Sign of the Past

Like a hillside suddenly exposed in a construction site, layers of time are unexpectedly revealed when secrets from the past come to light. One such event occurred in the mid 1990s that had the attention of the entire community of Astoria. After a building was torn down, a formerly hidden wall, with an ad, was exposed. Its paint looked as fresh as if it was applied yesterday.
“Charles Krakenberg” it stated in bold letters. “Blacksmith and Wheelwright.” “Wagon and Truck Builder.”
Carefully wrought letters, traced with a shadow in contrasting color, spoke of a font popular a century ago. As a modern touch, the cream colored wall also bore the work of recent “artists” – for graffiti marred its lower reaches.
It was a prominent location under the El (31st Street near 39th Avenue) where thousands of people could notice it as they passed each day. Photographers came from miles around to snap a picture. It was soon the “talk of the town.” How ironic. Businesses often bewail when multimillion dollar advertising campaigns are ignored, but here was a business long dead basking in the public’s attention. Mr. Krakenberg was a celebrity.
However, the mystery was soon solved for it seems that friends of the Krakenberg family must have still been around. Soon a great-granddaughter stepped forward to tell us of “Charles the Blacksmith.” A portrait emerged.
Carl Krakenberg (as he was baptized) was born in 1843 in Dortmund, Germany, and, as so many of his countrymen, moved to America and settled in the early years of Long Island City. At that time the city had a sizable German population.
He opened a blacksmith business. His work consisted of being a farrier (horseshoeing), making wagon wheels (‘wheelright’) and doing minor forge or metal work. The shop was at 28-18 33rd Avenue.
By the 1870s, Charles had married Charlotte Ott and they had children. As the 19th century drew to a close a son, Adam Charles, joined him in the shop. In those days, they were so busy they often had to take on extra help. But times soon caught up with them. Revenues from a trade stuck in the time of the horse and buggy dried up – as the rest of the country took off down the road of the automobile age. Even worse, son Adam had no stomach for the farrier part of the blacksmithing business. It was one thing to make horseshoes – quite something else to put them on. The family recalled that he was “too soft-hearted to pound nails into a horse’s hoof.” When Charles died in 1923, the blacksmith shop was a relic of the past.
The business held on for a few more years repairing leaf springs for the new horseless carriage, before succumbing to the inevitable: it became an auto repair shop in the late ‘20s. When a grandson closed the doors for good in 1963, it was the end of an era.
It was the last old time ‘smithys’ of Long Island City.