Many of the immigrants rebuilding the Pentagon came to America the hard way, sneaking across the Mexican border. Ortiz sloshed across the Rio Grande 13 years ago. On a recent day, he gazed from a viewing platform at the restored Pentagon's vast gray wall. "Who would have thought, 13 years ago, when I was on my porch in El Salvador, that I'd be standing outside the Pentagon?" marveled the supervisor. Ortiz is among the lucky ones. Like many Salvadorans who arrived in the late 1980s, he quickly got a temporary work permit and eventually became a legal permanent resident. He is the father of three U.S.-born girls and owns a house in Fort Totten. "A few years from now, we're going to try the citizenship," said Ortiz, who works for a Pentagon subcontractor, Potomac Services. Others have fewer guarantees about their future.
Danilo Aleman stripped asbestos for three months in the fall as part of the demolition that began soon after the hijacked American Airlines jet slammed into the Pentagon's western face. Like many workers in the high-risk asbestos-removal field, Aleman travels to projects across the country, jumping into his car when a recruiter calls. At the Pentagon, he worked 12-hour shifts seven days a week, tumbling into bed at night in a cheap hotel room he shared with two other immigrants. For the Honduran immigrant, a fervent patriot who displays the U.S. flag on his car, his bandanna and even his 6-month-old son's clothing, working at the Pentagon was an honor.
"I'd give my life for the United States," said Aleman, 28, a New Orleans resident. He came to this country illegally eight years ago, fleeing poverty, and obtained working papers in 1999. "This is the country that's fed me. I even tell my mother . . . I owe everything I have to this country." But it's not clear whether Aleman will be able to stay here. Like many Honduran and Salvadoran laborers at the Pentagon, he has temporary protected status, which grants them short-term work permits while their countries recover from disasters. The permits for Hondurans expire in July; the U.S. government hasn't said whether it will extend them.