Martha Rial, Post-Gazette Judy O'Connor enjoys the snow behind her Squirrel Hill home where she and her husband, Mayor Bob O'Connor, have lived since 1972. Click photo for larger image.

On a breezy Squirrel Hill day recently, the door to the Smallman Street Deli opened and in walked two women dressed in full Pittsburgh power-walk regalia: sneakers, sweats, a Steelers windbreaker on one and a Steelers sweatshirt on the other.

They could have been any mom and her adult daughter stopping for a coffee before heading out for some exercise. But Judy O'Connor, the 60-year-old wife of Pittsburgh's new mayor, and daughter Heidy Garth, 40, were here for something that the very private Mrs. O'Connor must surely have regarded in the same category as dental surgery, although she was much too polite to say so: an interview with a newspaper reporter.

But she soldiered gamely on, as did her bubbly daughter, even though, for the next 90 minutes, the interview was repeatedly interrupted by a steady parade of people who would pass by their booth, do a double-take, and then launch into full homage mode:

"Howyra doin'?"

"Hel-LO there!"

"Judy, darlin', I just wanted to stop and congratulate you and your family on Bobby's victory. This city really needs someone who cares about the city, and Bobby really cares and ... and ... and ..."

This last comment was from Jeff Cohen, the deli's owner, whose enthusiasm for all things O'Connor was so strong he had to practically be peeled off the table.

But Mrs. O'Connor, a diminutive brunette with intense blue eyes and a tender, careworn mouth, seemed to take it all in good humor.

"People are behaving differently," she acknowledged, noting that when she's introduced as Mrs. O'Connor now "They just go from, 'oh, hello,' to 'OH, HELLO!' " Then she leaned back into the booth, her petite frame all but swallowed up in her oversized Steelers sweatshirt, and laughed.

Steve Mellon, Post-Gazette Moments before taking the oath of office as Pittsburgh mayor, Bob O'Connor watches inauguration ceremonies from his office TV and hugs wife Judy. Click photo for larger image.

Such is life these days for Pittsburgh's new First Lady -- that is, if there is such a thing as a first lady in this city.

Jeanne Caliguiri, widow of Mayor Dick Caliguiri, isn't sure that there is.

"You could call Sophie Masloff a first lady, since she was the first woman to become mayor," said Mrs. Caliguiri, adding that she didn't think Pittsburghers expect the mayor's wife to be a political force in her own right, with causes and photo opportunities and ribbon-cutting ceremonies.

When her husband was elected, Mrs. Caliguiri opted to spend most of her time at home raising two young boys rather than accompanying Mr. Caliguiri to every event. And people were fine with that, she said.

It wasn't until later, into her husband's second term when her sons were older, that she went back to work. Then, after Mr. Caliguiri's death, as development director for The Leukemia Society of Western Pennsylvania, she became a more public figure.

"They didn't expect me to be everywhere as a mayor's wife then, and I don't think they expect it now," she said.

Mona Murphy also decided to keep a low profile after husband Tom Murphy's 1992 election. With a job as a laboratory assistant at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center and as the mother of two teenage daughters and a toddler, "it was more important for me to be at home with our son, with one night a week out. I felt bad that Tom had to go to so many things without me, but you have to set priorities."

	Annie O'Neill, Post-Gazette Associated Press Mona Murphy laughs while mingling at Ed Rendell's Inaugural Ball in Philadelphia. Click photo for larger image.

She received little or no criticism for that decision, "because in this city, there is really no official role for a first lady."

"Still, I had people asking me, will you quit your job?" Then, with a hearty laugh, Mrs. Murphy recalled that "right after Tom was inaugurated, there was this big snowstorm. I was outside the house shoveling snow and someone came by and said, 'You shouldn't be doing that, you're the first lady.' "

Look for Judy O'Connor to follow the same quieter path as her predecessors, her friends and acquaintances say.

"Judy doesn't seek the limelight," said Jeff Pittler, a Squirrel Hill real estate broker and an old friend who went to Allderdice High School just ahead of Judy and Bob O'Connor. "She is unassuming, down to earth and approachable, and less will change with Judy O'Connor than anyone I can think of."

Of course, he and other friends and family added, she is hardly a recluse but, rather, a fun-loving person who hosts monthly Bunco dice game parties for her girlfriends and whose house is a favorite gathering spot for her husband's pals, as well as friends of her youngest son, Corey, 21, a senior at Duquesne University who still lives at home.

"There is no other house where you will feel more welcome," said Susan Rudski, a longtime friend and neighbor.

As a little girl growing up in the 1950s and early 1960s on Phillips Avenue in Squirrel Hill, in the same home she and her husband live in today, "Judy always had people coming over," said Martin "Buddy" Klemp, her younger brother.

Bill Wade, Post-Gazette Jeanne Caliguiri holds the Caliguiri Cup, awarded at Pittsburgh Vintage Grand Prix to college team winners. Click photo for larger image.

Pretty and popular, his sister even caught the eye of the lead singer of Danny and the Juniors -- a 1950s rock 'n' roll group best known for the immortal "At the Hop" -- during one summer in Wildwood, N.J., where the Klemp family rented a house every year.

"He wanted to take her out," said Mr. Klemp, a touch of pride in his voice. It was a "Happy Days" existence with a little bit of "West Side Story" thrown in: Joseph and Evelyn Klemp were Jewish, and when Irish Catholic Bobby O'Connor started coming around during Judy Klemp's senior year at Allderdice High School, they were not happy.

"It was like committing heresy for a Jewish girl to go out with a non-Jewish guy," said Mr. Klemp, who at 13, was four years younger than his sister when the romance blossomed. "I don't think Bobby was allowed in the house."

But Bob O'Connor already was showing a politician's instincts. "He took me for a ride in his Corvette," recalled Mr. Klemp.

After graduation, Judy was sent to the University of Tampa in preparation for a possible teaching career, while Bob found work in the steel mills. But love would not be denied: They eloped to West Virginia in 1964. The Klemp family came around after the first grandchild, Heidy, appeared. And Bob O'Connor found increasing success as a restaurateur -- first working in Joseph Klemp's restaurant supply business, then moving up to manage a chain of Roy Rogers restaurants under the tutelage of Beaver County businessman Lou Pappan.

As her three children grew up, Mrs. O'Connor found herself moving from being a stay-at-home mom to working mother. She was a preschool teacher at Calvary Church's "Beginnings" program in Shadyside and later started her own business organizing children's birthday parties with neighbor and friend Teresa Ankney.

"She's a night owl," Mrs. Ankney recalled, "and I'm a morning person, so we'd have both ends of the day covered."

Indeed, son Corey O'Connor remembers, at age 10, being allowed to stay up with his mom to watch "Saturday Night Live" and "American Gladiator" after that. Perhaps tellingly, her favorite movie is "Night Shift," with Michael Keaton.

"We'd be up until three in the morning," said Corey O'Connor. "She related well to us," added her older son, the Rev. Terrence O'Connor, a Catholic priest at St. Alphonsus Parish in Pine. "She had a really good feel for where we were in life. She was fun to be with, but she also instilled values in us -- namely to treat others as you would want to be treated. She said it and lived it."

There was also a five-year stint in the 1990s running an Oakland restaurant, Bobby O's, with her daughter. It was a family affair: Bob O'Connor would occasionally pitch in, busing tables on football Saturdays when he was wasn't busy climbing Pittsburgh's political ladder. She didn't relish campaigning the way he did, but during good times and bad -- including a whisker-close defeat for mayor four years ago -- Judy O'Connor was a quiet, loyal presence. Indeed, when asked what she likes least about politics, her response is immediate:

"The people who say Bob's not smart enough. They say, 'Oh, he doesn't have a college degree,' but he's done so much in life."

"I just stopped reading the newspaper and watching television," recalls Mona Murphy of those times during Pittsburgh's financial trouble. The worst, she says, was not being able to say anything.

"Tom Murphy I love, but to be married to the mayor is a pain in the neck. You're not supposed to have your own opinions because people assume anything you say is your husband's opinion."

Perhaps, but when the subject is her husband, Judy O'Connor isn't shy about saying what she thinks.

The feeling is obviously mutual. At a Yeshiva Schools' 62nd annual dinner honoring Bob O'Connor as Man of the Year, the mayor noted the presence of his large, extended, diverse family, including his son Terry O'Connor, a Catholic priest, and Judy O'Connor's sister Dee-Dee Pelled and husband Jacob, who are Orthodox Jews. (Another member of the O'Connor "rainbow coalition" couldn't be there that evening: The mayor's son-in-law, Rich Garth, who is African-American.) He also made mention of his numerous nieces, nephews and grandchildren.

And while his wife blinked back tears, he talked about Yael Pelled, his 6-month-old niece who died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome 15 years ago, prompting the O'Connors to help establish The Caring Place, a center for grieving children. Every day, in fact, Judy O'Connor boards a bus Downtown to work at The Caring Place as a receptionist and a counselor.

That won't change, she vows. She will still take the bus to work and pick up pizza for dinner afterward. She will still tend to her elderly father, who was recently hospitalized (her mother passed away several years ago). She will still host her monthly Bunco parties and indulge her reading habit, which seems to rival that of first lady Laura Bush's -- her most recent book being James Frey's scandal-plagued "A Million Little Pieces."

In short, Mrs. O'Connor seems determined to preserve whatever sense of normalcy and privacy she has left.

"I'd just like to keep things the way they are," she said, with a touch of wistfulness.

And with that, she and her daughter, Heidy, said goodbye and headed out the door for that power walk -- in the secluded trails of Schenley Park.