It's a tough campaign for president, barbed with Polish humor, between the earthy shipyard worker who founded Solidarity and the somber, laconic intellectual he chose as prime minister. What do Poles think of the contest between Lech Walesa and Prime Minister Tadeusz Mazowiecki in their first popular vote for the presidency? Some call it Cham vs. Hamlet. Cham, pronounced ``ham,'' is Polish for bumpkin. Others have asked: Will Mazowiecki declare his candidacy before or after the election? Then there's the story of a problem Walesa had when he wanted to reserve a burial site in Jerusalem next to Jesus Christ. He found the cost was $150,000, it goes, and said to his top aide: ``I don't know, Krzysiek. Is it worth it for only three days?'' The duel between Eastern Europe's first non-Communist head of government and the man who gave him the job has rekindled interest in politics after months of hand-wringing by commentators over post-Communist apathy. Nearly all conversations turn sooner or later to the question of which one will occupy Belweder Palace, seat of Polish presidents. A man was even killed in a drunken dispute with his son-in-law over who would be the better president, the state news agency reported. Poland held parliamentary elections in June 1989 that were largely free and democratic local elections in May, but this is the first real contest because Solidarity candidates swept the earlier votes. Surveys indicate the two former Solidarity allies are running about even. Other candidates have ventured into the ring, including Roman Bartoszcze of the Peasant Party and Wlodzimierz Cimoszewicz of the Social Democrats, formerly the Communists, but only Walesa and Mazowiecki are given a real chance. If neither gets 50 percent of the votes Nov. 25, a runoff will be held Dec. 9. Part of the fascination stems from their contrasting styles. Walesa is electric, speaking rapidly, seeming to bob and weave through questions thrown at him from the crowd. Mazowiecki is ``grey on grey'' in the words of one newspaper, shy and ponderous in speech but exuding character and moral authority. Walesa declared early and began an aggressive campaign immediately with meetings at factories, where he is strong, and with academics, Mazowiecki's turf. In the first three weeks of October, Walesa visited nine cities, saw more than 100,000 people and was seen by millions more on television. Local Solidarity chapters organize his Western-style rallies, held outdoors or in large arenas with banners, brass bands and deafening loudspeakers. Mazowiecki made his first campaign appearance Oct. 14, two weeks after Walesa, in the Krakow Philharmonic Hall, which seats only 800 people. Instead of direct questions from the crowd, he took written ones that were rephrased by his campaign spokesman. The prime minister seems hesitant about contact with strangers. Hundreds of people waited outside the hall in Krakow for two hours and Mazowiecki rewarded them with only a few minutes on the balcony, his stilted words of thanks barely audible through a bullhorn. His dedication to his job, evident in his tired, careworn appearance, earns sympathy even from people who say they will vote for Walesa. After becoming prime minister in August 1989, Mazowiecki set a considered, pragmatic course that won respect abroad and gave Poles a sense of security against the sudden shocks of revolutionary change. To many, however, Mazowiecki's government has seemed to drag its feet, allowing former secret police to destroy records and keeping Communist ministers in the government half a year after the party dissolved. In his campaign, Walesa advocates faster change and has been quoted as intending to use a ``sharp axe'' to chop away vestiges of the old system. He and Mazowiecki also appear to disagree about policy toward the Communist leadership. When he took office, the prime minister spoke of drawing a line between present and past, but Walesa has said he wants to ``settle accounts'' with those who have injured Poland or stolen from it. If Walesa becomes president, Mazowiecki says, he will join the opposition. Walesa replies that he already has five other candidates for prime minister. Critics accuse Walesa of currying favor with the mob, promising easy solutions he cannot deliver and becoming a demagogue who could abuse the still-fragile democracy and frighten off Western investors. ``I'll vote for Mazowiecki because, under his presidency, I can sleep peacefully,'' Adam Michnik, a former Walesa adviser, told a rally. ``If someone knocks at my door at 5 in the morning, it can only be the milkman.'' ``Walesa is as suitable to be president as I am to be a radio announcer,'' Michnik, now editor of Gazeta Wyborcza, Poland's leading daily newspaper, said in a recent broadcast. Michnik spoke with his usual stutter. Walesa wished him luck in radio.
