The Sound of East Harlem, in a Hardware Store

David Gonzalez/The New York Times

With all the changes that have washed over East Harlem, it was only a matter of time before the cowbells, maracas and drumsticks that once made music echo through the fabled neighborhood’s streets ended up under glass. Just steps off Lexington Avenue and 107th Street - inside a storefront still adorned by a sign declaring “HARDWARE STORE” â€" lies an array of instruments, pictures and other mementos from the golden age of Latin music.

It feels like a museum, though the collection’s owner, Johnny Cruz, prefers to call it a gallery â€" Tiffany Music Gallery. And he is quick to add that while the instruments on display won’t be played, he is recording Latin music in the back, having just released an album in tribute tothe crooner Adalberto Santiago.

Unlike the old days, when Mr. Cruz’s own band had nonstop gigs and music was everywhere - from parks and projects to dance halls and basement clubs - it’s hard now to make a buck as a musician, never mind a gallery owner. But that’s not his motivation.

“I don’t do this for the money, because if I did, I’d be broke,” he said. “I’ve been collecting artifacts, videos and pictures for 35 years. Man, what the hell, this is my place so let me put this together. It’s been a dream of mine to do this.”

The place had started out decades ago as a hardware store founded by his father, Arcadio, who also did construction. Johnny helped out, but then embarked on a music career with a charanga band. In time, music became a sideline, as he took a job as the residential manager of a luxury building near Rockefeller Center. He returned to his East Harlem r! oots about 20 years ago to take over the hardware business from his father.

When Johnny Cruz first came back to the store, the area was hot - and not in the way real estate agents like to describe it now. Crime and drugs made parts of it rough. But his father had earned a lot of good will in the area, which his son capitalized on. He bought the building where the store was located, renting it out to locals who did not pay top dollar but were more reliable than others looking for a way station.

As the area became popular, and pricier, with an influx of people who would have shunned it a decade ago, Mr. Cruz started noticing other changes, especially in the cash register. About a year and a half ago, he closed the hardware store.

“The mom-and-pop stores are gone,” he said. “You know, Home Depot arrives, Costco, and all the things you sell for 40 they sell for 20. You can’t compete with that.”

Now music, that’s something else. Relying on his own skills in construction, Mr. Cuz remade the spot, framed dozens of pictures and hauled out everything from Hector Lavoe’s old guitar to Pete “El Conde” Rodriguez’s guiro. On one wall he displayed a set of drumsticks he said were the last ones used by Tito Puente. Nearby is a cowbell.

“You know who Jay and the Americans are, right” Mr. Cruz asked. “That’s the cowbell used by a Puerto Rican percussionist who played with them, Orlando Rodriguez. He gave me that bell.”

A few weeks ago, he hosted a small gathering for friends and fans. People milled about inside, snacking on ham and chicken and trading stories. Betty B.P. Cole, a photographer who grew up in the area, gave a big smile when she saw Mr. Cruz.

“I have pictures of this place when it was a hardware store,” she said. “I came in one day and the music was playing on a CD. Johnny said, ‘That’s my band.’ Then he started singing to it, live!”

For a ce! rtain generation, that was how the music was always done. Ms. Cole grew enthusiastic when she recalled how her father used to go to the park and play songs. She stomped out a rhythm as she recalled him singing “Aye Choferito,” one of his favorites.

“When I walk around now, you don’t hear it so much,” she said. “There used to be a garden across from here where they had music, and people could just come out and relax. I got beautiful pictures of people playing congas there. But the landlord sold it to developers. Now the people who used to play there have to find another place.”

She grew serious. Then she smiled.

“It was a wholesome time,” she said. “Even if nobody had money.”