It was never just about the lightbulbs. Seriously. If you ever walked down Metropolitan Avenue in Williamsburg between 1962 and 2022, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You didn't just go to Crest Hardware because your sink was leaking or you needed a specific hex bolt. You went because it felt like the living room of a neighborhood that was rapidly becoming a glass-and-steel showroom for luxury condos. Crest Hardware Metropolitan Ave wasn't just a store; it was a vibe, a sanctuary, and a very weird art gallery all rolled into one dusty, high-ceilinged space.
Then it closed.
The news hit the neighborhood like a ton of bricks in the summer of 2022. After sixty years, the Franconeri family called it quits. It wasn't because business was bad—people still needed hammers, obviously—but because the landscape of Brooklyn retail had shifted so violently that even a local titan couldn't comfortably stand its ground anymore. When Joe Franconeri first opened the doors, the area was a gritty, industrial hub. By the time his son, Manny, was running the legendary Crest Art Show, the sidewalk outside was more likely to feature a $1,500 stroller than a delivery truck.
The Legend of Finnegan and the Urban Jungle
Let’s talk about the pig.
You can't mention Crest Hardware Metropolitan Ave without talking about Finnegan. For years, a literal pot-bellied pig lived in the back garden. Think about that for a second. In one of the most gentrified, expensive zip codes in the United States, there was a hardware store where you could buy a bag of potting soil and then go say hi to a pig lounging in the sun. It was the ultimate "Old Brooklyn" flex. It signaled to everyone that while the rest of the world was getting polished and corporate, Crest was staying delightfully strange.
The garden wasn't just for the pig, though. It was a massive urban nursery. While Home Depot offers that sterile, fluorescent-lit aisle of dying succulents, Crest had a lush, sprawling outdoor space that felt like a secret forest. You’d find seasoned gardeners arguing about the best fertilizer for Brooklyn rooftop tomatoes right next to a twenty-something who had never owned a plant in their life trying to figure out if a fiddle-leaf fig could survive a windowless bedroom. (Spoiler: it can't.)
Honestly, the plant selection was probably the store’s biggest draw in its final decade. As Brooklyn became a haven for the "plant parent" demographic, Crest pivoted perfectly. They didn't do it in a cynical, marketing-heavy way. They just kept doing what they were good at: providing high-quality goods and actual advice. If you bought a monstera at Crest, the staff would actually tell you how not to kill it. That's a rare commodity these days.
Why the Crest Art Show Actually Mattered
Most businesses try to "engage with the community" by sponsoring a Little League team or putting a flyer in the window. Crest went a different route. The Crest Art Show was a legitimate cultural phenomenon.
For nearly two decades, Manny Franconeri transformed the hardware store into an art gallery. But it wasn't some snooty, white-cube affair. The rules were simple: the art had to be made using materials found in a hardware store. We’re talking sculptures made of PVC pipe, portraits painted on plywood, and installations involving hundreds of zip ties.
It was genius.
It bridged the gap between the neighborhood's blue-collar roots and its new identity as a global arts mecca. It forced people to look at a hardware store—a place of utility—as a place of creativity. Thousands of people would cram into the aisles, beer in hand, weaving between the rows of power tools and plumbing fixtures to look at high-end contemporary art. It was the one day a year when the "Old Brooklyn" and "New Brooklyn" crowds actually mingled without any of the usual tension.
The Brutal Reality of Small Business in 2026
We see this story everywhere, but it hits different when it’s a place like Crest Hardware Metropolitan Ave. The closure wasn't a sudden bankruptcy. It was a calculated, albeit heartbreaking, decision by the family. They owned the building, which is the only reason they lasted as long as they did. In NYC, if you don't own your dirt, you're basically a houseguest who can be kicked out at any moment.
But owning the building presents its own set of pressures. When the real estate value of your lot exceeds the lifetime profit potential of selling nuts and bolts, the math starts to look grim.
The hardware industry has been gutted by two main forces:
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- The Amazon Effect: Why walk to Metropolitan Ave when you can get a screwdriver delivered to your door by a drone (or a very tired van driver) in four hours?
- Big Box Dominance: Even though the nearest Home Depot is a bit of a trek, their ability to undercut prices on bulk items makes it hard for a family-run shop to compete on margin.
Crest competed on experience. But experience doesn't always pay the property taxes when they skyrocket based on the "potential" value of the land.
What’s Left Behind on Metropolitan Avenue?
If you walk past the old site now, there’s a hollowness there. It’s a common sight in Williamsburg. A storefront that once held decades of history is replaced by... what? Usually a boutique fitness studio, a high-end coffee shop with $9 lattes, or a bank.
The loss of Crest Hardware Metropolitan Ave was a turning point. It felt like the final nail in the coffin for the idea that Williamsburg could still be a "neighborhood" in the traditional sense. When the place where you get your keys made and your garden supplies also happens to be your favorite art gallery and the home of a local celebrity pig, that’s a community hub. When that disappears, people stop talking to their neighbors. They just shop online and stay in their apartments.
It’s worth noting that the Franconeri family didn't just vanish. They’ve remained a part of the conversation, but the physical landmark is gone. The "Crest" brand still carries weight in the DIY community, but the tactile experience of walking those creaky floorboards is a memory now.
Lessons for the DIY Enthusiast
If there's anything to learn from the saga of Crest, it's that support for local businesses has to be more than a hashtag. People mourned Crest, but a lot of those same people were the ones ordering their Command hooks from big-box websites because it saved them three dollars and a ten-minute walk.
Hardware stores are the backbone of urban maintenance. When they go, you lose more than a shop; you lose the institutional knowledge of the staff. The guys at Crest knew which anchors would actually hold in the crumbly plaster of a 1920s tenement building. Try asking a chatbot that. It won't work.
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You need a human.
How to Find the "Crest Vibe" Today
While the Metropolitan Ave location is a closed chapter, the spirit of that kind of retail still exists if you look hard enough. You have to go deeper into Bushwick or up into Greenpoint to find the shops that haven't been "curated" to death yet.
Here is how you can honor the legacy of Crest in your own life:
Stop buying basic tools online.
Seriously. Go to a local hardware store. Even if it’s smaller than Crest. Buy your hammer there. Buy your nails there. The three dollars you "save" online is what kills the neighborhood character you claim to love.
Ask for advice.
One of the best things about Crest was the dialogue. Talk to the person behind the counter. Ask them how to fix your leaky faucet instead of just watching a YouTube video. That exchange is what builds a community.
Support the "Weird" stuff.
If a local business hosts an art show or keeps a pet or has a strange collection of vintage signs, celebrate it. The homogenization of our cities is happening because we've prioritized efficiency over soul. Crest had soul in spades.
The Future of the Metropolitan Corridor
Metropolitan Avenue is still a major artery, but it’s becoming more of a thoroughfare than a destination. With the loss of anchors like Crest, the "stroll-ability" of the street changes. People don't linger as long. They go to their specific destination and leave.
But the memory of Crest serves as a blueprint. It shows that a business can be more than its inventory. It can be a cultural center. It can be a garden. It can be a place where a pig lives.
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As we look at the future of Brooklyn retail, the stores that will survive are the ones that offer something a screen can't: a sense of belonging. Crest Hardware Metropolitan Ave gave us that for sixty years. We were lucky to have it.
Actionable Steps for New Yorkers
- Identify your "Local Anchor": Find the one non-chain store in your neighborhood that has been there for 20+ years. Commit to spending at least $50 there a month on things you’d normally buy at a big retailer.
- Document the Landmarks: If you have photos of the old Crest Art Shows or Finnegan, keep them. The digital history of these places is often all that remains when the buildings are razed or renovated.
- Check Out "New" Old-School Spots: Visit places like Vercesi Hardware in Manhattan or Beaubrummel in other boroughs. They carry that same torch of specialized knowledge and weird, deep inventory.
- Start a DIY Project: Nothing honors a hardware store like actually building something. Fix that shelf. Paint that wall. Use the tools you bought from a human being.