Jack A. Gullo Jr. grabs his shades, forgets his jacket and breaks for the car. His jeep roars down an alley between his office and his home and pauses briefly at a stop sign beside the Methodist church before thundering on, clinging to the bends in the narrow roads of New Windsor, headed for the Carroll County town's municipal barn.

See Jack run: another day, another mission for Maryland's youngest mayor, who is 25 and started his four-year term one year ago. He's been summoned by Marie Grimes, wife of Town Councilman Kenny "Pappy" Grimes. Feeling frantic about a problem at the barn, she called Mr. Gullo's law office, adding another task to a list that includes fielding residents' complaints, keeping up with his law practice, preserving the town's water supply, and finding constructive activities for young people in New Windsor.

Diana Gullo, his mother and receptionist, had held the phone receiver away from her ear as she listened to Mrs. Grimes. "She said Kenny's really upset," Mrs. Gullo told her son as he rushed by her desk. "Go."

So now he's racing to the town barn where its manager, 79-year-old Councilman Grimes, waits to brief him about this day's emergency.

"They're trying to bury a dead dog on town property," announces Councilman Grimes, as Mr. Gullo hops out of the jeep. "I went down there to tell them they couldn't do that and this kid just starts cussing, just cussing. I called the police and then got you." Three or four people stand about 200 yards away, near the end of the dirt driveway beyond the barn, by the railroad tracks, preparing for the unfortunate animal's last rites.

Mr. Gullo looks to the sky and quietly asks, "Why did they call me?" He tells a mourner with a shovel, "You can't bury your personal animal on town property. Would you dig a hole in a park?"

"This was not a crisis situation," the mayor says later. "It wasn't like someone was down there with a gun to [the councilman's] head. It was a guy with a shovel trying to bury a dead dog. Kenny's a good guy, I know that, and he handled it the best way he knew how. And I had no problem going down there and telling [the gravediggers] the rules or whatever.

L "That's just the way it is. That's what I'm expected to do."

The expectations change daily for Mr. Gullo, but the job of steering New Windsor toward the 21st century doesn't rattle him. He understands that in a tiny rural community, few problems are too small or too large for the mayor to tackle. His predecessors were a 70-year-old school bus driver, a grocer and a barber. In this town, no one expected a 24-year-old law school graduate to become mayor, the second youngest ever elected in the state's history.

Mr. Gullo, a Republican, was the "seasoned" candidate in a two-man race; his competition was Matthew Purkins, an 18-year-old senior in high school who had not missed a Town Council meeting in about five years. The incumbent, bus driver James C. Carlisle, relinquished the mayor's job and won a seat on the council. While campaigning for mayor, Mr. Gullo was studying for law school exams. He graduated in the top fifth of his class at the Widener School of Law in Harrisburg, Pa. -- the day before he was sworn in.

Some of the town's many older residents griped about "those kids running for office." But when the registration deadline came and went -- to use one of the baseball analogies Mr. Gullo loves to throw around -- "no one else had stepped up to the plate."

"They complained that we wouldn't know what we were doing, but did you see anyone else get into the batter's box, take the initiative to run? No," says Mr. Gullo. "That's just the way people ,, are in this town, but hey, I got over that the first month in office."

He says he didn't enter the race to win a popularity contest. He knew the biggest task in "his domain" would be to control the development that is expected to double New Windsor's population of 800 within 10 years. More than 200 new single-family homes, two retirement communities and a new school are expected to test the town's resources.

So in his first six weeks in office, Mr. Gullo put limits on development to preserve the town's water supply. And he took over the search for new wells to supplement municipal springs. In his first six months, he refused to authorize construction on the town's new school until the county government paid water and sewer connection fees. (He waited in the county's accounting office while the check was cut.) And he started a program of weekend activities for 9- to 16-year-olds.

In February of this year, he addressed the Carroll County Chamber of Commerce and compelled the audience of predominantly middle-aged men to make New Windsor's growth issues a top priority, if only for an hour or two.

"I say, rather arrogantly, that they haven't invented the thing I can't do," Mr. Gullo says. "I don't do things to make people happy. I did what I had to do, in the best interest of my town. I did my homework, so why shouldn't it work out?" He pauses, and grins. "It's pretty amazing, though, when everybody thinks you'll fall on your face and you don't."

Some residents of New Windsor still view Mr. Gullo as a charismatic upstart guided by political self-interest. He resents the idea that he has selfish motives. "It's not money. I make, what, two dollars a day, or something?" The mayor earns a $1,200 annual salary, paid after the first year. He doesn't even know when to expect the check. "So, I want to spend mornings at meetings representing the town when I could be seeing [law] clients and getting paid $100 an hour or something like that? Um hmm. Yeah." At times, Mr. Gullo has had to pitch, field and go to bat for the town, as there is no real work force, only a part-time clerk-treasurer he appoints and a few people hired to mow the meadows on municipal property.

So why does he serve? "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one," he says, quoting a line by Mr. Spock in the film "Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan." That principle guides Mr. Gullo's decisions for the town, and his commitment to public service, he says. "Let's think about this now. No matter what I do, or where I go, I am always the New Windsor mayor. You think I can go to a bar like other 25-year-olds and do what other 25-year-olds do? -- get drunk, watch babes at happy hour? Not that I'd want to, but I can't do that, anyway. There are a few times I can sit down and have time to myself, maybe play my harmonica. Just act goofy. But usually, I just can't do that. I have to be very careful when I drop my guard."

Shields up and phasers set for stun, Mr. Gullo prepares for a busy day; it begins with an informal but important meeting, at the local pharmacy. The subject is the need for a well to supplement the town's water supply; developers and a geologist will attend.

Mr. Gullo's appearance at the drugstore surprises some older town residents who are sitting around a tiny table as they do each morning at 9, enjoying nickel cups of coffee and some state-of-New-Windsor chitchat. The mayor pours a cup of coffee and makes small talk with his former Sunday school teacher, Nellie Lantz, a resident for more than 50 years, until the developers arrive. They converge on the table -- the only one in the place -- and the coffee-club regulars find themselves huddled in an aisle between women's deodorant and the beverage cold case.

The Rev. Charles Acker, pastor of St. Paul's United Methodist Church, drops in for his morning coffee, sizes up the situation and, smiling, gives voice to everyone's thoughts: "This looks like a town meeting in here! What's going on today?"

"Isn't this what there's a town hall for?" one regular asks indignantly as she throws away the plastic filler for her cup and makes for the door. "Why the heck are they meeting here?"

The mayor's discussion lasts about 45 minutes. In the corner, the coffee-club members could eavesdrop if they chose, but they continue their morning news-gathering: Who's sick, whose kid is getting married, who said what during a bridge game. The two conversations never mix; the mayor is oblivious to the discomfort he has caused.

The next morning at the pharmacy, the Rev. Acker comments on Mayor Gullo's actions. "I think a lot of what he does is to show his authority. He did that a lot in the beginning, like at the [regular town] meetings. He's more relaxed now, and you feel like you can get up and say something. But the first three meetings, it was like, if you got out of turn, you felt as if the bouncers would come out."

To some, Mr. Gullo's style at those sessions has seemed overbearing and stubborn. The traits also emerge during volunteer firefighter classes that he's taking. He's being taught that patience and teamwork save lives. During one training session, Mr. Gullo's faceplate is covered to simulate obstructed sight, and he goes through an obstacle course of furniture, tubes and scaffolding. He crawls on the floor, guided by a limp fire hose, until his helmet bumps a table in his path. He stops, sits back on his haunches and rams the table again, harder. "Hey, hey, No. 13," firefighter Lenny Yox, Mr. Gullo's instructor, calls to him. "Try to see if there's a way around it instead of going through it."

Few New Windsor residents are neutral about their mayor. "He is very aggressive. That can be good and bad," says Richard Warehime, 70, who retired in September after serving as town clerk-treasurer 20 years longer than the mayor has been alive. "Maybe it seems so because most of our previous mayors were so laid-back, and to change things so abruptly didn't set well with everyone. But I think he has probably been good for the town at this particular time, because he has taken a firm stand [on development]."

Carroll County Commissioner Donald I. Dell believes Mr. Gullo acted "too aggressively" when he demanded the county pay the new school's water and sewer connection. But moderation will come as the mayor adjusts to his position, Mr. Dell predicts.

"I think, overall, he has done a great job for his age. He has been very active and aggressive," says Mr. Dell. "He needs to learn to prioritize, to know what are the right things to put emphasis on."

"I think he's just what we needed. He has done a great job with handling the growth," says Harriet Crawmer, a part-time cashier at the pharmacy who has lived in town for 50 years. "I think we're lucky to have him."

Mayor Gullo has many roots in New Windsor. He lives in an apartment on the top floor of his mother's childhood home. From his enclosed porch he can look down on his law office across the alley -- in a building that once was a carriage house and a barber shop, where his late grandfather, Dutch Lovell, cut hair for 65 years. Mr. Gullo's parents and his sister, who has just finished college, live on a farm at the edge of town.

Occasionally, the mayor does have time for some sort of ordinary life. He plays computer games in his law office -- when no one's around. He jogs. He likes action films. He has snagged a few tickets to a Jimmy Buffett concert this summer.

Though he spent his early years in Washington, D.C., New Windsor became a second home; it was his mother's hometown, and the future mayor spent weekends there, even singing in the junior choir of the local Methodist church. After Sunday school he would come home jabbering about classmate Susan Six; on Easter Sunday this year, he proposed and she accepted.

The senior Gullos moved to the area when Jack Jr. was about 14. They still see in him signs of the high-performance boy they indulged with piano, golf, tennis and saxophone lessons. They say he grew up to be the nurturer, the family counselor, the third parent to sister Kathryn, 21, and the vulnerable over-achiever who doesn't accept failure.

He thought he'd failed his bar exam in July 1993, Mrs. Gullo recalls. "He came home after taking that test and started reading the want ads in the paper. He said, 'Well, I guess I could pump gas.' Oh God, Jay's a bad loser," she says, smiling and using his childhood nickname.

Jack Gullo Sr., vice president of the Maryland Midland Railway and a retired federal government management analyst, remembers the bar exam as the only time he's seen his son truly nervous. "Usually anything he does, he goes, 'That was easy and simple.' But this thing, I think he was really concerned about it."

Kathryn Gullo admires her brother's drive and charisma. "I see him as Jay, not like anyone I've ever met before," she says, leaning into the plush chair in their parents' living room that she and her brother always vied for as children. "I admire him for the qualities I lack. Anything he sets out to do, he does." Jay enters the room, and her smile reveals dimples that mirror his. Solidly built, he has no trouble pulling his athletic-but-slender little sister from her seat.

"I've got the chair," he smirks as he sits down.

"Scratch everything I just said [about him]," she says, laughing.

When there's work to be done, the mayor is anything but playful. "I have made more of an impact in one year in this town than a lot of people have done over the years. That's my opinion," he says. "I've done more in one year that has actually touched the people or had the ability to touch the people than a senator or state representative does. They are far removed from people, but I'm right here. They know where I am."

And where he may be going. "I do not think he will be content to be the mayor of New Windsor his entire life," says Carroll County Commissioner Elmer C. Lippy. "I am very impressed with him. Not only do I enjoy his company, but I predict big things for his political future."

Mr. Gullo recently was elected vice president of the Carroll County chapter of the Maryland Municipal League, a lobbying organization for cities and towns. He also is organizing and acting as host for a league forum this fall for gubernatorial and other candidates.

Westminster Mayor W. Benjamin Brown, at whose suggestion Mr. Gullo ran for the league office, says, "This is a time for a younger generation. It was a timely handoff. It was time for Jack Gullo. He is someone who recognized that today is yesterday's future. I applaud the fact that he is aggressive. Jack may not get everything he sets out to get, but it won't be for the lack of trying."

Mr. Gullo says he will not run again for mayor, and he is guarded about his political plans. But others value his potential. "He certainly is a leader, not a follower, and we need leaders," says New Windsor Councilwoman Rebecca H. Harman. "He's ambitious, I think. He's politically ambitious. He made the remark one time, and I think it was made in jest, that he was going to go to the White House." She laughs, then adds more seriously, "I'm sure that was made in jest."

Maybe.

"In 10 years, where will I be? Well, I'll be 35," says Mr. Gullo. "I don't know, the White House? That's how old you have to be to get there, right? That doesn't give me much time. But time, that's no excuse for me not making it, if I want to go there."

TRACI A. JOHNSON is a reporter in The Sun's Carroll Count bureau.