Mayor O’Connor laid to rest

Heidy waited behind the carriage, pulled by two horses, that held her father’s coffin. She… Heidy waited behind the carriage, pulled by two horses, that held her father’s coffin. She held her daughters close, stroking their hair or supplying much-needed tissues, while she quietly waited with her family for the ceremony to begin.

Across the street on this sun-drenched, late Thursday morning, bystanders, media and students stood behind the restricting silver gates and gazed mournfully over at the church in curiosity and sorrow.

More of them planted their bodies on the Carnegie Building’s steps as the Emerald Society’s bagpipes serenaded their prayers and thoughts of their mayor and fellow Pittsburgher.

Former Mayor Bob O’Connor’s funeral was open to everyone, but some people preferred to watch from outside on Fifth Avenue’s sidewalks, packed from Craig Street to Bellefield Avenue.

Some were close enough to get inside the church; others were far enough to catch just a glimpse of the cross through the flocks of people standing in front of the doors.

But the church was already full of O’Connor’s supporters, awaiting the family and the casket.

Policemen, paramedics and firefighters held large flags representing O’Connor and the phrase “Just Do It” largely printed on the backs of their matching T-shirts. They did this to channel the mayor’s positive attitude and undying optimism.

As a group of O’Connor’s personal friends and co-workers carefully lifted the casket from the vehicle, the Scottish melody and striking church bell were accompanied by voices coming from the church singing, “Sing with all the saints in glory/Sing the resurrection song!”

Heidy and her brother Corey somberly walked on either side of their mother, clutching onto her arms as they made their way into St. Paul’s Catholic Church.

More friends and family followed closely, some with their heads down, others holding tissues to catch the delicate tears streaming along their cheeks.

The Catholic Mass tradition played out beautifully, even for the hordes of people standing in the back, behind the pews and benches, far away from the altar. But to them the distance didn’t seem to matter; they just wanted to see the ceremony.

Heidy walked up to the altar, Corey by her side, and continued crying teardrops of grief for her loss and of hope for her father.

“My father has always told me that the best thing you can give someone is a true, honorable name,” Heidy cried into the microphone, and said that she is truly honored to have the name O’Connor from her father.

Corey told the story of the time Mayor O’Connor attended the Pennsylvania Ball last winter in New York. Despite the chants and loud voices singing the Pennsylvania Polka, O’Connor was singing a different tune: the Steelers Polka.

“We’re from the town with that great football team/We cheer the Pittsburgh Steelers!” O’Connor’s friends, family and fellow Pittsburgh residents sang, which swiftly transformed into cheerful applause.

Corey began to choke up.

“When we left the funeral home, I realized it was the last time I’d ever see him. So we threw a Terrible Towel into the casket.”

Reverend Terrence O’Connor, the mayor’s son, said that his father’s love for the people of Pittsburgh and the city itself was forever present.

The mayor truly believed that Pittsburgh could be a better place, and during his six months as mayor, Terrence said, he made some of his goals and dreams come true.

“He was one of us,” Terrence said. “He was a common Pittsburgher. I think Pittsburgh was in his DNA.”

Terrence explained that his father’s Catholic faith showed in nearly every aspect of his life. He visited O’Connor in the hospital and offered communion almost every day that he was sick. Despite his ill condition and level of fatigue, O’Connor never failed to reply “Yes.”

O’Connor’s passion for Pittsburgh never ceased to amaze his children, and Terrence’s love and respect for his father’s dedication to his wife, children and grandchildren poured into his words.

“Our hearts are filled with sorrow because it’s always hard to say goodbye to someone who truly lived his life for others.”

More than two hours later, the ceremony ended.

And across the street stood the same crowd, leaning behind the restricting silver gates, the same Pittsburghers, planted on the Carnegie Building’s steps.