The DJ Who Decided It's Drive Time

Sotelo and Biaggi take turns at the microphone, mixing music and interviews with fans who discuss immigration. The DJs give their own monologues about the need for legislative reform. In this guise, the morning men turn humble, dropping the exclamation points from every word, eyes moistening at the stories they hear from their listeners.

Later, Sotelo tells his own story, how he sneaked into the United States from Mexico at 16 in 1986, how he was almost deported, how he finally managed a work permit in California, then a green card, and now is applying for citizenship.

"I have been on both sides of the immigration divide," he says in English. "What I'm hoping to happen today is that our leaders can touch their hearts and think of so many people that have the dream to be legal in this beautiful country. "

Biaggi was born a U.S. citizen in Puerto Rico. "It affects me directly because I don't live in this country by myself, and what makes me so special to be Puerto Rican and have papers?" he says off the air. "I'm a human being like you and what we're fighting for is human rights."

The fans line up 30 deep to sign pre-printed letters to the president.

"We are here, but we live in the shadows," says Antonio Cruz, 47, a bricklayer in Hyattsville by way of El Salvador. His son Juan, 5, gets an autograph from Biaggi.

"I'm a [legal] resident, I'm going to vote next year, I'm applying to be a citizen," says Mirna Cruz (no relation to Antonio), mother of four in White Oak. "I want to vote because I don't like the way they are treating people. . . . They say we take people's jobs. I clean houses. African Americans don't want to clean other people's houses; white people don't want to work in a garden. They want a better job. That is the job the Latino community is doing."

The caravan rolls up Capitol Hill. Out come Sens. Ted Kennedy, Mel Martinez and Bob Menendez plus several House members. The DJ from Los Angeles and the key negotiators on immigration reform share a stage. Today he may bump into Bush at the National Hispanic Prayer Breakfast, which both are scheduled to attend.

Out on the sidewalk, away from the stage, Sotelo pulls something from his wallet, when several plastic cards fall on the pavement. Some appear to be credit cards. But one in particular stands out. It's the one everyone wants, the key to a door, the one that is called green, even though nowadays it isn't.

"I'm a resident, you can see," El Piolín says, with a note of pride.