Gerri Kauffman needs broccoli. And not the fresh greenery bundled in the produce section of her Fairmount neighborhood grocery, Klein's supermarket. Her 13-year-old twin granddaughter hates that stuff. The teen will eat only broccoli preserved by ice. Without the frozen vegetable, Kauffman's plans for a hassle-free dinner are in jeopardy.

As Kauffman tells this to Ken Klein, at 57, the oldest of the three brothers who have run the store for decades, Klein stares at her apologetically.

He's got frozen broccoli. Plenty. In the store basement.

"It will be up by tomorrow," Klein offers, standing by the new, yet empty, freezer. The old one lasted 20 years.

Kauffman, 59, short and blond, sighs. Klein relents. He and his brothers, Steve and Shel, have known the twins since Kauffman wheeled them through the aisles in a double stroller.

It's things like fetching must-haves from the basement; special ordering that international-coffee patrons crave; and knowing when a customer is under the weather, had a haircut, has gotten married, or had a baby, that has kept Klein's supermarket in business since the early 1890s.

Such longevity, "it's unheard of," said John Stanton, chairman of the food-marketing department at St. Joseph's University.

"You have to feel like you can't wait to get to that store every day, and it's hard to pass that on to one generation after other. Obviously the Kleins did that, which is a good example of what doesn't happen today."

Facing rising food prices, the lure of Whole Foods about a mile away, and the family's fifth generation focused on its own pursuits, the Klein brothers are banking on tradition to keep the store going.

"If they need something special, or if they just want to stand and chat, we're here," Shel, 50, said one recent afternoon of his customers roaming the aisles. "Not only is it a business, but we're also a family. We treat everybody like family."

Ken, nicknamed "the talker," by his brothers, tells the family lore. When their great-grandfather Simon Klein emigrated from what is now Belarus in the late 19th century, he walked into his brother's North Philadelphia grocery store, at 15th and Clearfield Streets, and informed him: "I'm the older brother. I'm taking over the business."

The brother went on to own the largest potato and onion distribution company on the East Coast, Ken said.

For four generations, the Klein men, after they were bar mitzvahed, worked in the store, starting after school and weekends. Ken, Steve, and Shel, who grew up in Mount Airy, earned $5 day, plus tips on deliveries.

Their father, Sid, who long ago retired, expected a lot. The customer was always right, he drilled. "And always do what you can to make them happy," remembered Shel, "and not want to go somewhere else."

Ken and Shel then laugh about a regular, an elderly gentlemen, "prickly" about his cold cuts, Ken said. The Kleins are sure to wrap his meats and cheese in paper, never plastic.

Their father's lessons hold.

In the late '70s, overshadowed by a deteriorating landscape, the Kleins moved the market to 24th Street and Fairmount Avenue, a larger, 3,500-square-foot space, in what was then a "rougher neighborhood," Shel said.

The area is now surrounded by bistros, condos, and red-bricked rowhouses, many beset with potted plants. The old store is a Korean-owned takeout, advertising steaks, hoagies, and cold beer.

At Fairmount, the Kleins offer 22,000 products, including homemade roast beef, briskets, and fresh entrees.

Their North Jersey wholesaler has "very nice buying power," Ken said, which keeps their prices competitive with larger supermarkets.