Mary Rupp was scared two years ago when bullies in her North Side high-rise threatened, as she put it, "to gouge my eyes out."

Lake Fong, Post-Gazette Neighbor Terri Boyt admires a T-shirt that she bought in Mexico for Mary Rupp, 73, outside her apartment on the North Side as neighbor Diane Zippi looks on. Click photo for larger image.

Rupp was then 71. She had lived on the streets before and was more afraid in her shelter. She left her belongings in her apartment, taking only what she needed in plastic grocery bags, and set out to claim a haven in West Park.

A lot has happened to her since then, most notably being rescued and adopted by a group of nearby neighbors. Their devotion has become advocacy as Rupp faces what the owners of her current apartment building say will be a temporary relocation during renovations.

Four months after Rupp fled her apartment, two women who live in the nearby Mexican War Streets were walking when they spotted a tiny, fragile figure carrying grocery bags near Allegheny Center.

"I said, 'Excuse me, can I give you this dollar?' " recalled Diane Zippi. "She said, 'No, thank you.' "

Zippi's neighbor, who asked not to be identified, remembered having seen the woman in the park. Every day for a week, they and other friends took turns taking the woman food.

"We sat in the park and talked to her," said Zippi. "We asked what happened, but she didn't give up information right away. One night, I was on my patio, and it started to storm." She called her neighbor and said, " 'Let's go get Mary.' I wouldn't let an animal stay out like that."

They found Rupp near an iron railing that overlooked a railroad bed. She was huddled in a sopping blanket.

Zippi settled Rupp into the front hallway of her house while the neighbor began trying to find her a place to live. She showered at the home of Zippi's neighbor, who also washed her clothes. She slept in a cot in the 5-foot-wide hallway with a little TV nearby and a chair on which she sat pulling apart the damp photos she had fled her apartment with: photos of her mother beside a Christmas tree, of her father in a suit and hat standing outside their South Side home, of herself in a white dress at her confirmation.

Zippi's neighbor applied on Rupp's behalf for low-income housing assistance, directed her Social Security and Supplemental Security Income to the new apartment, got her on Medicare, opened a bank account for her, took her to a doctor and acquired a copy of her birth certificate.

Today, Rupp lives in a one-bedroom apartment one street away from Zippi and her neighbors, who donated dishes and pans, a TV and a radio. Steve Miller gave her a sofa, a twin bed and linens, Terri Boyt gave her clothes, Zippi bought her a Christmas tree, Cynthia Cecil baked for her and others bought her polka CDs and 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzles.

None of the clothes she carried with her survived the neighbors' scrutiny. Her closet is filled with new and barely used clothes. Her shoes are lined up like a row of soldiers.

"She remembers who gave her everything and writes handwritten notes and puts them in your door slot," said the neighbor. "She cherishes everything you give her."

Her apartment is in what is known as the Widows' Home, where children and widows of Civil War dead originally lived, on North Taylor Avenue. On her walls hang a dozen or more framed jigsaw puzzles of country homes with flower beds, still lifes and landscapes.

She is a small woman who trims her own boyish bob. She lowers her head, grins self-consciously and isn't always sure how to say what she thinks you want her to say, but then she gets excited and begins showing you her treasures, like the photos and her polka CDs.

"My mother and father used to talk to us in Polish," said Rupp, who was born Mary Urbinski in 1932. Her father was an odd-jobber. Her parents were immigrants. She quit school in the 10th grade to work. She was once a busgirl in a restaurant. She had been homeless twice before; the details are sketchy.

"It's so far back," she said, pushing the air over her shoulder.

She was once married. She has two brothers, one of whom sent her a Christmas card, but she has not seen them for years. She has a daughter, but the subject is off limits. Most days, she spends hours walking.

On a limited income, she contributes to the Red Door, a food service for the homeless and indigent run by St. Mary of Mercy Church, Downtown. Before her most recent homelessness, she had sent money to the Red Door, she said, "then I needed the Red Door myself."

The neighbors who came to her rescue are prepared for another confrontation if necessary. The owner of the Widows' Home campus assures that it won't be.

Pennrose-Falbo Development bought the property in March 2004, intending to renovate it, and expand and reconfigure oddly-shaped units. Rents will range from $413 a month to $620, said Brenda Keirn of Pennrose-Falbo, adding, "Mrs. Rupp will not be charged beyond her ability to pay."

Construction will begin in the fall; units will be rented starting this time next year.

"Mrs. Rupp will be temporarily relocated, but nobody will be displaced," said Keirn. "We will assist with all moving expenses so that residents incur no out-of-pocket expenses."

Keirn said most tenants opted to move. Fiercely protective of Rupp, whose housing status is Section 8, the neighbors say they will fight for her if Pennrose-Falbo does not keep its word.

Duane Hampton, regional manager for Pennrose-Falbo, said that with funding from the Pennsylvania Housing Finance Agency tax credit program, the Renaissance Apartments will be affordable based on the agency's guidelines and include some Section 8 units.

The project will cost about $3.8 million and update the property with new sidewalks, a functioning elevator, new plumbing and wiring, air conditioning and all new appliances, said Keirn. The historic exterior will not be altered.

The Widows' Home, which had been in decline for years, will return to a viability it hasn't had for decades.

Said Keirn, "We are bringing back a real treasure."

Using similar words, that's what the neighbors said they did for Mary Rupp, whose great need became simple need and whose graciousness has been steadfast.

"She kept trying to give us money," said Zippi. "She really wanted to, it was her dignity, so we donated the money she gave us to the humane society. Every time she said 'What can I do for you?' we said, 'Nothing, Mary. We love you.' "

"You don't know what you've done for me," she has told them. "What would I have if not for you?"