Adi

Death came on cue, in the black hours before dawn. Bravura was there, too. Said the dying President of Chile to his Minister of Justice: "How should I die? On my stomach, on my side, or on my back?" For his War Minister he had a smart salute, then, "Adios, General!"

For months before grey, handsome Juan Antonio Rios finally died of cancer, the political vultures had swooped and darted. Last week they plunged. Chilean law requires presidential elections within 60 days after the office becomes vacant, and all but one of the prospective candidates had already stumped the country. The exception was 77-year-old ex-President Arturo Alessandri Palma, likely rightist candidate. Because he was too old for that sort of competition, he smartly let it be known that he was also too noble.

Whoever got the job, things could not get much worse in Chile. Ever since the nitrate market broke in the early '30s, both economic and political conditions had been chaotic. Alessandri's social legislation of the '20s, a model of its time, had proved no panacea. Ineptness and bickering had marked eight years of Popular Front rule; plans to cut up big estates and increase agricultural production had been balked by rightists who still controlled banks and social security funds. The present murderous inflation had spawned a new group of profiteering capitalists, cushioned the old ones, and driven Chile's miserable rotos (ragged ones) closer to starvation than ever.

Now, more than anything, Chileans wanted a stable government. If the parties of the right could agree on a common candidate and then make a show of stability, they would probably win the presidency.

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