ARGENTINA: Murder at La Prensa

Last week Juan Peron showed the world that the totalitarianism in Argentina, however popular with his voters, can take the same form as totalitarianism anywhere, from Mussolini's Italy to Stalin's Russia. With gangster violence and drumhead judgment, his government struck another blow at a great newspaper, La Prensa, that dared to print news unfavorable to his regime. His police hounded and arrested two U.S. correspondents. If there had been any hope of a free press in Argentina, it lay shattered by the work of a night and a day.

The blow fell after more than 1,200 employees of La Prensa met and vowed that their newspaper, closed down for more than a month by a boycott of the government-dominated news vendors' union, would publish again on the next day.

Next afternoon they met at La Prensa's headquarters near the presidential palace. Then, in groups of ten to 25, they walked to the newspaper's printing plant half a mile away. Reporters and photographers, among them TIME Correspondent Frank Shea and LIFE Photographer Leonard Mc-Combe, went along to report the event.

The police had promised protection to the workers, but trouble started before the workers reached the plant. Armed hoodlums set fire to a La Prensa truck drawn up outside its garage, slashed the tires of three others. As the vanguard of unarmed workers swung into the final block, gun-toting thugs fanned out across the street and began to fire. One Prensa worker was killed, 14 others injured. Other workers, screaming "Assassins!" at two unheeding cops, grabbed up sticks and pipes and pursued the goons. Then, entering the plant, they set right to work.

Two hours later, after it had become clear that La Prensa was going to come out after all, the police appeared in force, but not to offer protection. They closed the plant, marched 600 Prensa men to Precinct Station 22, a block and a half away.

Police Grilling. LIFE'S McCombe had photographed most of these events, returned to his room in the Plaza Hotel. There, just after midnight, all the lights flashed on. Four men were standing by his bed. A beefy cop tugged at the bedclothes and said: "Venga [Come along]." As McCombe dressed, agents ransacked his luggage and confiscated a camera. Meanwhile, in his third-floor apartment, TIME'S Shea was also roused by the midnight knock of two plainclothes policemen. They told him he was wanted for questioning in connection with the afternoon's trouble at La Prensa. Shea bade his wife goodbye and went along with the detectives to Station 22.

At the station, Shea and McCombe were led separately into Precinct Chief Vicente Villella's office. For ten minutes Shea sat waiting in a straight-back chair under the glare of lights and eight hard-eyed cops. Then the chief abruptly put down his telephone, stretched out a hand and snapped "Mucho gusto [Pleased to meet you]." He did not smile.

The grilling, begun by the chief and continued by such weird characters as a German waiter, brought in because the chief thought he spoke English, lasted all night. At 3 a.m., U.S. Consul General Kenneth Yearns appeared. At dawn, Shea and McCombe were taken to Precinct Station 7, a shabby post on the other side of town, where three burly characters steered them into separate rooms. The consul general went off for help.