This is the second of three articles on the candidates for mayor of Pittsburgh.

Under bright Saturday sunshine, a banner inscribed "Rookie League" bobbed down Broadway. Just visible above it were the tiny fists and Pirate hats of the line of 4- and 5-year-olds who carried it.

Just ahead of them, Mayor Luke Ravenstahl led the Beechview Little League parade, his ceremonial role and one more perk of the incumbency that will be tested as he faces the Democratic voters later this month. As the parade rounded a corner heading toward the ball field, a woman in a housedress shouted down from a second-floor porch.

"Hey mayor! How you doin' hon? You're going to win again, but I need a lawn sign."

History suggests her prediction will prove accurate. Pittsburgh mayors don't lose primaries. None has in more than half a century -- although former Mayor Tom Murphy came close in 2001. Two and a half years after Mr. Ravenstahl inherited the office upon the death of the late Mayor Bob O'Connor, he is well past the rookie stage of his mayoralty. But, as he's constantly reminded, he's still a young man and he heads an administration that's still a work in progress.

His tenure was born in one tragedy and its most memorable days came in response to another. Between Mr. O'Connor's death and the deaths of three Pittsburgh police officers, Mr. Ravenstahl says he's grown in office. He points to a substantial list of accomplishments during those months. Among them:

• A central role in establishing the Pittsburgh Promise, the program guaranteeing college tuition assistance to Pittsburgh public and charter school graduates;

• An accumulated budget surplus that has, at least temporarily, eased the city's chronic budget problems;

• An executive order banning no-bid contracts and subsequent flurry of campaign and fiscal reform measures that he's poised to sign after City Council passage last week.

But his critics contend that while those accomplishments may be real, he inherited the conditions that allowed them, just as he inherited his office. And they argue that his embrace of an ambitious reform agenda represents an election-year conversion belied by still-open questions about instances of apparent favoritism in city contracts and permitting.

"It's all on his watch, so if it didn't work out, I'm sure he'd be blamed for it. So I guess he can take credit," observed Moe Coleman, of the University of Pittsburgh's Institute of Politics.

Mr. Coleman said the improvement in the city's finances was noteworthy, particularly amid the trying national economic conditions, but suggested that the administration had been less successful in communicating its overall vision and direction for the city.

One of the mayor's more persistent critics is Councilman William Peduto, who abandoned a challenge to Mr. Ravenstahl two years ago in the face of the incumbent's overwhelming approval ratings. He argues that the improvement in the city's fiscal condition is a function not of Mr. Ravenstahl's stewardship but of the fiscal handcuffs imposed on the city by the state's Act 47 process for distressed municipalities.

"He's in a position where it's impossible to fail," Mr. Peduto said.

But city Controller Michael Lamb, another former mayoral candidate, said that Mr. Ravenstahl has earned much of the budget credit proclaimed by his campaign commercials.

"He's done a good job of holding on to the purse strings and not spending a lot of money," he said. "From a purely financial perspective, what's happened in this city in the last few years is truly remarkable."

Mr. Peduto bristles at the fact that Mr. Ravenstahl has reaped benefits of the Act 47 process, even though he was a skeptic when it was adopted while he was still a councilman.

Mr. Ravenstahl insists that as councilman, he was not opposed to the Act 47 process per se but resisted it because he was concerned that it would not go far enough in providing new revenue for the city.

"My skepticism was that we weren't going to get what was originally proposed, and that certainly ended up being true," he said, noting that the new commuter tax that it brought in ended up at less than half the level sought by the city. Pointing to projections of an eroding budget picture for the city despite its current surplus, he said, "The reality is that at some point in time we're going to need additional state action in the out years. ... So I think we can go to the state and say we've done everything you've asked and more."

Mr. Ravenstahl has been vocal about the need to shore up the city's woefully underfunded pension system. One proposal he's considered is privatizing the city parking garages, earmarking the proceeds for the fund.

"He deserves some credit for at least talking about the pension situation, which is something that was not talked about for a long time," said Chris Briem, of Pitt's Center for Social and Urban Research. "Still, not a lot has happened. It's as bad as it ever was."

Mr. Ravenstahl has embraced the campaign finance and lobbying reform about to emerge from council, although he opposed another campaign finance measure last year. Critics see his shift as an election-year conversion. Mr. Ravenstahl said he opposed the previous legislation because it did not include a so-called millionaires' exception, a circuit breaker from the bill's strictures that would be triggered by lavish, self-financed campaigns.

"It's called positioning," said City Council President Doug Shields, another frequent political adversary. "In some ways he's been in campaign mode ever since he took office, but whatever road gets you there is fine by me. We'll see whether this was a political move or it was sincere."

His campaign rivals, Councilman Patrick Dowd and attorney Carmen Robinson, have repeatedly accused Mr. Ravenstahl of presiding over a "pay-to-play" administration in which contributors are rewarded with contracting and regulatory favor. Mr. Ravenstahl said that he welcomed the reform package because, "It will eliminate the perception problem in the future, ideally, because that's exactly what it is, perception."

While unwilling to publicly second-guess himself about any particular decision, Mr. Ravenstahl readily concedes that he wasn't ready for the responsibility thrust on him by his predecessor's death.

"I wasn't prepared for it; I realize that now," he said. "Now, today, you look back and you realize, 'Hey, maybe that wasn't the right decision,' or, 'Maybe I should have done this,' and you really learn from the decisions you made."

One vestige of his first months in office that the mayor hopes to put behind him is the series of public relations missteps that he described in an interview with The New York Times as "Heinz-gate," -- accusations that he'd dissembled about a confrontation with a police officer at Heinz Field while he was a councilman; "New York-gate," -- his flight to New York on the plane of Penguins owner Ron Burkle immediately after the conclusion of negotiations over a new arena; and "Tiger-gate," -- a spontaneous expedition to Oakmont Country Club in pursuit of a photo opportunity with Tiger Woods.

While there is no evidence that the Grant Street controversies did any lasting political damage, they complicated the challenge of a young mayor trying to prove to critics that he had the gravitas for the job. He complained in the Times interview about the media scrutiny but said recently, "I've gotten much thicker-skinned. I think that I have a better understanding of the job that you all in the media have to do," he said. "And I think, in the same respect, the members of the media now have a better idea of what I am all about. It was a steep learning curve for both of us."

As Mr. Ravenstahl was making a campaign stop at a Brookline ball field on a recent Saturday, Regis Lattner, a retired police officer from Overbrook, strode up to him and thanked him for his role in the aftermath of the Stanton Heights shooting deaths of three Pittsburgh police officers.

Even longtime critics have lauded his efforts during that tragic week, when he privately consoled the families of the fallen officers and eulogized them in a strong, emotional speech at the Petersen Events Center memorial service.

While politics may have been far from most people's minds in the aftermath of the worst day in city police history, the events could not help but have a political influence. The effect was substantive, insofar as it affected perceptions of a mayor on the eve of an election, and logistical, in that the all-consuming focus on the shootings completely dominated local news coverage at a time when Mr. Ravenstahl's rivals might otherwise have been able to attract attention to their critiques of the incumbent.

Incumbency has advantages as well as burdens. While his rivals scrambled for attention, Mr. Ravenstahl effortlessly attracted cameras and headlines. Just a sample of those appearances includes a college tour with Nobel Prize-winning Energy Secretary Stephen Chu, an inspection of the construction site of the new Pens' arena, and a signing celebration for phase II of the Oak Hill residential development on the border of the Hill District and Oakland.

In the mayor's reception room, an exuberant Councilwoman Tonya Payne went a bit over the top as she praised Mr. Ravenstahl's role in the negotiations over the Oak Hill project.

"I take my hat off to you," she said to the mayor, "I take everything off to you," she added as the mayor hid his face in his hands.

Drawing back from the brink of a blush, Mr. Ravenstahl, not normally known as a quipster, deadpanned, "I guess she let out the secret of how we got the deal done."

The crowd erupted. When you're the mayor, everyone laughs at your jokes.