Stockton Rush, 61, the late Titan submersible explorer, was an American character who stepped straight out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.

I know whereof I speak. Rush was a Princeton man. So was “Scott” Fitzgerald, as seen in his autobiographical “This Side of Paradise.” The author’s subjects were often shiny surfaces, the very rich (“different from you and me”) and the ’20s Jazz Age.

To go to a Princeton reunion, as I did with a beau once upon a time, was to witness more than elite prosperity. The princes were characters in their own imaginations, celebrated conquerors of their realms, hearty handshakes and all.

Disarming, handsome, confident and privileged, Rush fit his polished pattern perfectly. He’s descended from two Declaration of Independence signers, Richard Stockton and Dr. Benjamin Rush.

Truthfully, I’d get a rush from that. My beau had “Munroe” as his middle name. Visionary Dr. Rush (a Princeton man) of Philadelphia is one of my favorite historical figures.

Stockton Rush blithely swept away all safety protocols of his daredevil business, piloting adventures for the very rich to view shipwrecks.

None loomed larger in his zeal than the mighty Titanic. It still dwells in the public imagination since it sank in 1912.

Rush’s quest can be compared to “The Great Gatsby” title character and his obsession with Daisy — whose voice was “full of money.” Rush wanted to monetize trips down to the beautiful wreck.

He piloted the final fatal plunge, which yielded his company, OceanGate Expeditions, $1 million, from four paying passengers (“mission specialists.”)

The first line of “The Great Gatsby” reads like a Greek chorus to the 2023 Rush: “Just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”

Rush was blessed with luck in visiting the Titanic several times in the Titan, before it went wrong. Did he feel entitled to luck all his days?

Hubris means flying too close to the sun, but it applies just as well to a “catastrophic implosion,” leaving pieces on the ocean floor — near the Titanic bow, as a novelist would write it.

Resting two and a half miles down in the deep ocean floor, the Titanic sank because the reckless captain failed to heed iceberg warnings on the glassy North Atlantic. The liner was speeding on its maiden voyage. And the Morse code operator shut down for the night. It all went wrong.

James Cameron, director of the movie “Titanic” and an expert on exploring even deeper depths, observed that Rush and four passengers perished on the Titan in a “surreal” parallel.

Cameron added that he’d never risk a ride on Rush’s vessel, with a carbon-fiber hull. Indeed, the material proved too light to withstand the fierce pressure in the deep.

Rush responded to warnings from critics by saying his craft was far ahead in innovation, so he refused to submit it to outside review.

His statements on the fatally flawed submersible reveal a haunting belief in breaking rules.

“You’re remembered for the rules you break,” he declared cheerfully. “I’ve broken some rules to make this.”

This passage in Fitzgerald’s novel seems most apt:

“They were careless people, Tom and Daisy — they smashed up things and creatures.”

Opposing views clash here. King Princess, a musician with ancestors who died on the doomed Titanic (shared with Rush’s wife Wendy) spoke scornfully:

“The irony of these billionaires going down to visit the gravesite of other billionaires — among other people who were on the Titanic…and then dying is so crazy to me.”

Dr. Rush’s biographer, Stephen Fried, noted a quote on those ahead of their time: “They must content themselves with the prospect of being useful to the distant and more enlightened generations.”

“I just wanted to do cool things with cool people,” Rush told CBS News.

One thing is true: Rush will be remembered for the rules he broke.