Nearly a week has passed since Scott Wyant died.

Even though he had been  diagnosed with brain cancer 13 months ago – practically mere minutes after the City Council election – I expected him to outlive the disease.

Brave.

Tall.

Blond.

Strapping.

Handsome.

Owner of a top-tier mind.

A faithful early-morning surfer for many years, he treated the ocean as if he owned it.

Maybe he did.

He looked, acted, lived as if he were in better condition than 90 percent of NFL players.

For the full arc of his City Council campaign, from December to April of last year, we became pretty good friends, candidate and journalist.

The arc extended from the overcast winter Sunday afternoon, when he announced his candidacy at the home of his dear friends Jim and Diana Solomon, until Closing Night, amongst the ashes of Election Day, on the upper floor of Rush Street.

A stranger would have mistaken him and Leslie for election winners, so steadfast, so classy, so proud, so articulate were the two of them.

He was a journalist’s dream,  available every weekday at 6 a.m. for weighty interviews — and, yes, to accommodate his surfing plans.

He was one of only two Culver City persons I could interview at that deadline hour.

No one gave a more substantive interview during the City Council campaign.

It is remembered by some Wyant supporters for the way he was, uh, smeared, by a fellow Democrat, as being too establishment.

On the night a controlling gang of Culver City Democratic Club veterans distastefully deprived him of a deserved endorsement, he recalled with irony how he became a liberal Democrat in his college days.

Who cares? said a soured rival while seeking to link him to the business community – regarded as a negative — in denial of the truth.

How classy was he?

Not once did he protest the calculated mischaracterization?

That is how I will remember you, Scott:

The embodiment of class when confronted by the opposite type.