A career in music was a possibility, and in 1979 after finishing law school Fieger put out a tape of several songs on which he was the lead singer. Brother Doug Fieger, just hitting national fame with his own band, the Knack, wrote most of the songs.

"He was qualified to be doing a pretty good-sounding record," says longtime friend Michael Diamond, a Farmington Hills lawyer who was working for Capitol Records and promoting the Knack in 1979.

"(But) being a singer in a band really is not deep enough for Geoffrey. He would get bored with that pretty quickly."

It was the same when Fieger acted on stage as a child and as a University of Michigan theater major but decided not to pursue acting as a career. "I don't think you need to be brilliant to be an actor," he says.

And it's been the same -- always seeking a bigger challenge -- in his career as a lawyer. First there were his early days in his father's firm, then fame for million-dollar verdicts, then greater fame as Kevorkian's flamboyant defender.

Now, he's running for governor.

"He's on a different stage now, and the vista is much broader," says his mother, June Fieger. "He's not going to retreat."

"Retreat" may not be a word in Fieger's vocabulary. As ardent, theatrical and blunt-spoken in his first political venture as he is in defending Kevorkian, Fieger also is proving to have the brains and the work ethic to compete for governor.

He's written his own campaign ads, won over groups that supported his Democratic primary opponents and has a personal fortune he can tap if campaign donations get low.

But he's also infuriated religious groups with what they see as derogatory comments made in the past (he's apologized and says the words were taken out of context), once called his own Democratic Party a party of "wimps and oatmeal," and pledged to kick Engler's "gluteus maximus across the state."

To some voters, Fieger's willingness to say what he thinks and his promises to "clean house" in Lansing are a breath of fresh air, a step toward taking back their government from "career politicians." To others, he is uncouth and uninformed about some major issues and how government works.

It was his in-your-face style that caught Kevorkian's attention eight years ago, when the assisted suicide advocate called one Sunday and asked Fieger to defend him. Fieger took the case for free.

Fieger believes vehemently in people's right to choose assisted suicide if they wish. "I am not for death. I am not for assisted suicide," he has said. "(But) that's inherently a personal decision that government has no right" to intrude into.

"'Follow your own conscience' is his belief," says his mother, a retired teacher and American Federation of Teachers organizer.

That philosophy accounts in part for Fieger's success in the courtroom, where he has thrived on the drama, intellectual challenge and chance to right wrongs that being in court provided.

After graduating from the Detroit College of Law, he joined forces with his father, Bernard Fieger, a fiery labor attorney. Before long, he won a million-dollar judgment for a case involving the misadministration of psychiatric drugs to patients.

Fieger admits his loose tongue is hurting him in his campaign, and says he wishes he could take back some of the things he's said.

Stephen Hnat, who has known Fieger since 1978 and now directs policy for the campaign, says Fieger often doesn't mean to be as sarcastic as he sounds.

June Fieger also rues her son's quick and cutting tongue."He's bombastic," she says. "I told him, 'You need to learn to count to 100, not 10."

But she also talks about the side of him that loves cats, keeps in touch with his childhood housekeeper and is sentimental enough to have in storage the 1971 Volvo she got him after he was nearly killed in a car accident during his college years.

Fieger and his wife of 15 years, Keenie, have three cats, who he says are like his children. "They talk to you," he says. "People think cats are distant, but they're not. They're super-affectionate."

In fact, Keenie Fieger says the cats were part of what attracted her to her future husband.

She says she and her husband are reconciled although she filed for divorce in 1990 and 1995, later withdrawing both petitions. She also sought a personal protection order in 1995 and said in court documents that her husband assaulted her.

Today she says the cases were overblown in media reports, but otherwise neither will discuss them.

Fieger also has had to contend with references to his 1987 conviction for operating a motor vehicle under the influence of liquor. And he had to pay $7,500 in sanctions last spring for violating federal procedure rules by trying to influence which judge heard Kevorkian-related cases.

Fieger describes himself as a fanatic over exercise, but admits he hasn't been able to get to it much with the campaign. He ascribes some of his energy to the 100 vitamin pills and supplements he takes a day, usually by the handful so he can get them all down.

"I'm covering all my bets," he says. "I'm afraid of dying. I want to live to 105."

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