Broken dreams

November 25, 2007

BY CARRIE ANTLFINGER The Associated Press

MILWAUKEE - Oscar Ayala-Cornejo followed the path that leads many Americans to law enforcement.

His family lived next to a crack house in Milwaukee, where he says he often heard gunshots and came home to find thieves had stolen the things his father had worked hard to provide for his mother, older brother and sister.

So he got excited when two officers visited his high school to recruit police aides. The doe-eyed 15-year-old decided he wanted to become a cop, maybe make things a little better than he had it growing up.

"I wanted to change my neighborhood, to change other people's neighborhoods, so they could feel safe, you know," says Ayala, now 25. "Because I didn't feel safe."

He wanted that, it turns out, badly enough to break the law.

Though Ayala's family moved to Wisconsin in 1992 from Guadalajara, Mexico, he says he didn't realize until after he'd made up his mind to wear a badge that he was in the country illegally. He didn't know it until his father, Salvador, told him if he wanted to be an officer, he would have to go back to Mexico and apply for citizenship, a process that can take at least 10 years.

A few days later, his father found another option - one that would help Ayala get his dream job but also would take it away and could cost him his freedom.

His father's cousin, Carmen, who lived in Chicago, would allow Ayala to take the identity of her son, Jose Morales, who was born five months after Ayala in Illinois and died of stomach cancer when he was about 7.

It wasn't easy adjusting to a new name and birthday. But the toughest part was not identifying his mami and papi in front of others.

After he graduated in 2001, he entered the police aide program and stopped looking over his shoulder.

"Everybody at work, people at school, everyone I met would call me Jose, so eventually that was me," he says.

He became an officer in December 2004. And he found it rewarding.

Ayala says he never told anyone about his true identity. But on Feb. 20, an anonymous caller informed Special Agent Russell Dykema of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement that officer Jose Morales was really Oscar Ayala-Cornejo, an illegal immigrant.

Dykema spent more than two months comparing data in immigration databases and school records. He even compared yearbook photos.

Ayala was arrested May 31 by two sergeants who took him to the training academy and eventually the immigration office in shackles and handcuffs, where Dykema and another agent explained what they knew.

Ayala was charged with falsely representing himself to be a citizen. Two weeks later, he agreed to a plea deal.

He could get a year in a federal prison when he is sentenced Monday, or he could get probation.

Assistant U.S. Attorney Mel Johnson said Ayala's position gave him access to weapons and confidential information, although there was no indication he had abused either privilege.

Oscar Ayala once wondered who the informant was and what the motives were. He didn't think he had an enemy.

Now, he accepts the consequences. After he leaves prison, he will be permanently deported. His girlfriend of a year plans to follow him to Mexico.
"The cards that we were dealt just weren't the best ones," he said. "If I wouldn't have done this, I would still be in Mexico waiting to see ... my family."


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