Largo da Carioca and Rua da Carioca

After the fountain, water reached homes not through pipes but in casks. It was carried chiefly by enslaved Africans sent by their owners and by water carriers who sold water; the later fountain had thirty-five taps, basins for laundresses, and a watering trough for animals. Rua da Carioca led to this place, and the square served as a tram transfer point and a place of trade. When the fountain was demolished, the city water supply and the subway beneath the square took over its role; a cast-iron structure with clocks remained at the center, originally a decorative streetlamp.

The word “Carioca” on the signs of the square and street is not a surname. It was the name of a stream descending from Corcovado. In seventeen twenty-three, Governor Aires de Saldanha ordered its water to be carried by aqueduct to the foot of the Convent of St. Anthony. A fountain was installed here, and the open space came to be called Largo da Carioca—the square by the waters of the Carioca.

The water supply ended at the fountain. From there, people carried the water onward: chiefly enslaved Africans sent by their owners with casks, and water carriers who sold water door to door. The later fountain had thirty-five taps, basins for laundresses, and a watering trough for animals. Rua da Carioca, once known as Caminho do Egito and later as Rua do Piolho, led to this place. The city government approved its current name in eighteen forty-eight, when it had already taken hold in everyday speech.

By the beginning of the twentieth century, people changed to trams near the fountain, traded, and read fresh newspapers. The editorial office of the evening newspaper A Noite was in the two-story building at number fourteen. It was founded by the journalist Irineu Marinho, who was counting on readers who bought one inexpensive issue on their way home from work. The newspaper lived on sales and advertising, so its reporters had to bring in a story that the whole city would retell the next day.

In the spring of nineteen thirteen, Police Chief Belisário Távora announced that gambling would remain legal until the government decided otherwise. Reporters Eustáquio Alves and Castellar de Carvalho decided to test his statement in the most conspicuous place, in front of their own editorial office.

In early May, they brought a roulette wheel to Largo da Carioca, set up a table, and hung a sign: “The game is open. Thirty-two numbers. Only the customer wins.” The reporters posed as gambling-house proprietors and accepted bets from passersby. A crowd gathered around them. The police intervened after all: the roulette wheel was confiscated, and the journalists and several people who came to their defense were arrested.

This gave the reporters the evidence for which they had risked their freedom. The next day, A Noite described the detention in detail and said it was ready to bring out the roulette wheel again if the police chief continued making such statements. The issue sold especially well, and the story remained in the city’s speech.

Three years later, the new police chief, Aurelino Leal, sent his subordinates an order to seize gambling equipment. It included a proviso: before a raid, they were to warn the chief by official telephone. At the same time, the guitarist Donga registered the song Pelo Telefone, which had emerged from collective improvisations at Tia Ciata’s home. Disputes over authorship began at once: Donga listed himself and the journalist Mauro de Almeida, while other participants in the musical gatherings claimed that he had appropriated a shared work.

Donga himself later said that someone in the editorial office of A Noite composed the famous version of the refrain. An unknown author combined the new chief’s telephone order with the old prank by the two reporters: the police chief supposedly announced by telephone that “there is a roulette wheel for gambling at Carioca.” These words were not in the original refrain, yet the parody became the most recognizable part of the recording with which the history of commercial samba is conventionally begun.

The police carried away the roulette wheel, the name of the journalist who wrote the verse was lost, and the editorial office later left Largo da Carioca. A cast-iron monument with a clock remains at the center of the square. When Alves and Carvalho set up their gambling table beside it, it was already standing here, but it was a decorative streetlamp. The Carioca fountain remained nearby for another twelve years; then it was demolished. Its water was replaced by the city water supply and the subway beneath the square, while the name remained with Largo da Carioca, Rua da Carioca, and the verse about the roulette wheel.