by Joshua Davis
IN MAY 2011, Oscar was crawling through mud puddles at Fort Knox in Kentucky. He had completed basic training and was now training to be a cavalry scout. He was covered in slime and sweat. It was ninety degrees out and the humidity made it feel even worse.
Oscar couldn’t have been happier. Since he’d joined ROTC as a freshman at Carl Hayden, he’d dreamed of joining the Army and proving that he deserved to be an American. As the other fifty-odd members of his platoon careened into the puddle beside him, the drill sergeant shouted Oscar’s name. He wiggled out, ran over, and saluted his superior.
“Vazquez, clean up and report to the A.G.,” the drill sergeant barked.
Oscar followed orders and presented himself at the Adjutant General building—the Army’s human resources unit. He filed into a courtroom with six other cadets. A civilian judge was waiting. It was his U.S. citizenship ceremony.
“Raise your right hand,” the judge instructed.
Oscar swelled with pride as he raised his hand. He was finally going to belong somewhere. But it was more than that too. He was becoming part of something bigger than himself: the Army, the country, and an idea about how people should live together.
“I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty, of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen,” Oscar said.
The oath is something that most Americans don’t know. Those who were born in the country are not required to state it and, as a result, are typically unaware of the obligations of citizenship. Oscar had no such illusions. He understood every word of the oath.
“That I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic,” he said. “That I will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by the law.”
On November 29, 2011, Oscar boarded a plane bound for Afghanistan. Karla and Samantha waved to him from the departure area. The departure was tough for Karla. She had just gotten used to having her husband home. She was also five months pregnant with their second child. But as much as she wanted him to take the offer from Bard, she wasn’t surprised by Oscar’s decision to enlist: “I knew what was going to happen as soon as he got back to the U.S. It was his dream.”
Oscar was deployed to a remote outpost in the mountainous Paktia Province of eastern Afghanistan. The Army dubbed the place Firebase Wilderness, but the soldiers who lived there just called it Wild. It occupied the lowland in a steep ravine between mountains. To Oscar, it looked hard to defend as just about anybody in the mountains above could rain fire down on them.
It turned out he was right. Nearly every dawn, Taliban fighters launched rockets at the outpost. Oscar thought of it as their way of saying “Good morning.” Just when he was getting used to the routine of outpost life, his platoon was sent into the mountains on a search-and-destroy mission. The goal was simple: find enemies and kill them.
The platoon hiked for five days through the mountains and saw nothing of note. They were tired from hoofing up and down the steep ravines with heavy packs and body armor. They were about to set up camp when a burst of gunfire ripped over their heads. They dove for cover and dug into the hillside. The Taliban did nothing all night. It was as if they wanted to wear the soldiers down with anticipation.
In the morning, Oscar and his platoon sergeant scrambled up the hill to set up an observation post. When they got to the top, a massive volley of fire tore up the ground around them. The firefight had begun.
“Return fire!” the platoon sergeant yelled.
It was Oscar’s first combat experience, and he was worried that he would freeze. He had devoted years of his life to climbing ropes and doing push-ups as an ROTC cadet, all with the goal of fighting for the United States. He had deported himself from the country in order to have the honor of defending it someday. Now all those years of anticipation had coalesced. He flipped the safety off his M4 rifle and lit up the hill across the valley. Artillery shells exploded around him, covering him in dust. He repositioned and kept firing. He wasn’t scared or worried anymore. As the enemy retreated, the firefight wound down, Oscar felt a sense of accomplishment.
“This is exactly what I wanted to do,” he thought.
He was a true American combat soldier now.
IN THE FALL OF 2013, Hollywood began filming a movie about the Carl Hayden robotics team. It was a coproduction between Lionsgate Entertainment and Grupo Televisa, the Mexican broadcasting company, and focused on the team’s victory in Santa Barbara. The film ends when the awards for the 2004 MATE competition are announced. Just as the announcer in the real ceremony did a little drumroll on the podium before calling Carl Hayden to the stage, the actor playing the announcer also drums a podium. The actors playing the teenagers leap to their feet just as Oscar, Lorenzo, Cristian, and Luis leapt. It was the type of moment that feels like a fitting end to a movie.
In reality, life is more complicated. The attention paid to the team as a result of their victory coincided with a backlash against immigrants in Arizona. The state’s voters passed propositions 200 and 300, making it more difficult for immigrants living in the country illegally to attend college. It had a direct impact on Oscar and Cristian, both of whom struggled to finish degrees. While Oscar ultimately graduated, Cristian did not.
The atmosphere in Phoenix became more polarized in the years following Stinky’s victory. In 2008, Sheriff Joe Arpaio started saturation patrols of West Phoenix. He ordered officers into predominantly Latino neighborhoods and told them to enforce all traffic laws. The goal was to pull locals over for minor offenses, demand proof of citizenship or residency, and then deport anybody who was there illegally. Arpaio told CNN that he was able to determine someone’s residency status by “their conduct, what type of clothes they’re wearing, their speech.”
Arpaio’s actions drew the attention of the Justice Department, which launched a three-year investigation of the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office. Federal investigators determined that Arpaio’s organization had “a pervasive culture of discriminatory bias against Latinos” that “reaches the highest levels of the agency.” In 2011, the federal government revoked Arpaio’s authority to identify and detain immigrants.
But that authority was explicitly granted to other members of law enforcement statewide by Arizona State Bill 1070, an effort to increase pressure on undocumented immigrants in the state to leave. Passed in 2010, it provided strict penalties for people who sheltered, hired, or transported unregistered immigrants and required local law enforcement officers to question individuals suspected of being in the country illegally. Though some provisions were struck down by the U.S. Supreme Court, key elements were upheld and the bill stands as one of the most aggressive measures to curtail undocumented immigration.
Nationwide, attitudes toward migrants have also proven increasingly divisive. Repeated efforts to pass immigration-reform bills in the House have failed, as conservatives argue that any effort to grant amnesty only rewards people who have broken the law. Similarly, the DREAM Act has stalled on arguments that allowing children who have illegally entered the United States to achieve legal residency as a result of attending school creates an added incentive for families to illegally enter the country. In June 2012, President Obama stoked conservative furor by issuing an executive order deferring for two years the deportation of immigrants who would have qualified for the DREAM Act had it passed. Lorenzo and Cristian applied for protection under the order and were granted so-called “deferred action.” It bought them temporary safety, but the next president could quickly end the program.
Opponents of the DREAM Act view immigrants as competitors for finite American resources. “What will you say to an American kid who does not get into a state university and whose family cannot afford a private college because that seat and that subsidy have been given to someone who is in the country illegally?” asks Ira Mehlman, the media director for th
e Federation for American Immigration Reform, an organization that lobbies against the DREAM Act.
Some signs suggest that the vehemence of the anti-immigrant movement has driven migrants away. Statewide, enrollment in Arizona public schools has declined since the passage of anti-immigrant propositions 200 and 300. Some construction projects in Phoenix have reportedly slowed due to a lack of labor. To some, these are positive developments. “Arizona has been overwhelmed with illegal immigration and all the negative things that follow—crime, increased public service costs, especially education, and depression of our wages,” said Arizona State Representative John Kavanagh. “Denying the in-state tuition, besides being fair to residents, also deters illegal immigrants from coming here.”
The movie provides a happy ending. It’s an ending that continues to elude some of the individuals portrayed in the story. In one of the final scenes, Esai Morales, the actor playing Lorenzo’s dad, arrives at the MATE awards ceremony and sees his son win the national championship. The movie depicts their damaged relationship, how Lorenzo never felt loved by his father. I stood next to the real Lorenzo during the filming of the scene in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Lorenzo watched as José Julián, the actor playing him, catches sight of Morales and walks to him. Morales embraces Julián. Lorenzo and I watched waves of emotion pass across both actors’ faces: pride, relief, and love. Lorenzo was transfixed.
“Cut!” the director suddenly shouted.
The actors wiped away tears, laughed, and drifted away.
Lorenzo and I remained standing at the edge of the banquet room.
Lorenzo stared at his feet. Finally, he glanced up at me and said quietly, trying not to cry, “My father would never do that.”
TEN YEARS AFTER beating MIT, Lorenzo works as a line cook at St. Francis, an upscale restaurant in Phoenix.
Oscar completed his tour of duty in Afghanistan and left the U.S. Army in June 2014 after achieving the rank of sergeant. He is now employed as a foreman in the locomotive shop at BNSF, the train company.
From 9:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m., five nights a week, Luis empties trash cans at the federal courthouse in downtown Phoenix. On the weekends, he caters weddings, quinceañeras, and church retreats with Lorenzo.
Cristian continues to live at home and invent things in his room.
Fredi still teaches at Carl Hayden and coaches the robotics team. In 2011, 2012, 2013, and 2014, the team won the Arizona FIRST robotics championship. The team has collected top honors at regional, national, and international competitions, making it one of the most decorated programs in the country. Between 2002 and 2008, Fredi received no compensation for his work with the team. Starting in 2008, he was awarded three-fifths of a coaching stipend—roughly $240 a month.
Allan retired in 2006 and now volunteers his time to help the robotics team.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Ten years ago, I flew to Phoenix to visit Carl Hayden Community High School and learn about its extraordinary robotics team. I was alerted to the students’ accomplishments by Marcos Garcíaacosta, an Intel employee who was kind enough to write me. I am grateful he did.
My colleagues at Wired have been immensely supportive over the years. Federico Schott designed the original article, Livia Corona took amazing photos, and Zana Woods was the photo editor. Joanna Pearlstein ran fact-checking. Bob Cohn was the executive editor at the time and taught me a lot about being a journalist. Chris Anderson, the editor in chief from 2001 to 2012, gave me my start in journalism and sent me to Phoenix in 2005. Most important, Mark Robinson has been my longtime editor. He has read multiple drafts of almost everything I’ve written and made it better at every stage. He is a true mentor and friend.
My literary agent, Bonnie Nadell, believed in this story from the start and has been a relentless advocate. Sean McDonald, my editor at Farrar, Straus and Giroux, added keen insights. Kelly Vicars, my research assistant, was a great help during the intense writing period.
My friend Rick Jacobs at Circle of Confusion fought for a decade to turn this into a film, as did my lawyer, Keith Fleer, and film agent, Shari Smiley. I owe a debt of gratitude to George Lopez, Jamie Lee Curtis, Marisa Tomei, Carlos Pena, Alexa PenaVega, José Julián, Oscar Gutierrez, David Del Rio, Ben Odell, Sean McNamara, Elissa Matsueda, and David Alpert for bringing the film to life.
My wife and kids have put up with my reporting trips and long hours of writing. This book is a result of their support. Ben Peterson read an early draft and gave valuable feedback. I owe thanks as well to Joshuah Bearman, who picked up the slack at Epic Magazine while I was writing the book.
I want to recognize the great work that Jill Zande does at the Marine Advanced Technology Education Center. She spearheaded the ROV competition and has inspired countless kids. Without her, the Carl Hayden team would not have had the opportunity to compete. Similarly, Ed Moriarty has built a phenomenal learning environment for budding engineers at MIT’s Edgerton Center and gave me an enlightening tour.
Over a ten-year period, I returned frequently to Phoenix to interview Carl Hayden teachers and alums, all of whom were gracious and put up with my questions. Dulce Matuz, a Carl Hayden graduate, offered incisive perspectives on the immigration environment. Additionally, many young roboticists over the years have patiently explained their creations. Team 842 continues to inspire me.
My biggest debt of gratitude is to the members of the 2004 Carl Hayden underwater-robotics team and their families. The Arandas, Arcegas, Santillans, and Vazquezes welcomed me into their homes and talked to me countless times over the past decade, answering my incessant, persnickety questions with humor and patience.
The team’s mentors and their families were also endlessly available to help me. Debbie Cameron and Pam Lajvardi graciously invited me into their homes and provided important insight. Finally, Allan Cameron and Fredi Lajvardi have devoted their lives to helping kids achieve their potential. This book is dedicated to them.
ALSO BY JOSHUA DAVIS
Entrenched
The Underdog
A Note About the Author
Joshua Davis has been a contributing editor at Wired for a decade and is the cofounder of Epic Magazine. He is the author of The Underdog, a memoir about his experiences as an arm wrestler, backward runner, and matador. In 2014, his work for Wired was nominated for a National Magazine Award for feature writing. He has also written for The New Yorker and other periodicals, and his writing is anthologized in the 2012 edition of The Best American Science and Nature Writing, as well as in the 2006, 2007, and 2009 editions of The Best Technology Writing. The movie Spare Parts is based on his reporting. He lives in San Francisco with his family.
Farrar, Straus and Giroux
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Copyright © 2014 by Joshua Davis
All rights reserved
First edition, 2014
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Davis, Joshua, 1974–
Spare parts: four undocumented teenagers, one ugly robot, and the battle for the American dream / Joshua Davis.—First edition.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-374-18337-0 (hardcover)—ISBN 978-0-374-53498-1 (pbk.)—ISBN 978-0-374-71265-5 (ebook)
1. Robotics—Competitions—United States. 2. Remote submersibles—Competitions—United States. 3. Mexican American boys—Education—United States. 4. Mexican Americans—Economic conditions. 5. Phoenix (Ariz.)—Social life and customs. I. Title.
TJ211.26 .D38 2014
629.8'9207973—dc23
2014018569
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