The two women sit on the porch at 603 Gilham St., looking and acting years younger than they really are.
One is a nonagenarian, and the other is two years shy of 90.
"That’s the Klemmer genes," Martha Bowditch proudly stated.
Bowditch has lived at the Gilham Street house all of her 94 years. The attached dwelling, 601 Gilham, was once home to her uncle, Gottlob Klemmer, a Philadelphia police officer who died in 1927, eight years after being shot while working a plainclothes detail not far from his home.
On June 28, Bowditch opened up her home to the Northeast Times as she, her cousin, Ruth Shelton, and fellow Lawndale resident Kathy Wersinger talked about Klemmer, who was Shelton’s father.
Wersinger, who works as an aide to City Councilwoman Marian Tasco, has spearheaded an effort to get a memorial plaque dedicated to Klemmer. Her aim is to have the unveiling sometime in Shelton’s lifetime, since Shelton is Klemmer’s only surviving child. His son, Carl G.C. Klemmer, died last October at age 90.
So, back to the Klemmer genes.
"I think up here, we don’t feel that way," a youthful acting Shelton, pointing to her head, said of how she and her cousin don’t consider themselves old.
But the fact remains, Shelton was a little girl of 7 years old when her father died. Klemmer never fully recovered from bullet wounds he received in 1919. He was shot three times at close range by a suspected member of a robbery gang terrorizing the "Five Points" area in Burholme.
In attempting to get a plaque named for Klemmer, Wersinger has discovered that the fallen officer is not recognized by the city as having been killed in the line of duty, despite being recognized as such by both the Fraternal Order of Police and the National Law Enforcement Association. So now, her quest has become twofold — get a plaque made for Klemmer, and get Klemmer’s death recognized as an on-duty killing.
In researching the circumstances surrounding Klemmer’s death, Wersinger, who quipped that she is "proudly single" and has no children, has sort of been made to feel part of the Klemmer clan.
During the June 28 meeting, Wersinger relished the opportunity to sit with the daughter and the niece of a man she has learned so much about these past few months, a man that all three agree is a hero in the truest sense of the word.
"I’m just trying to get something to recognize your dad," Wersinger told Shelton. "That’s my ultimate goal."
After her father died, Shelton said she, her brother, Carl, and mother, Katherine, had a tough time making ends meet. The family didn’t have a police pension to live off of, since the city didn’t consider Klemmer killed on the job, and the fact that Katherine was a widow and single mother raising two children by herself made it difficult for her to work full time.
Still, Katherine managed to find some work, taking a cafeteria job with the Philadelphia School District. And despite the tough lot she was dealt in life, Katherine never let on that something was somehow out of the norm.
"My mother never let us know" we were struggling, Shelton said. "Never a word to worry us. She had such a wonderful disposition for all she went through."
But the stress eventually caught up with her, and Katherine passed away in 1938 at age 54. She was a year older than her husband was when he died 11 years prior.
Today, Shelton recalls her mother as a woman who vowed never to give up, right up until the day she died. Shelton also remembers how her mother opted to not put young Carl in a boys boarding school, even though that would have meant one less mouth to feed.
"She said, ‘no way, we’re a family and we’re sticking together,’" Shelton said of her mother’s outlook.
That strong family bond remains to this day, something proved by the fact that Shelton, who lives in central Bucks County, and Bowditch, who resides in Northeast Philly, still keep in touch with each other despite getting up there in age.
For Bowditch, living next door to Klemmer’s former house brings back memories. And for Shelton, visiting the Gilham Street twin helps resurrect memories of her own.
"I was looking at the front door; it’s the same front door," Shelton said while gazing across the porch at the 601 address.
Shelton got married in 1939 and moved out of her childhood home soon after. Her cousin, who was married around the same time, was widowed 58 years ago.
Bowditch said a couple of memories in particular of her uncle stand out, one being the thought of him having to sleep in a "Morris" chair, or what is known today as a reclining chair, since the bullets lodged in his body during that eight-year span caused him pain and discomfort.
For Shelton, looking at the house next door conjures up the image of a dead man lying in a coffin in his home, as scores of mourners passed through to pay their respects. This was back in the day when such practices were commonplace, a time when viewings took place in the home and not the funeral parlor.
Before his plainclothes assignment, Klemmer, a German immigrant who was hired by the police department in 1905, worked as a mounted officer.
On the night he was shot, Klemmer was undercover, patrolling the "Five Points" section, where Cottman, Oxford and Rising Sun avenues meet. After approaching a suspicious person and asking for identification, Klemmer was shot three times. After calling in the shooting at a call box, Klemmer gave chase, but eventually collapsed from exhaustion and blood loss. The suspect was never found.
Today, Klemmer’s relatives praise his heroic actions, saying a lesser man would have surely dropped after being shot once, let alone three times like Klemmer was.
"They claim that George Washington marched up this street," Bowditch said as she looked out at Martins Mill Road, the street that runs in front of her house where her uncle chased after the man who shot him.
In the early 1900s, Martins Mill Road went by a different name — Old Soldier’s Road — the name for which could be explained by Bowditch’s theory of Gen. Washington and his local travels. Bowditch and Shelton said it is fitting that Klemmer gave chase on a road with such history.
The two also acknowledged that police work has always been, and most likely always will be, dangerous work.
"I feel sorry for the policemen now; it’s worse," Shelton said. "They can’t even walk up to a car" today without fearing being shot. "Every time I hear a policeman dies, it really gets to me."
As for the issue of Klemmer’s cause of death, Wersinger wonders if the reason that the city has yet to recognize the officer as having been killed in the line of duty is fear of being sued. She wonders if city leaders would be embarrassed about the Klemmer family not having had the patriarch’s pension to live off of after his death.
But despite having a difficult time making ends meet when they were growing up, Shelton brushed this possibility aside.
"Oh geez, I never even thought of that. Who would want to (sue)?" Shelton asked.
Although she lives in a litigious society, Shelton, 88, said the last thing on her mind would be to taking legal action against the city.
"If they want it in writing, we’ll sign papers," she said with a laugh.
Besides, her father would not condone such actions.
"He was one of the honest ones," she said.
Deep down, Wersinger said she doesn’t believe this is the reason that Klemmer hasn’t been recognized by the city, but the fact remains that she would like to see Klemmer recognized in some way. Even if it’s not through a departmental memorial plaque, maybe the 2nd Police District could do something to honor him.
After all, while officers who were residents of the 2nd district have been killed on the job over the years in the police districts in which they lived, Klemmer is the only cop from the 2nd in the history of the department whose death is linked to an incident in that same district, Wersinger said.
Wersinger said she has already spoken with 2nd District Capt. Michael McCarrick, who assured her that something could most likely be done to accommodate her.
She also said she has spoken with Police Commissioner Charles Ramsey, who said he would be willing to do all he can to see that Klemmer takes his rightful place among the department’s fallen officers.
For Wersinger, meeting face to face with Shelton and Bowditch — she also recently met with Klemmer’s middle-aged grandson, Carl Klemmer Jr. — has given her quest a more human feel.
"It’s the families who make the ultimate sacrifice," she said, explaining the importance of honoring the fallen officers. "That’s why it (was) important to me to find your family, to thank you guys." ••
Reporter Jon Campisi can be reached at 215-354-3038 or jcampisi@phillynews.com