
People used to ask Mona Murphy what it was like, living with the most public figure in the city of Pittsburgh.
"I'd tell them, 'You know, I love being married to Tom Murphy, but being married to the mayor is a pain in the neck.' "
Public officials and their families live in the spotlight of public scrutiny. How would you feel if it was you in the limelight?
In light of Monday's announced separation of Mayor Luke Ravenstahl and his wife of five years, Erin, it's clear even in the best of circumstances, living in the spotlight is a balancing act.
In announcing the separation in a televised KDKA interview, Mr. Ravenstahl noted, "[Erin] didn't like the fact that I became the mayor. She doesn't like the public nature of the position.
"She would have liked it if I wasn't the mayor, if I wasn't a public figure."
Mr. Ravenstahl is living with his brother, Adam Ravenstahl, at an address within the city limits. His attorney, Richard A. Sprague of Philadelphia, would not say how long the mayor has been staying outside of the Summer Hill home he and his wife own.
Others who have been in Mrs. Ravenstahl's shoes say they understand.
"All I can say is: I have compassion for both of them," said Jeanne Caliguiri, whose husband, Richard, was mayor from 1978 until his death 10 years later. "You have to learn to live your own life."
Greg was 7 and David was 5 when their father was elected mayor. Mrs. Caliguiri said she tried to keep life as normal as possible; the boys played Little League and attended public schools.
"It's very hard. It was a big adjustment for me, and our children, too. There were a lot of 'those days' but we always tried to have dinner together as a family."
David Caliguiri, now 37, works for a firm that consults on government affairs. "We led a pretty normal life," he said, "aside from walking in a parade every now and then."
But every decision was scrutinized: "Dick would say 'Jeanne, don't wear jeans to the supermarket,' and I never did because he thought it was the wrong image," Mrs. Caliguiri said, laughing.
Many families involved in the glare of public and media attention come to it step-by-step. However, the Ravenstahls are relatively young and were thrust into the spotlight: He was elected to City Council at the age of 23 and became mayor after Bob O'Connor died in 2006. The couple have a 1-year-old son, Cooper.
Public divorce in office is not unprecedented. Mayors who have divorced while serving include Antonio Villaraigosa in Los Angeles, Joseph Alioto and Gavin Newsom in San Francisco, as well as the highly publicized split between New York's Rudy Giuliani and Donna Hanover.
Living in the limelight can be tough even for someone who grew up in a political family.
"I always swore I would never marry a politician or a doctor because your time is not your own; you're always at the mercy of someone else," said Mrs. Murphy, whose father, John McMahon, was an elected judge in Cleveland.
The Murphys, who met in college, had 14 years of Mr. Murphy serving as a state legislator before his election as mayor in 1994. But it hardly prepared them for the limelight.
"The difference between being a legislator and being mayor is night and day," Mr. Murphy said yesterday.
He described the media intensity as "very painful. ... I signed up for being mayor of Pittsburgh, not having my life under a spotlight 24/7."
Silly things, such as a newspaper article about the mayor and his young son, T.J., shopping at a model train shop outside Pittsburgh city limits, were annoying. Far worse, he said, was a frightening trip to the hospital when T.J. became paralyzed with what was later diagnosed as Guillain-Barre syndrome. He made a full recovery.
"We were in the emergency room and I was literally getting calls on my cell phone [from reporters who] wanted to know what was going on.
"My son didn't run for office. He was 5 years old," said Mr. Murphy, who now works as a senior resident fellow for D.C.-based Urban Land Institute.
Like movie stars and quarterbacks, elected politicians are larger than life, thus considered public property.
There was the Sunday morning a woman phoned the Murphy home and got the mayor out of bed, yelling that her drinking water was brown and that her elderly mother needed water with her medication. He was, after all, a public servant.
"He got out of bed and took her some water," Mrs. Murphy said.
Families of mayors accept that there will always be evening meetings to attend, ribbons to cut on weekends, trips out of town.
On holidays, passers-by to the Caliguiri home in Squirrel Hill would just knock on the door and say hello.
Everyone had an opinion, or a request, and didn't hesitate to share. Still, it was stunning when, about a month after her husband's death from amyloidosis, she received an angry letter.
"A woman berated me for not burying Dick in a place of honor in a mausoleum, for burying him in Calvary Cemetery," she said. "But the children wanted him outside, he loved being outdoors.
"I was in shock, but I couldn't be angry. She felt here was a man she loved so much, and she thought he deserved better."
The job does have its perks. Dick Caliguiri took his sons to the White House in 1979 when the Pirates and Steelers were honored there. Mrs. Murphy recalled having dinner with Prince Andrew, meeting Paul Newman, Gregory Peck, the Dalai Lama.
Mr. Murphy said that when he first considered running for mayor, someone gave him some valuable advice. Part of which was: "There are two jobs in America people take personally: president and mayor.
"I didn't understand that until I became mayor."
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