Without a trace

CHARLES FLETCHER vanished 38 years ago. If he's still alive, he's 92. But few people are missing him anymore.

Five of his 10 siblings have died, as have his ex-wife and two kids. The friends and cousins he socialized with at taprooms throughout North Philly have long since passed on. And no one knows if any of his World War II buddies are still around, since no one knows the names of the men with whom Fletcher fought in the U.S. Army's 117th Infantry.

Sooner or later, Fletcher's aging family members will be gone, and no one will wonder, "What happened to our Charles?"

No one's life story should end that way.

The last time anyone heard from Fletcher was on Mother's Day in 1975. He called his mom to wish her well and promised to see her soon.

Since then, not a single sighting. Not a burp on any credit account. No electronic or paper trail showing that his disability checks had been cashed or his veteran health benefits accessed.

Still, his sister, Marlene Hardy, 71, isn't convinced her brother is dead.

"My mother lived to 96," so Fletcher comes from strong stock, Hardy says. "It's possible he's still out there somewhere."

The family always worried that something might happen to Fletcher. He was awarded the Purple Heart for injuries he suffered in the war - he had metal plates in his head and arm - and he suffered periods of disorientation that meant he sometimes went missing for a few weeks here, a few months there.

But, Hardy says, her big brother was also a free spirit who'd sporadically go AWOL because he needed space.

"He had girlfriends, he liked to have a good time - you know how men are," Hardy says. "But he was a good person."

And he always returned to the family's stomping grounds around 20th and Cumberland, or landed for long stretches with friends in Glassboro, N.J., where he was last seen. That day, Fletcher told his friends he was headed to Philly. And that was it.

Michael Brown doubts that Fletcher went missing through any shady behavior of his own.

"He had no criminal record," says Brown, a private detective hired by Hardy 23 years ago to take a fresh look at the case, which didn't attract much attention when Fletcher went missing. "I can't find a trace of him, and I'm the best at what I do. Mr. Fletcher is the only missing person I've never found."

That's why Brown still runs Fletcher's vital information - birth date, Social Security number, other official identifiers - through multiple databases every day. This case eats at him.

"You'd think, after all this time, something would've turned up," he says.

Fletcher is listed in the Philly Police Department's missing-persons database, and his DNA is on file with the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System, overseen by the U.S. Department of Justice.

I asked the organization's communications manager, Todd Matthews, if Fletcher's family was foolish to expect that Fletcher - or his remains - would ever be identified given how much time has passed.

Matthews countered with the tale of a man who learned the whereabouts of his brother after 53 years (the brother had left town and started another life under a new name).

And the story of a New Jersey family who learned last month that their teenage relative, missing 41 years, had been a victim of serial killer John Wayne Gacy.

And the ordeal of a Kentucky family who learned, 32 years after their relative went missing, that he had been murdered.

In those cases, what led to positive identification were advances in DNA testing, the use of social media, which didn't exist decades ago, and sophisticated photography that uses age progression or regression techniques to simulate what a long-missing loved one might look like today - or back in the day.

Hardy recently was able to use such photographic technology to "age" her brother's photo, and she has placed it onto posters that she's plastering around her brother's former hangouts. Maybe someone who has seen Fletcher as a very old man will put her in touch with him. Or maybe someone will remember something that will end this mystery.

"My mother never stopped looking for Charles," Hardy says. "She had a strong faith, so she got used to him being gone. But he was her son. Before she died, I promised her I'd keep looking for him."

If you have any information about Charles Fletcher, call the Philadelphia Police Department's Missing Persons Unit at 215-685-3257 or 3258.

Phone: 215-854-2217

On Twitter: @RonniePhilly

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