration—we have so much to do, and I know we can’t do it all.”
The ‘Renaissance man’
Darrin Goss’ mother believed that education was the gateway to success, and her son took those lessons to heart. At James Island High School, he wasn’t just a standout athlete, but also a student council member and student body president. He read, wrote poetry, embraced the arts, took his studies very seriously. His junior year English teacher called him a “Renaissance man.” His scholarship to Wofford was part football, and part academics.
There would be other mentors, too—like Jimmy Davis, his youth football coach on James Island. “He embodied everything about hope and optimism, balanced with hard work and discipline and commitment,” Goss recalled. “He was a white coach, coaching an all-black team, and he treated all of us like young men. I learned more about how to be a responsible adult from him than I did, quite frankly, from other male role models in my life.”
In the Army, where Goss served as an ordinance officer, there was Sgt. Jay W. Cousin, who advised him to be clear and consistent to those he commanded, and to lead by example. They and others imbued Goss with a leadership style grounded in self-awareness and being open to those with differing vantage points. He carried that into the philanthropic arena first with the United Way of Greenville County, then with Capital United Way in Baton Rouge, La., and then with the Coastal Community Foundation when the organization beckoned him home.
Initially, he had his doubts. “Frankly, I thought I would never be able to do this kind of work as a CEO in South Carolina, because of my own challenges with Charleston’s racial history. I just never thought an African-American person would be considered for a role like this, given the amount of assets and trust and commitment,” Goss said. “I wasn’t quite sure whether the board or the community was ready to make that kind of decision. And I proved to be wrong. The board, the staff, and this community have embraced my leadership. It’s like eating cake with the icing on top, getting to come home and do this work.”
Organization and unity
Goss’ homecoming came just eight months after the shooting at Mother Emanuel AME church that took nine lives. The Charleston area was still grappling with the aftermath of the atrocity when Goss returned home, and it led him and his staff to take a hard look at what differentiates the Coastal Community Foundation, how it adds value, and how it could use the power of its reputation in the areas of advocacy and policy change.
The lessons Goss learned on the football field were on vivid display during that period. He urged the foundation to seek not just the opinions of nonprofit leaders, but also everyday citizens—whose thoughts on issues ranging from education to coastal resilience helped the organization map out its immediate future. The foundation became involved with specific programs based on that feedback, all while seeing the amount of its managed assets skyrocket at the same time.
“That allowed us to have great credibility, both with our donors and our community at large,” Goss said. “And all that was based on that habit of the mind, that understanding that there are more options than the binary choices that we tend to fall into.”
Clearly, there is more still to be done. But Goss is a firm believer in the power of human potential, because he’s seen it in action in his own life. His experiences have shaped not just his leadership style, but also his vision for the Coastal Community Foundation going forward. The former triple-option quarterback continues to see the entire field, continues to consider all the alternatives, and continues to make plays.
“I was 5-foot-6 when I was 13 years old, and at 53 years old, I’m still 5-foot-6. But I earned a college scholarship. I earned a wonderful education. And not because I bought into the idea that well, you’ll never play, you’re too short,” he said. “It’s because there were people who said, ‘You can do it, you can you can get it done.’ There were people who provided opportunities at Thomas Johnson Park on James Island that kept me out of trouble. There were people like Jimmy Davis who let their social and intellectual capital pour into me. That’s what philanthropy is all about. And for me, that’s what the foundation should be doing. It’s about the money, but not exclusively about the money. It’s about organizing, uniting people, and pointing that toward the opportunities and issues we wrestle with every day in our nine-county region.”
