Aug 21, 2016

What’s a 19th-century blacksmith shop doing in the middle of Baltimore? That’s the question on the mind of many visitors who wander into G. Krug & Son, a blacksmith shop on Saratoga Street near Lexington Market. The owner once boasted that there can hardly be a building in Baltimore that doesn’t contain something from his shop, even if it was only a nail.

: Iron railings in Baltimore, September 4, 1980, of the style often built by G. Krug & Son over the years. Given the time and skill necessary to produce them, ornate ironworks like these were once considered a status symbol. (Irving Henry Phillips Jr./Baltimore Sun)

: Iron railings in Baltimore, September 4, 1980, of the style often built by G. Krug & Son over the years. Given the time and skill necessary to produce them, ornate ironworks like these were once considered a status symbol. (Irving Henry Phillips Jr./Baltimore Sun)

: Caste iron grill work on Franklintown road, 1940. (Baltimore Sun)

: Ironworking at G. Krug & Son in 1977. (Richard Childress/Baltimore Sun)

: Ray Zeleny stands in front of G. Krug & Son in 1977. (Richard Childress/Baltimore Sun)

: Theodore Krug, Warren Miller, Peter and Steve Krug. January 30, 1980. (Baltimore Sun)

: G. Krug & Son in 1977.

: Charles A. Bullock is in charge of the painting department for G. Krug & Son. October 14, 1989. (Jed Kirschbaum/Baltimore Sun)

: Clay Miller checks fitting on a lamp fixture. October 14, 1989. (Jed Kirschbaum/Baltimore Sun)

: Iron grill work balcony hints at past prosperity of boarded businesses on Ensor street. August 16, 1970. (A. Aubrey Bodine/Baltimore Sun)

: Old ledger books at G. Krug & Son show designs for fire escapes, of the kind ubiquitous in Baltimore’s row homes. (Christina Tkacik/Baltimore Sun)

: An old ledger book at G Krug & Son shows orders from the 1910s, including one for doors at the Walters Gallery. (Christina Tkacik/Baltimore Sun)

: The “brag room” upstairs at G. Krug & Son shows some of the shop’s more ornate — and expensive — designs. (Christina Tkacik/Baltimore Sun)

: Travis Manar in the office of G. Krug & Son in Baltimore. (Christina Tkacik/Baltimore Sun)

: The desk of Gustav Krug, who took over the blacksmith shop in the 1850s. Today, his great great grandson Peter, runs the shop. (Christina Tkacik/Baltimore Sun)

: An antique sign advises workers at G. Krug & Son of their entitlement to workmen’s compensation. “As a blacksmith, you have to expect that you will get burned at some point,” says Manar. “It’s a matter of learning how to avoid it.” (Christina Tkacik/Baltimore Sun)

Baltimore boasts several of the U.S.A.’s “oldest continually-run” institutions. There’s the bar (The Horse You Rode in On Saloon), the tattoo parlor (Charlie’s), heck, even the jail. Here’s another one for the list: G. Krug & Son, which has been forging and welding Baltimore’s nails, locks, rails, and more since 1810.

When he comes to work in the morning, Peter Krug is carrying on a centuries-old tradition begun by his great great grandfather, Gustav Krug, who emigrated to the United States from Germany in the last century. After initially working as a journeyman in Pennsylvania, the elder Krug ended up in Baltimore as a master blacksmith at Andrew Merker Blacksmiths, which opened in 1810. When Andrew Merker passed away, he took over the business and gave it his own name.

Throughout much of history, blacksmith shops like G. Krug & Son were essential for any city to arise. (Where else would you get your nails?) While blacksmiths no longer play the essential role they once did, G. Krug & Son remain in business partly thanks to the plentiful restoration work they do.

“It is a really neat feeling,” Krug says, of continuing the legacy begun by his ancestors. “It is something that’s a rarity and you really do take pride in. I want to see it continue.”

He has help with that from Travis Manar, age 20, a former historical reenactor who today works as a blacksmith at G. Krug & Son. In the workshop, Manar demonstrates the craft for visitors (the shop recently opened a museum), heating up metal to the thousands of degrees necessary before it’s pliable — then twisting and manipulating into the shapes seen adorning railings and windows of Baltimore.

Manar’s shapes are fairly simple: a scroll, or a twist. But upstairs in the shop’s “brag room,” a visitor sees examples of some of the more ornate designs from years ago. Screens for bank windows. Railings for fire escapes. Candelabras, fire sticks. An old ledger book includes order numbers for double doors at the Walters Gallery in 1917, and a fire escape on North Gay Street.

Turning a straight metal into an organic curved shape is among the most challenging tasks a blacksmith faces. That — and avoiding burns. “As a blacksmith, you have to expect that you will get burned at some point,” says Manar. “It’s a matter of learning how to avoid it.”