Robert Scott Lewis

Robert Scott Lewis died on March 26.

Scott would have made sure you knew that he died at 1:52 pm, on Tuesday, March 26, 2024 at the Fountainview Center for Alzheimer's. He hated the Alzheimer's, even more than he would have hated seeing Robert appear in his full name, but he would have said it figured. Scott would have also clarified the directions to his last place of residence - you know the intersection of North Druid Hills and Lavista? You go like you're going to Toco Hills. You'll get there. Scott would have gotten there.

Scott is survived by his wife of 47 years, Cappy, and his two daughters, Cara and Amanda. He is survived by Cara's husband Dan and Amanda's partner Stephen, whom he welcomed with none of the stereotypical suspicion of a father for his daughters' partners. He is survived by his infant granddaughter Hannah, who was an immediate light in his life when they met briefly in December. Scott is survived by his sister-in-law Robin Porter, his nephew Russell Porter, and his niece Marguerite Bishop and Marguerite's husband West, whom he loved as his immediate family. He is survived by his great-nephew Emerson and great-niece Addie, who delighted him and who he was excited to read to anytime. Scott is survived by his stepbrother Michael Jones, the son of his fabulous stepmother Doris.

Scott was born on November 3, 1950 in Cincinnati, Ohio. His family moved almost immediately to Boston, Massachusetts. He only lived there for six years, but he remembered the bronze ducklings on the Common for the rest of his life. He moved to Atlanta with his parents and sisters in 1956, with a brief foray into Macon. He moved back to Atlanta when he was 15, because his beloved father Barney condemned Macon as a cultural wasteland. (Apologies to Macon; you're lovely.) He played tight end for the Sequoia High School football team. He would want you to know that he was slow, but he had great hands. Scott achieved a B.A. in French from Georgia State University. He would have written something in French at this point. If he had said it aloud, it would have been with a perfect accent.

Scott built a life in Atlanta when he met his wife Cappy at a New Year's Eve party in 1969, through her brother Dick, who predeceased him by 31 days. Cappy and Scott eventually married and had two daughters, but not before Scott dated a woman on seemingly every street in Atlanta. He was happy to point out the locations; Cappy was happy to roll her eyes.

Scott was a salesman his whole life, of both tall tales and fine menswear. He worked at Pine Tree Men's Shop, Zachary, and H. Stockton. His meticulous eye for detail taught his family the difference between a plaid and a windowpane, which has proven more useful than they expected. His customer service skills were also a lesson in distinguishing between the right time to bullshit and the right time to tell the truth...sometimes.

Scott was not perfect. Scott's hero complex was a periodic nuisance. Still, he might not have recognized his most meaningful acts of service. He was willing to get up at 4:45 in the morning to take his daughters to swim practice and literally never complained or mentioned it once, even though it was 4:45 in the goddamn morning. His sense of dignity rendered him easily offended. But it also never prevented him from devolving into a silly face or attitude. He never met a baby or a dog who wasn't immediately taken with him.

Scott loved telling the same stories, music (R&B and Motown), buildings (old), language (French), Ferraris (all), cycling on road bikes, and Atlanta sports and Georgia Tech football.

In lieu of flowers, his family asks well-wishers to celebrate his life more appropriately: by donning a tailored sportcoat, loving your family with abandon, and judging other people's houses. Eat a cherry pie, go for a bike ride, and read a book to a small child. Use your best voices.