The battery-operated radio seemed high tech back then, before his home at Taos Pueblo got electricity. That's how Gomez became a news junkie as a kid.

In 1972, when five men were arrested for breaking into the Democratic National Headquarters in the Watergate building in Washington, D.C., and later President Nixon resigned, Gomez read all about it with great interest.

He admired the reporters who broke the story. And he was struck by the role of lawyers, whose job is to protect the rights of people.

In the aftermath of Watergate, Gomez made up his mind: he wanted to become a journalist and a lawyer. didn't waste time dreaming about it. He began covering sports for his junior-high newspaper, and then signed up for yearbook in high school. By graduation, he had secured a scholarship to the University of Denver and seemed to be on a fast track to his destiny.

Gomez was the first member of his family to go to college. But once he got there he found himself lacking in study skills and feeling out of place among the wealthy students on campus.

He endured two years, and then took a minimum-wage job building fences at Taos Valley Ski Resort. He was as fit as he'd ever been, and that felt good for a while. But before long he was back at college, this time at the University of New Mexico.

"Life is not easy or cool or fair," he says. "No one cares about how much potential you have until you get your college degree. You need your degree to buy your economic freedom."

Yet he wasn't in a hurry. He took the scenic route, as he calls it, but always kept his eye on the prize. When he was bored or on the verge of flunking out, he'd take a break and do something different, like run the projector at a theater or get certified as an EMT. After eight years of this, he earned his bachelor's degree. By majoring in university studies, instead of journalism, Gomez gave himself an honest-to-goodness liberal arts education, while having fun along the way.

Landing that first job out of college was quite easy. He had interned at The Albuquerque Tribune, and the newspaper hired him full time to work on special reports, which put him on the road for 18 months covering tribal issues. At the time, Gomez was the only Native American journalist at the Tribune.

He later spent a season living on the streets with alcoholics for a scathing six-part series in 1988 called Gallup: The Town Drunk , which was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize.

But once the big projects were over - and he had to cover university news - the thrill faded fast. After four years he left journalism because it simply wasn't fun anymore.

"The main thing is to have fun," Gomez says.

Back to UNM he went for that law degree he had dreamed of so long ago. Compared to his job at the newspaper, law school was like a three-year vacation, he says. Gomez focused on environmental and Indian law. About 10 percent of his class was Native American.

New Mexico has about half a dozen all-Indian law firms, but when Gomez graduated he wasn't experienced enough to break in. So he went back to DNA Legal Services in Shiprock, where he had clerked one summer during law school. He spent a depressing year handling domestic-violence cases on the Navajo Nation, and then he moved on to the District Attorney's office in Taos.

At his new job he was the only Native American, and he says there hasn't been another attorney of Taos Pueblo heritage at the DA's office since he left.

It wasn't long before a friend told him about an opening at the Western Environmental Law Center in Santa Fe - a job he would commit to for five years. There, he handled federal environmental law for tribes, public-interest groups and local governments - and he's enthusiastic to this day about the experience. Gomez was instrumental in helping San Felipe Pueblo acquire 12,000 acres of culturally sensitive lands, which had been slated for development.

In another case, when he was successful in stopping the buffalo hunt at Ft. Wingate, he remembers saying, "It's always a good day when the Indians beat the Army."

The Army-backed program had allowed hunters to thin the herd. But after the lawsuit, the bison were shipped to Picuris Pueblo and other tribes, to raise as food or to sell.

"I'm the kind of attorney that likes to do things close to home," he says.

Now 44, Gomez specializes in Indian law at the Vanamberg, Rogers, Yepa & Abeita law firm in downtown Santa Fe. Since 2000, he's tackled all kinds of issues for tribes across the U.S., except for gaming and taxation.

He spends his time researching situations and providing opinions and analysis to his clients. He goes everywhere from tribal council meetings to Washington, D.C.

"It's different every day," he says.

As Gomez recounts his experiences, he sits on a black leather couch in his Santa Fe home, a baseball cap on his head and a dusty Pomeranian curled beside him. Walls filled with art and family photos surround him.

His wife, Inez Russell, a journalist, cooks up a chicken dinner in the spacious kitchen behind him. And when his 9-year-old son, Joaquin, comes home, his first stop is to give his dad a kiss on the nose.

Far from stuffy or self-absorbed, Gomez has learned to keep work in its proper place. He reserves time for fishing, hunting, reading and playing his drum set. And most of all, he's invested in family more than ever these days.

Gomez went from being vice chairman of the Democratic Party in New Mexico, to Cub Scout leader and PTA president at his son's school.