BY MANNY GARCIA

 Lazaro Gonzalez, body shop worker, Marlboro smoker, family man, convicted drunk driver, die-hard anti-communist, has not slept in 72 hours.

 His eyes are bloodshot. His voice is hoarse. But he is smiling, wide. He's gone 15 rounds with the Justice Department and his 6-year-old nephew remains in Little Havana -- the center of the exile universe.

 Cranked up on adrenaline, applause and shots of Cuban coffee, Gonzalez tells hundreds of supporters outside his rented house that Elian Gonzalez is not going back to Cuba -- defying a federal order.

 ''El nino se queda aqui,'' Lazaro Gonzalez says in Spanish. ''The child stays here.''

 For better or worse, the battle for Elian Gonzalez might as well be the United States versus Lazaro. In Washington, D.C., a massive team of Justice Department attorneys and bureaucrats remains frustrated, failing so far to persuade great-uncle Lazaro Gonzalez to reunite his nephew with the boy's father, Juan Miguel Gonzalez.

 ''Lazaro is a real simple guy,'' Miami Commissioner Tomas Regalado said. ''He speaks his mind. He
 says things without thinking. He's an old-time Cuban. He's the boss. It's his house. And it's his decision -- good or bad.''

 Lazaro, 49, has taken center stage in recent weeks after his daughter, Marisleysis, 21, was hospitalized over the emotional roller coaster generated by the legal battle to keep Elian in the United States. With Marisleysis ill, Lazaro -- who speaks scant English -- has become the new family representative seen around the world.

 But he is highly unsophisticated and unpolished in dealing with the press, and that has made him the darling of Spanish-language reporters because he does not mince words.

 Last week, he told the press that he would not deliver Elian to Opa-locka Airport so the boy could be flown to his father in Washington.

 ''Ni Opa-locka. Ni palo loca,'' he said, a grand rhyming sound bite in Spanish that loses its bite in English. ''Not Opa-locka. Not crazy stick.''

 Lazaro curses loudly. His temper explodes. He doesn't give a hoot what anyone -- including the United States government -- thinks of him. His only goal -- down to the bone, as he would say -- is to keep Elian Gonzalez from returning to Cuba.

 ''They will have to pry Elian out of my arms,'' Lazaro Gonzalez says. ''There is no future in Cuba. His milk ration is cut off at age 7. Here he can drink all the milk he wants in America. If they want to take him, they'll have to come here so the whole world can see it.''

 To understand Lazaro, one must understand his world: the land of picadillo and pastelitos -- ground beef casserole and pastries, staples of Cuban cuisine.

 THE NEIGHBORHOOD

 Gonzalez lives at 2319 NW Second St. The house is 48 years old. The rent is $600 a month. The neighborhood is blue-collar, religious, tree-lined. Cuban flags hang outside homes here. Hand-painted signs exhort Elian to stay. This is the neighborhood that reelected Miami Commissioner Humberto Hernandez because he was Cuban -- even after he had been charged with bank fraud and money laundering.

 ''It's a place where you can be born, live and die and never have to speak English,'' said Alberto Milian, 39, a Broward County prosecutor who grew up in Little Havana.

 At National Hardware, a hammer is called a martillo. At Islas Canarias Restaurant, a sizzling flank steak is called palomilla. And the local supermarket is Publix, which residents call ''El Publi,'' and it sells Cafe Pilon, Galletas Gilda and long loaves of pan Cubano.

 ''It's a place where the Cuban sense is alive and well,'' Milian says. ''The Cold War is not dead because the suffering continues. Families are still separated. The Bay of Pigs memorial is an ever-present symbol.''

 The memorial is south of the Gonzalez house, at Southwest Eighth Street and 13th Avenue, and is marked by an eternal flame that honors Cuban exiles who died trying to overthrow Castro. Monday is the 39th anniversary. Some older exiles still blame the failed invasion on the United States -- and Democrats -- because President John F. Kennedy called off air support.

 AVERSION TO BETRAYAL

 Those closest to Lazaro Gonzalez say this is why he cannot hand over Elian without a fight: It would betray Elian and the memory of every Cuban who died trying to free Cuba or drowned trying to reach the United States -- like Elian's mother, Elisabeth Brotons.

 ''He believes he would be handing the child over to Castro,'' Commissioner Regalado said. ''A Cuban just can't do that.''

 Others are not as complimentary.

 Juan Miguel Gonzalez -- Elian's father -- says Lazaro has kidnapped his son. The courts have also shot down Lazaro and ordered him to return the boy.

 ''Lazaro Gonzalez has broken the law,'' said Maria Cardona, a spokewoman for the Immigration and Naturalization Service in Washington.

 The Cuban government calls Lazaro an ''alcoholic'' who ''sexually abused his students'' while he worked as a physical education teacher at two government-run sports academies.

 Lazaro says the allegations are untrue. There is no sordid past in Cuba, he says. He shows reporters a Certificate of Criminal Records issued by Cuba's Ministry of Justice on July 5, 1983. The certificate notes that Lazaro Gonzalez ''has not been sentenced by any judge or judicial court of the nation to any punishment.''

 But Lazaro will not discuss his two Miami-Dade convictions for driving under the influence, in 1991 and 1997.

 'HE'S TRULY SORRY'

 ''People make mistakes,'' family publicist Armando Gutierrez said. ''He's truly sorry and moving on with his life to make his family proud.''

 Lombardo Perez Sr., owner of Metro Ford, said the traffic arrests did not stop him from hiring Lazaro several months ago to do body work at the dealership. Like all workers, Lazaro passed an insurance-mandated drug test. Lazaro, court records show, says he earns $30,960 a year. Perez said Lazaro does not get paid when he is not at Ford, so Perez gives the family money.

 ''I do it as a Cuban. I do it as a Christian,'' Perez said. ''Lazaro needs help.''

 Lazaro was born June 20, 1950, in the coastal town of Cardenas, by car two hours east of Havana. He is the youngest of nine children. When he was 8, Castro took power in 1959. Three years later, the government tossed his older brother Delfin in prison. The government called him a traitor.

 It was in Cuba that Lazaro met a young girl named Angela. They went to the movies to watch Palomo Linares, a bullfighting film. They fell in love and married 29 years ago. They have two children, Marisleysis and a son, William, 27.

 The family moved to Miami in 1984, settling in Little Havana. Three years ago, Marisleysis graduated from Miami High, the oldest high school in Miami. She got a job at Ocean Bank, processing loans. Lazaro fixed boats and cars -- and made extra money doing repairs in his side yard.

 SPOTLIGHT SHINES

 The family lived anonymously until Thanksgiving Day, when fishermen found Elian strapped to an inner tube off the South Florida coast.

 Now, said Lombardo Perez, a director of the Cuban American National Foundation, ''the pressure Lazaro is under is beyond comprehension. He has a team of lawyers giving him advice. The house is always full of people. Everybody wants their picture taken with him. The cell phone is constantly going off. The press is outside. He gets two, maybe three, hours of sleep, and he still has to attend to his wife, his daughter and Elian.''

 But government-appointed psychiatrists say this is not a stable environment for a child who survived such a traumatic ordeal.

 The doctors say the constant traffic through the house and the television interviews are ''cruel and exploitive.''

 Psychiatrist Jerry M. Wiener, who doesn't speak Spanish, recently met with Lazaro. ''He proved to be absolutely stubborn,'' Wiener said. ''We tried to explain positive and decent ways to reunite not only Elian but heal the wounds between the family. Lazaro would not hear of it. He said, 'I will only meet in my house. In my territory.' ''

 CHANGING MOODS

 Said Dr. Paulina Kernberg, of Cornell University: ''He's a man of many contradictions. He can appear simple and sensible, then he goes into a long monologue and cannot be interrupted. Another moment he will be charming, then go into an outburst. He is volatile. His ego has been very inflated.''

 In December, Miami-Dade School Board member Demetrio Perez introduced himself to Lazaro and Marisleysis.

 ''Mucho gusto, señora,'' Perez told Marisleysis, using the Spanish title equivalent to ''Mrs.''

 Instantly, Gonzalez grabbed the commissioner's right arm and in a slow, deliberate tone said: ''Señorita. My daughter is a  señorita. She is a young lady, pure and unspoiled.''

 Stunned, Perez looked at his arm. ''Yes, of course. Of course, you are right, my apologies.''

 Commissioner Regalado said Lazaro is misunderstood. He loves his family, adores Elian and gets overly emotional about both.

 REACTION TO RENO

 For example, Regalado said, he and Lazaro recently watched Attorney General Janet Reno talk about her meeting with Elian's father.

 ''He blew his top,'' Regalado said, adding that Lazaro raged at the television set and cursed Reno, calling her ''that old bitch hag.''

 Dr. Wiener concluded: ''I think everybody there has convinced themselves that they are on the path of right and righteousness -- and that civilization as we know it is at stake right now.''

 Lazaro Gonzalez agrees that he is on the path of righteousness.

 ''I cannot let this little child go back to Cuba,'' he said. ''There is no future on that island. Here he can have an education. Here he can grow up to be whatever he wants. This is America.''

 Herald staff writers Ana Acle, Renato Perez, Liz Balmaseda and Jay Weaver contributed to this report.