By New Times
By Connor Radnovich
By Robrt L. Pela and Amy Silverman
By Ray Stern
By Keegan Hamilton
By Matthew Hendley
By Monica Alonzo
By Monica Alonzo
Recently, I met two men.
One man had a round, pink face.
The other man's face was tan and thin.
The men are leaders that many of us look up to.
The pink-faced man had a lot of white hair.
The thin-faced man had hair that was a few different colors, including many shades of brown and black and gray, like the colors anyone can find in Mr. Wags' fur. Mr. Wags is a small-size dog that lives down the street from me and can usually dodge rocks, but was injured by Dwayne and Lamar last Halloween.
The two leaders I met are named Bill Clinton and Bob Dole. What I have told you so far are only two facts about the two men, but there are other things, too. Important things, and here is what they are:
One man is the President of the United States of America, and the other wants to be President of the United States of America.
They are both running for that office, which can be described as a big, superimportant contest. But, of course, only one man can win. And that man will be the next President of the United States of America, our country.
This paper will tell and use information that I found out to show what it was like to see these two men who are important not only to all of us, but to our country, which is where we all live. And where Bill Clinton and Bob Dole live, too.
The United States of America.
It was a hot day when I saw Bob Dole.
It was in a jail called Tent City, which is not very much like a city the way Phoenix is but has many tents. The men who live in this city are criminals, and when I was there, many had no shirts on, and anyone could see that some of the criminals had tattoos.
As I saw these men, though, I wasn't scared to be there, like some fourth-graders might be, because our sheriff, who is named Joe Arpaio, made sure that there were plenty of guards around in case the criminals began using karate moves to start a battle where they could get some guns and shoot us all, probably in the back of the head, and then light up cigarettes and high-five each other as they took people's car keys from their dead bodies and sped away laughing at what fun it was to do crime and how much they hated living in Tent City.
This didn't happen because Sheriff Joe made sure of it. When I looked at the criminals, they just looked sleepy. Thanks to Sheriff Joe.
I saw Sheriff Joe as I walked in, and he was telling reporters some hard facts. I couldn't really hear, but he pointed at the air during some words, and the reporters frowned and stared almost like they were in trouble and getting a lecture. But if you think Sheriff Joe might look like you would think a tough guy might look, like Jean-Claude Van Damme or Chuck Norris, somebody strong and whom girls would like, you are wrong.
Sheriff Joe looks like he is melting.
There are what my dad calls "love handles" that droop from his sides, pushing through his sheriff costume, which is brown and light brown. The sheriff's face sags down, giving him a mean or sad expression on his face. His shoulders slump, too, and if he was in gym with us last year, Coach would probably have called him what he called Danny's fat cousin Norman, who wheezed a lot, which was "you sad sack of shit."
But I think this is wrong. It is wrong to judge a person by what he looks like on the outside as Coach did, and besides, Sheriff Joe must be a strong man on the inside to catch all those criminals and then run a whole city of them. Even if, instead of buildings and homes and companies, it is made of just tents.
Everybody waited in the sun for Bob Dole to show up, and a lot of us were sweating. They had free water, and they gave us cookies to eat that I thought were supposed to be butts but turned out to be cookies in the shape of pink underwear, which is a famous trick that Sheriff Joe pulled on prisoners by making them wear pink underwear. Unlike some cities, in Phoenix we have a funny sheriff.
Lots of reporters were traveling around with Bob Dole, who is old, and they showed up right before he did and got to have lunches in boxes that came from a truck that said "Executive Catering--Deliciously Different." But they all looked worried and tired and spoke on portable phones using different cuss and swear words. They didn't seem to want the lunches, and I know they can't use those words in normal papers.
We all heard music.
It was the music from a movie my dad took me to see that is called Patriot Games, which is about nuclear disaster that might happen, and bad government officals. This music was strange and spooky and gave you the feeling that something bad was going to happen.