The man who became a national lightning rod for immigration, loved by some and loathed by others, spends his days at an office in a strip mall in the affluent suburb of Fountain Hills. He talks to reporters, takes calls from supporters on his flip phone and pecks out self-promotional blurbs on a Smith Corona typewriter that an assistant later transcribes and posts on social media.
He rejects suggestions that he’s running to stroke his ego, quench a thirst for publicity or lessen any boredom since getting booted from office. A criminal conviction — contempt of court for disobeying a judge’s 2011 order in a racial profiling case to stop his traffic patrols that targeted immigrants — remains stuck in his craw, though he insists he’s not out to clear his name.