Day 2

Sheriff Joe did his round of TV appearances – The Morning Show on Fox, Glenn Beck on CNN Headline News, Mike Schneider on Bloomberg, some radio – and it went as well as possible, which means as entertaining and commanding as usual. The sheriff is singularly adept on television, capable of being funny and serious at the same time, and always honest. It’s a unique talent, one that many a TV personality would love to possess.

It’s not surprising that the sheriff was greeted like a long-lost friend at Fox and CNN, where he has appeared untold times, though never in person, greeted by people he’s dealt with for years, over the phone, through a camera lens.

But none of that is the story for the day. No, rather, the story’s about walking the streets of Manhattan with Sheriff Arpaio of Arizona. It concerns the guy from Nebraska who recognized the sheriff in the elevator, and said, Keep going, Sheriff, we’ve got the same problems with immigration in my town. The sheriff replied, I’m sorry I’m not doing a better job, letting some of them get by me in Arizona and make it to Nebraska. The man laughed and said, We appreciate everything you’re doing, you bet. It concerns the NYPD veteran who spotted the sheriff and said, Hey, I know you, right? You’ve got the pink underwear. The officer introduced Sheriff Joe to the two other cops leaning against their parked patrol car. You know who this is, the sheriff from Arizona. The two cops, both pretty new, still in their twenties, didn’t seem to know, and Sheriff Joe waded right in. You don’t know the sheriff? I have the tents in the desert, chain gangs in the jail, the first chain gang in the world for women. You don’t know me? Under the onslaught, the cops half-relented, muttering, Okay, maybe, sure, sounds right.

Sheriff Joe had a direct question: What do you guys start at? It took the surprised and amused cops a second to answer, but answer they did. Thirty-five thousand.

What? The sheriff answered, shocked. Are you kidding? Thirty-five? Sheriff Joe went on to explain his deputies began about nine thousand higher – and they didn’t live in super-expensive New York. You want a job? he asked. I’m recruiting.

The veteran smiled and said he had two kids in school and wasn’t going anywhere. One of the young guys, however, said it sounded pretty good. The sheriff gave him a card and told him to call. The sheriff gave the other two cops cards, too, and told them to think about it, extolling the virtues of his department.

So it went the rest of the day, every block somebody coming up to the sheriff to say hello. A woman from Chicago, a guy from Atlanta, a couple from California, and a whole bunch of New Yorkers. I know you! You’re the sheriff from Arizona who (take your pick) locks up the illegals, is America’s toughest sheriff, has those tent jails, is always on TV, and, of course, makes the inmates wear pink boxers.

Sheriff Joe ate it all up, basking in the recognition, the encouragement, the support. It’s one thing to be cheered in your hometown, where you’ve been immensely popular for close to sixteen years, it’s quite another to stroll through a city more than a couple of thousand miles away and find people respond in similar fashion.

As yet another citizen gave the sheriff’s hand one final, vigorous shake before walking away with a happy smile, he grinned and said, See? No matter where I go, people know me. And who am I? Nobody! Just a local sheriff. How come they know me?

I looked at the sheriff, whose grin has not faded. How come, indeed, I thought. As if he doesn’t know.