The Kid Who Ran For President (9 page)

As I stood behind my podium and looked at the president of the United States fifteen feet away, a thought hit me that should have hit me about ten months ago.

Who am I fooling?

I don't have opinions on any important issues, I thought to myself. I have no business being here. I only wanted to run for president as a goof. I never thought it would go this far. I can't run a country.

I'm like one of those idiots who runs on the field in the middle of a baseball game!

But it was too late to back out. I couldn't just walk off the stage.

It was at that moment that I figured out my only option was to sabotage my own candidacy.

I decided to do what I always do when I'm in a jam — play it for laughs and act like a jerk. Maybe America will forgive me for wasting its valuable time. Maybe people will say boys will be boys and let me go back to my normal life.

 

The League of Women Voters, who sponsored the debate, had decided on a format designed to prevent candidates from rambling on and on — each candidate would be asked a question by members of a panel and have twenty seconds to complete his answer. The three of us would take turns fielding questions.

The moderator introduced President White, Senator Dunn, and me. The panel of journalists fired the first question at Senator Dunn and the next one at the president. Each of them gave a very thoughtful, rehearsed, and (to me, anyway) boring response. Then everyone looked at me.

“Mr. Moon,” I was asked, “a third-party candidate has never won the presidency. What makes you think your Lemonade Party can?”

Lane knew I would be asked that question, and he had written a good answer for it. But I couldn't remember what it was. So I improvised.

“I look at it this way,” I said. “The two-party system is an improvement on a one-party system. Therefore, three parties should be an improvement on two parties. Americans love parties, and I believe the more parties we have the better. I would start a fourth party if I could, but I can only start one party at a time. So, in conclusion, I say … let's party, America!”

The place erupted. The studio audience was screaming. Half of them were laughing their heads off. The other half were demanding that I be removed from the auditorium. The panel of journalists stared at me, openmouthed. It took a while for order to be restored.

As soon as I finished giving that answer, a sense of calm came over my body. I stopped sweating. I wasn't nervous anymore. It was as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt like I was back in the school cafeteria, goofing on Arthur Krantz and his jerky friends.

The three candidates took turns. Every time the panel of journalists threw a question at me, I threw the answer right back….

 

Q: You're on record as saying your first official act as president will be to abolish homework. What will your second official act be?

A: To abolish making beds. Why make a bed in the morning? You're only going to sleep in it again that night.

Q: What do you plan to do about jobs?

A: I plan to get one as soon as my term as president is over.

Q: Which president do you most admire, and why?

A: Grover Cleveland. Because he became president despite the fact that he was named after a character on
Sesame Street.

Q: How do you feel about school prayer?

A: Every morning I pray that school will be closed.

Q: What do you intend to do about teenage pregnancy?

A: My dad says we're going to sit down and have a talk about that, but he keeps putting it off.

Q: It takes a tremendous amount of desire to become president. Do you have the fire in the belly?

A: Yeah, it must have been those tacos I ate for dinner.

Q: What's the toughest part about running for president?

A: Learning not to pick my nose in public.

Q: What do you think we should do about hazardous waste?

A: I'd suggest you try a strong laxative.

 

That ought to do it, I thought to myself. I couldn't say anything more disgusting, juvenile, or unpresidential than that. Nobody could
possibly
take me seriously as a candidate for president.

President White and Senator Dunn stood there during my answers. Both of them were flustered. When the journalists asked them a question, they fumbled all over the place trying to look dignified. I guess they weren't used to obnoxious kids.

For our final statements, all three of us were asked to address one issue we would be likely to face as president — how to achieve lasting peace in the Middle East.

The president gave a little speech about how he had formed deep relationships with all the Mideast leaders over the last four years. Senator Dunn said that the United States had to back up its friends in the event of a conflict.

I didn't have any strong opinion on the subject, and I couldn't think of a good wisecrack. So I told a little story.

“One time I was at a baseball card show and some kids got into a big argument over whose cards belonged to whom. I stepped in the middle of it and looked over their collections. I told one kid that if he gave the second kid his Ryan Howard rookie card and the other kid gave him two Matt Holliday cards, they would be even. I told the third kid that if he gave each of the other kids his Cliff Lee and Tim Lincecum cards, they would probably give him the Robinson Cano and Joey Votto cards that he wanted. To make a long story short, they made all the swaps and everybody was happy afterward. So I think I could keep everybody in the Middle East happy the same way.”

“I don't believe the Israelis or Palestinians collect baseball cards,” the moderator chuckled.

“Well, maybe they should,” I said. “It's better to fight over cards than it is to fight over countries.”

And that was the end of the debate. The moderator came over and thanked all three of us for participating. I shook hands with the president and even got his autograph.

When I came off the stage, Lane was sitting on the floor with his knees up and his head buried in his hands. He looked like a kid whose pet had died or something.

“I'm sorry, Lane,” I said. “I guess I just don't have the fire in the belly to be president.”

He didn't say a word to me on the ride back to Madison. He just stared out the window.

I had trouble sleeping after the debate and got up very early. I went downstairs to get the morning paper. The reporters camped out across the street weren't even awake yet.

The headline on the front page nearly knocked me over:

MOON WINS DEBATE, SURGES AHEAD!

By Ralph Hammelbacher

12-year-old Judson Moon cleverly turned the tables on President White and Senator Dunn last night, shocking the nation in the most freewheeling evening of political debate in memory.

Instead of engaging in a conventional debate, the youngster used the opportunity to thumb his nose at the political system in front of the entire nation.

President White and Senator Dunn were reduced to dumb-founded onlookers as Moon deftly and hilariously controlled the proceedings with snappy retorts and off-the-wall opinions that threw his opponents off their stride.

“Moon knew exactly what he was doing,” said political analyst Morton Fishwick. “He knew he couldn't beat his opponents by debating the issues, so he made the issues go away. I've got to hand it to him. It was brilliant strategy on the kid's part.”

In telephone polls taken immediately after the debate, an overwhelming majority of people — young and old — named Moon as the victor.

With just five days until the election, the Moon & June steam-roller has a three point lead over President White, according to an Associated Press poll. Senator Dunn trails by seven points.

 

Mom was so happy, she invited just about everyone we'd ever known over to the house to celebrate. Lane was happy again and even congratulated me for relying on my “political instincts” instead of taking his advice. My folks beamed. Arthur Krantz steamed.

June Syers just looked at me with that look that said she'd known it all along. Abby called and said she was too busy to make the party, but I think she didn't come because she knew Chelsea would be there.

Chelsea had her arm snaked around my elbow like we were stuck together. She had to leave early, though, explaining that she had to begin the long and arduous task of shopping for clothes she would wear as First Lady.

I pretty much sat there, dazed, during the whole party. I couldn't figure out how I'd messed up messing up the debate.

The candidacy was like a runaway train now. Nothing could stop my momentum. I had done every thing short of dropping my pants to wreck my chances of winning the election. It didn't work. Unless something disastrous happened quickly, I was going to be the next president of the United States.

And then something disastrous happened.

In the middle of the celebration at my house, I received a phone call from Pete Guerra, my reporter friend who wrote the first article about the lemonade stand that started the whole ball rolling.

“Congratulations,” Pete said. “That was quite a show you put on last night.”

“Thanks, Pete. Listen, I can't talk now. There are a lot of people over here.”

“Lemme ask you one quick question, Judson.”

“Go ahead, Pete.”

“Did you break into some kid's locker and steal his term paper when you were in fourth grade?”

I remembered the incident. It was that jerk Arthur Krantz. He had put a sign that said
KICK ME
on my backpack, so I stole his term paper and threw it down the sewer. It wasn't any big deal.

“Yeah, Pete, I did that. Why?”

“Just checking,” Guerra said. “Enjoy your party.”

I forgot all about it until the next morning, when Lane called early and shouted, “Did you see today's paper?!”

I ran outside. The reporters swarmed all over me, sticking microphones in my face. “Is it true? Will you drop out of the race?”

I dashed inside with the paper and read the story that was splashed across the front page.

MOONGATE! YOUNG CANDIDATE ROCKED BY SCANDAL

By Pete Guerra

Judson Moon burglarized another student's locker and deliberately destroyed important papers, according to an informed source. With just three days remaining until Election Day, the young candidate is faced with a personal scandal that may derail his presidential hopes.

The incident took place two years ago. After an argument with the other student, Moon used a metal ruler to pry open the locker. Several papers were removed and never recovered. It is unclear at this time what information was on those papers.

Principal Harold Berlin is cooperating with the FBI on the investigation.

“If Judson Moon did this,” he says, “I would have to reconsider whether I would want him to be the leader of our country.”

Other problems are beginning to surface for the young candidate, who up until now has seemed like the perfect all-American boy. It has been learned that aspiring “First Lady” Chelsea Daniels did not even know Moon's name until he decided to run for president.

“He thought he'd have a better chance of winning if he was with a cute babe,” one student revealed.

Also, it has been revealed that Moon changed the name of his parakeet to make it more acceptable to the American public. “Cuddles's” real name is apparently “Snot.”

 

So Booger Boy Krantz went and gabbed to the press. That jerk! He would do anything to bring me down.

“Is it true?” demanded Lane when I got back on the phone.

“Sure it's true,” I replied. “So what?”

“It's going to cost us the election, that's what! I worked so hard to make the public think you're an innocent kid who doesn't have a bad bone in his body. And now
this
. What was on those papers you stole?”

“It was Arthur Krantz's stupid term paper. I threw it down the sewer.”

“What was the term paper about?”

“The Constitution and the Bill of Rights.”

“You threw the Constitution down a sewer?!”

“It was just a goof!”

“That's the problem, Moon. Everything is a goof with you!” Lane slammed down the phone.

 

The press jumped all over the “Moongate” scandal. I tuned into a couple of talk radio shows and it seemed like all the people who had been saying how wonderful I was now wanted to ride me out of town on a rail.

I pretended to be upset about what happened, but on the inside I was secretly happy. Thanks to Booger Boy Krantz, I found a way to lose the election.

Still, it bothered me that Pete Guerra wrote the story. I didn't care about being president, but I wasn't happy that everybody knew about Snot and Chelsea. It made me look like a phony.

I picked up the phone and dialed Guerra's number.

“Pete,” I said. “I thought you were my friend.”

“Remember what I told you at the beginning, Moon?
Nobody
is your friend. Everybody wants a piece of you, and that includes me. I'm a reporter. My job is not to help you become president. My job is to find great stories people want to read so they'll buy my paper.”

“Breaking into a kid's locker is a great story?” I asked. “Changing my parakeet's name is a great story?”

“If you're the presidential front-runner those are
terrific
stories!” Pete exclaimed. “Like I said, Moon. America chews up celebrities and spits 'em out. And America is about to clear its throat with you.”

 

Lane was furious at me, but he wasn't ready to give up the fight. There were still two days until the election. He decided our only chance to save the campaign was for me to go on national TV and talk directly to the American people.

I didn't want to do it. “Look,” I pleaded with Lane, “let's just forget about it. I never really wanted to be president anyway. It was just a —”

“A goof. I know, Moon. Everything is a goof with you. But when we got started on this thing, we agreed on one thing — I'm in charge of the campaign. After Election Day, you're in charge. But up until then, I call the shots. I tell you what to do, what to wear, what to say and when to say it. Remember? I didn't work my tail off for the last year to see you quit two days before the election. You owe me, Moon.”

I may have lied and faked my way through the campaign, but I am a boy of my word. I agreed to go on national TV and read a statement.

“You've got to read it word for word,” Lane warned me. “No improvising. No jokes. No goofing around.”

“Word for word,” I agreed.