The first cable from Rio de Janeiro to reach TIME'S foreign desk a fortnight ago reported the suicide story of President Getulio Vargas. It ended with a terse footnote: "Impossible reach office now blocked by police investigating killing of boy outside building. Plan file picemeal updating whenever possible sit down and write."

Thus did Piero Saporiti, former TIME Bureau Chief in Madrid, move into his new post as Bureau Chief in Rio. Following is his fuller explanation of the footnote:

On the way from Madrid to Rio, I read books on Brazil that praised the country's beauty, relaxed way of life and the gentle character of the peace-loving Brazilians. As I stepped off the M.S. Augustus on the morning of Aug. 18, my plans were to take it easy for a week or so to get acquainted with the new climate, people and city. Rio came up to all my hopes and expectations--yet there was a tenseness in the air. Armed troops patrolled the streets, and the press was full of violent polemics and screaming headlines. My plans for a slow approach to the new work were promptly disrupted by the Vargas story. By Monday, Aug. 23, it looked as if things had reached a climax. That night we stayed on the alert until we had news that Vargas had resigned and the crisis was over. I went to bed. Four hours later, I was awakened with the news that the President had shot himself.

Minutes later I met our staffers Jayme Dantas and Jose Gallo in the TIME office. The city was in turmoil. Crowds of people were roaming aimlessly around, shouting and rioting. Messages from people whose names meant little, and cables from out-of-town stringers, were piling up. I called Free-Lance Photographer Paulo Muniz and told him to go out and "shoot whatever you can."

Later all hell broke loose in the area between Santos Dumont Airport and the Air Ministry. (Our office building stands in majestic isolation between the two.) Jose and Paulo were in the office when machine guns began rattling and bullets started thudding into the walls. Paulo and Jose rushed out the back door of the building, stumbled over the body of a boy who had just been killed. They saw a police patrol headed for the building and quietly slipped away. It was no time to get mixed up with the police. Minutes later the building was sealed and swamped with investigating policemen.

From then on, my room in the Hotel Excelsior became a TIME field office. Typewriters and a portable radio were hauled out of my unpacked luggage. Extra tables and a telephone were brought into the already littered room. Thus camped in our small room, we typed, phoned, took down messages, captioned pictures strewn on beds, munched sandwiches.

More complications piled up. Cable companies, in a downtown area blocked off by police, were unable to send messengers to pick up our copy. However, our driver Mario found mysterious ways to get through to the cable offices. The possibility of getting pictures out on time seemed dubious. Pan American operations were disrupted, customs were closed, and the road to the international airport was cordoned off by police. The problem was solved by an obliging New York-bound passenger who agreed to take the pictures out for us.

The pressure kept up until Saturday afternoon, when the last take of copy went out, and I dropped on the bed exhausted but determined to toss those books on peaceful Brazil into the wastebasket the next day.

This week, under somewhat calmer circumstances, Saporiti was back on the job reporting the aftermath of the Vargas story and the new regime of President Cafe Filho.

Cordially yours,

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