Scott Edward Paris

The world lost a real life Ben Rumson on October 28, 2023, upon the death of Scott

Edward Paris of Columbia, South Carolina. Scott was born under a wandering star in Ft. Riley,

Kansas, on February 5, 1956. As the third child, he was doted on by his two older siblings and

parents. He enjoyed this favored circumstance his entire life.

The wanderlust manifested itself as soon as he learned to open the front door. He would

happily explore the neighborhood while his frantic mother tracked him down, having to resort to

the police on more than one occasion. Ever practical, his mother placed Scott in a harness and

leash, bravely enduring disapproving looks from mothers of more compliant children. Scott and

his family were stationed at a fair number of military bases, but he never was deterred by the

unfamiliar. Once, he and his brother decided to run away during a typhoon in Okinawa.

Fortunately, there wasn’t anywhere to go on such a small island, and the wind and rain eventually

drove them back home.

Scott was a jack of a few trades, but his favorite employment was as a professional scuba

diver. He parlayed his skills into an awesome hobby that served as the basis for diving trips with

his father. Together they concocted outrageous tales that may even have been authentic. Ever

true to his motto, “work smarter, not harder,” Scott found a plum position in “man country” as a

steward for the Alaska Marine Highway. There he spent the summers catering to passengers and

joking with the staff. During his winter sabbaticals, Scott traveled throughout the United States

and abroad, from the Northern Territory of Australia to the fjords of Norway to standing on a

corner in Winslow, Arizona. He has the shot glass collection to prove it. Any suggestion of a

roadside attraction led to a detour. Point him toward the world’s largest bottle of catsup or

Foamhenge or a lunchbox museum and he was off. He enjoyed exploring hundreds of miles of

the rails-to-trails system on his bike. As Ben Rumson would say, “there’s two kinds of people,

them goin’ somewhere and them goin’ nowhere.” Scott purely was in the first category.

Scott could be a frustrating pain in the rear, but he had a deadpan sense of humor that

compensated for his occasional shortcomings. One of his nieces literally believed as a girl that

he was Bill Murray. He enjoyed old movies, especially anything that featured John Wayne or

Gary Cooper. He loved Xena and Star Trek and HO trains. Because of him, every Christmas

season commences with a showing of “The Snowman,” every St. Patrick’s Day includes a

rendition of “The Quiet Man,” and any day of the week is a good time to watch “Paint Your

Wagon.”

Scott is survived by his sister, Deborah P. Morgan of Columbia, South Carolina; his son

with Liz Gentry, Adam Q. Gentry of Lawrence, Kansas; nieces Jennifer (Glenn) Paris-Schley,

Lane (Breck) Bowen, and Taylor E. Paris; nephew Drew (Heather) Morgan; and their various

offspring. He was preceded in death by his grandparents, C. Harris Potts and Helen T. Potts; his

grannie, Violet E. Paris; his father, Edward J. Paris; his mother, Barbara M. Paris; and his

brother, Craig P. Paris. Maybe he didn’t deserve it, as infuriating as he could be, but his friends

around the globe remained loyal and loved him even when they wanted to pinch his ears off,

especially Byron and Janice.

Scott is sorely missed. But somewhere he is humming, “Where am I goin’? / I don’t

know / Where am I headin’? / I ain’t certain / All that I know / Is I am on my way! / But who

gives a damn? / Who gives a damn? / Who gives a damn ? / We’re on our way!”