“We are gathered here tonight,” the Rev. Vince Anderson began.
Standing in the back garden of Crest Hardware in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, Mr. Anderson, wearing a red cowboy hat, Birkenstocks and a black-and-white tunic, preached from a pulpit made with Crest Hardware lumber. Around one hundred mourners had gathered beneath the string lights for a wake.
“We celebrate a family business that has been exactly that,” he said. “We welcome the spirits of every person who has walked through the doors during the last 62 years: the artists, the hobbyists, the home improvers.”
For 62 seconds, one for every year of Crest’s life, silence hung, until the stretch was broken by Mr. Anderson with the words, “and the people of Williamsburg said …” “Amen,” the crowd replied.
After 62 years of selling drill bits, Allen wrenches, mouse traps and Christmas trees, and copying many keys for the neighborhood’s newcomers and old-timers alike, Crest Hardware and Urban Garden Center will close its doors on Aug. 30, due to the property being sold. The store, whose patrons were greeted by Finlay, a 26-year-old talking parrot that meows and barks, and Franklin the pig, had over the years become known as a neighborhood hub. It hosted art exhibitions, music festivals and several weddings (including Mr. Anderson’s), in addition to appearing as an emblem of Williamsburg onscreen, including in the TV series “Girls.”
The owner, Joseph Franquinha, announced Crest’s closure on July 9, exactly seven years after his father, Manny Franquinha, one of the shop’s founders, died.
“In the end we are facing the same plight as many other small business in our community and city,” a letter by Mr. Franquinha on Crest’s website reads. “Sadly our property partners did not grant us an opportunity to renew our lease and have chosen to sell the property where Crest sits.”
Mr. Franquinha grew up working with his parents in the store, on Metropolitan Avenue, just a couple blocks away from the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. “I was getting pushed around in a mop bucket when I was, like, 5 or 6 years old,” he said. He took over officially 20 years ago.
“I feel a lot of things but good is one of them,” Mr. Franquinha, 41, said before the festivities began, in his office filled with Mets bobbleheads, above the shop. “This has been the long goodbye.”
For weeks, community members have stopped by to pay their respects, clear out the remaining hardware and buy Crest merchandise in support of the store’s final weeks. Hugs and fist bumps have punctuated every greeting.
“I’m a Roman Catholic,” Mr. Franquinha said. “I’ve never sat shiva before but I imagine this is what it’s like.”
The word of the evening was “community.” Fans turned up in droves in their finest red, black and white attire, a homage to the store’s colors, to celebrate Crest’s legacy with a wake at the shop. That was followed by a New Orleans-style second line march (Mr. Franquinha and his wife Liza spend time in New Orleans visiting family, he said) to Union Pool, a bar and live music venue where revelers danced to jazzy rock gospel by Mr. Anderson’s band, The Love Choir.
“I love you all,” said Mr. Franquinha through tears. “Crest forever.”
Shouts of “Crest forever!” rippled through the congregation as candles were lit.
“I’m devastated,” said Kim Netupsky, a neighbor who lives six blocks away. “I’m a dog walker, I’ve probably had a gazillion keys made.”
Al Lopez, a sculptor and painter, used to make large fiberglass animal sculptures; Mr. Franquinha would display them in the garden.
“He’s like the mayor of Williamsburg,” Mr. Lopez, 41, said.
Mr. Lopez, who met Mr. Franquinha in college just before he took over the shop, said he had immediately been taken by the store’s strong feeling of community.
“It’s sad, there’s no more room for small businesses in New York City anymore,” Mr. Lopez said. “The neighborhood is not really set up for success. How many empanadas do you have to sell to make a $13,000 rent?”
As the wake portion of the evening came to a close, the crowd parted, and band members tunneled through, clapping and sounding a trombone as they paraded out. The congregants followed, twirling red bandannas in the air as the line snaked through empty aisles.
“We’re all gutted,” said Holly Kinski, who wore a black jumpsuit with a Crest logo on the back, which she had cut out of a tote bag and sewn on just an hour before the funeral. “It’s a huge hit to the community. It wasn’t just a hardware store.”
The mourners marched down Conselyea Street, where they danced with their parasols and sang “This Little Light of Mine,” collecting passers-by and delighting onlookers.
Ryan Robbins and his wife, Alana Campbell, local business owners who run a specialty foods shop, sang along with their two children, ages 9 and 7.
“We’ve grown our family along with the store, and our house along with the store, and our business along with the store,” he said. “None of it would be the same without Crest. They’re family.”
Slowly, the mass turned the corner into Union Pool. As the last nubs of the candles melted, horns blasted in a raucous live concert in the back room.
“In order for this world to be OK we need more places like Crest,” Mr. Anderson said.
