Stories of Paraná - War is War

Stories of Paraná - War is War

War is war
Francisco Camargo

In November 1959, Curitiba was shaken by what became known as the War of the comb.
Much has been written about the explosion of mass, on occasion, elected as a scapegoat, Arab traders Tiradentes Square, a proof that the unconscious Brazilian cordial, Sergio Buarque de Hollanda, it only existed on paper.
The government had launched the contest "Your Coupon Worth a Million".
Simple: the citizen demanded invoice, which exchanged for a ticket to compete for prizes.
In buying a comb, particular merchant refused to withdraw the block.
Discussion, shoves, insults, blows.
The customer was military police, which lit a spark that took the center of Curitiba to the explosion of fury.
Riot that only came to an end on the third day, when the intervention of Army troops.
That all, or almost all, you know.
What they do not know - and I propose to try to tell here - is that on that first day of violence,
a peaceful Staff Sergeant, plainclothes, let the old Regional Service Works, Rua Presidente Faria together the public promenade, and tried to reach the bus Rua Marechal Floriano, at that time, was the route towards Tiradentes-Adauto Botelho ,
the popular "hospice" at the end of the street.
End of Floriano and the city, since almost all ended there, in hospice, block that, years before, had been transformed into track (dirt) for a sensational and unprecedented race where auto-Barranco, the junkyard that bore his name, he gave a concert at the wheel of his cart.
Raising of fine dust and taking heaps of tires that served guardrail.
Therefore followed the Sergeant at an accelerating pace.
About feet that clash with the cobblestones and black stones of the pavement, 120 pounds distributed by a large body of a man of 1.80 meters.
In face, the expression of who was hungry and could not wait to get home.
Perhaps the immense mustache, thick black wire, dissimulasse a little lip rictus denouncing an empty stomach.
He tried to cut the Tiradentes, to reach the bus stop, barely glancing sideways, concerned with things of your life and the food that awaited him, fuming in the corner of the wood stove - noon pan into the fire and empty stomach.
Both did not notice the noisy mob that attacked and destroyed everything in a crazed fury pachyderms or methodical chaotically destructive urge of a cloud of locusts.
A cry savior, from a army jeep that passed by, prevented the man topping body and face a la Middle East as an inadvertent Moses penetrate in the sea of ​​violence that you opened the front:
- Come, Salad! Get out of there!
At the same time, the little door was open canvas jeep.
Owned by a sudden feline agility, Sgt fled the scene.
Yes, because with its characteristics, would inevitably taken by Syrian or Lebanese and literally slaughtered by crazed populace.
That day, any citizen resembling a "batrício" would buxado made balloon Jerk.
Even he, a descendant of Portuguese as indeed it was.
But in the case with the "aggravating" to have first name as Saladin, who drifted to the nickname salad.
Thanks to the colleagues of the Regional Works, who went home car, the author of these lines, was free to become orphaned well before it comes to pass four years later.

Francisco Camargo, journalist


Source: Stories of Paraná, Brasil.