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A different world — albeit a very small one — still exists on certain blocks in the East Village and on the Lower East Side, where merchants of various generations are still making, fixing or otherwise championing nostalgically tactile niche objects.

A baby boomer who caught the engraving bug as a 16-year-old coin collector in southern Ireland. A Gen X-er who discovered a knack for repairing Game Boy circuitry at the age of 12. A millennial obsessed with pencils. A family business owner in his 50s who, suffice it to say, does not specialize in the cashless movement.

One store has been in operation for over half a century. Another opened four years ago.

How do they survive in our land of high retail rents and ruthless online competition? Read on to find out.

Caroline Weaver, who is semi-famous among Japanese pencil aficianados, at her Lower East Side pencil store.

Caroline Weaver, who is semi-famous among Japanese pencil aficianados, at her Lower East Side pencil store.

“Some people are really confused by the notion that somebody in the 21st century would attempt to open a specialty shop. So they come by.”

A pencil tattoo on Ms. Weaver’s arm.

CW Pencil Enterprise

15 Orchard Street

On a recent afternoon, Caroline Weaver bent down to clean the front window of her Lower East Side pencil shop. “When we’re closed, children put their faces up against the window,” she said. “So there are always very short face smudge marks.”

Ms. Weaver, 28, had just returned from sourcing erasers in Japan, where she is a little bit famous. “I go to stationary stores there and people know who I am,” she said. “It’s super weird.” A Japanese version of her book, “Pencil Perfect: The Untold Story of a Cultural Icon,” will be released there in January.

Ms. Weaver says that much of her foot traffic is driven by curiosity. “Some people are really confused by the notion that somebody in the 21st century would attempt to open a specialty shop. So they come by.”

And she’s noticed a lot of younger people interested in her pencils. “When I opened the shop in 2015, I never thought I’d have high school kids coming in that, like, care about this stuff,” she said.

Jade Lo, 17, a student at Stuyvesant High School, cares so much that she has been interning at CW Pencils for a year. “She sought us out,” Ms. Weaver said, “and is even writing her college admissions essay about the pencil.”

Her patrons run the gamut: musicians who need to write on sheet music are particularly keen on an easy-to-erase Japanese pencil designed in the 1980s.

And then there are the orchestra librarians. “I can’t keep track of them,” she said. And yesterday, an N.Y.U. student came in looking for special pencils for his LSAT.

Recently, Amy and David Sedaris stopped by (Ms. Sedaris is partial to a pink pencil called Futura No. 2).

If there is a competitive tension to be had between her and another local shopkeeper, it would probably be John Casey, of Casey Rubber Stamps, since they both sell desk-centric items. But the two get along just fine. At first, Ms. Weaver said he was grumpy toward her. But “since he found out I run a pencil shop, she said, “he was like, ‘O.K., you’re one of us.’”

“For a 400-square-foot place, we do a lot here,” said John Casey, the owner of Casey Rubber Stamps.

“For a 400-square-foot place, we do a lot here,” said John Casey, the owner of Casey Rubber Stamps.

There are only three East Coast companies left who make stamps the old-fashioned way.

Casey Rubber Stamps

322 East 11th Street

“I’m dying,” said John Casey, in a thick Irish accent. It was 1 p.m., opening time for his rubber stamps emporium. “I was at Mona’s Bar over on Avenue B with jazz musician friends ’til 4 a.m.”

Mr. Casey, 69, pointed to his cardboard box of Harriet Tubman stamps, which are currently having a moment, then to the wood shaper that carves finger grooves into his white-maple stamps. “For a 400-square-foot place, we do a lot here,” said Mr. Casey, who opened the store in 1979.

One surprising seller: a manhole in various sizes that says “NYC Sewer.” Casey personally prefers a more engraved look, like his stamps with 1920s images of speakeasy ladies that used to be on cigarette boxes in nightclubs. “Got them from an old matchbook company catalog. They’re politically incorrect today, but that doesn’t stop them from being fun.”

According to Mr. Casey’s mold supplier, there are only three East Coast companies left who make stamps the old-fashioned way (with rubber). The type of molding Mr. Casey depends on is primarily used in the packing industry. If the material (bakelite matrix board) were to cease being used in the packing industry, Mr. Casey would have to switch to a more modern system.

“The great thing is I’m on people’s New York bucket list. People want to come and see,” said Mr. Casey. “I get a lot of Argentines and Germans. I get a lot of Japanese. I’m known in Taiwan.”

“We cater to collectors who prefer to see and touch what they are buying in person and not through a web browser,” said the owner of 8 Bit & Up.

“We cater to collectors who prefer to see and touch what they are buying in person and not through a web browser,” said the owner of 8 Bit & Up.

8 Bit & Up, in the East Village. 

8 Bit & Up

86 East Third Street

A neon-green “VIDEO GAMES” sign and a busty Lara Croft mannequin are in the window of this street-level store. Once inside, customers will find Sonic the Hedgehog hooked up to an old TV and pristine orange Duck Hunt guns lining the walls.

On a recent rainy evening, a low murmur of explosions and karate chop “hi-YAs” could be heard throughout the store.

“Want a bev?” asked Marcus Richardson, the manager, sipping a Capri Sun. “The front row is like crack,” he said of the display case. “If it’s any good, I put it up there.”

The display case’s crack is running a bit low tonight. The only Mario option for Game Boy is Mario Picross, which Mr. Richardson, 40, likens to “old lady word jumble.” Still, it’s advisable, he said, to peruse the front row carefully. Castlevania (a “gamer’s game”) is there, as is Tetris Attack (“which is not original Tetris, but kind of good”).

Mr. Richardson said that he sources his inventory from eBay and “bartering from other nerds.”

But staying in business has been challenging, said Joe Tartaglia, the store’s owner.

“The only thing you can do is specialize in a niche,” he explained. “Ours is selling vintage video games — we do not sell any new games. That, you can defend and dominate.” Mr. Tartaglia said that he tries to sell things that are hard to get and hard to ship, like arcade cabinets.

“We cater to collectors who prefer to see and touch what they are buying in person and not through a web browser,” he continued. “All we can do is try to add value that they cannot, like doing repairs, letting people try things out before they buy, and giving honest advice.”

Restaurants and bars (especially bars in Brooklyn) who dig the old-school look help keep Brian Faerman, pictured above, in business.

Restaurants and bars (especially bars in Brooklyn) who dig the old-school look help keep Brian Faerman, pictured above, in business.

Faerman Cash Register Co. has been on the Bowery since 1965, when there were five cash register stores within a five-block radius. 

Faerman Cash Register Co.

159 Bowery

Brian Faerman’s store has been between Broome and Delancey Streets since 1965, when there were five cash register stores within a five-block radius.

Today Faerman’s feels like a museum. Two long aisles are chock-full of 125-pound cash registers, which have varying degrees of ornateness. There’s a baby blue one from the ’40s, as well as the first electric model produced by National Cash Register.

One of Mr. Faerman’s current favorites is a brass behemoth custom made for a turn-of-the-century bar owner. “Instead of having to ring up five individual pennies, all you did was press this monster’s five cent beer button right here.”

Restaurants and bars (especially bars in Brooklyn) that have an old-school look make up a substantial part of Mr. Faerman’s business. Set designers also rent and buy registers from him. Danny DeVito visited the store once. “It didn’t matter that he didn’t want to buy a cash register,” Mr. Faerman said. “We joked around. An honest, nice guy.”

While customers are allowed to tinker with the registers, Mr. Faerman errs on the side of safety. “Watch your belly, the drawer is going to spring out!” Ka-Ching!

Mr. Faerman, 57, a third-generation cash register guy, has grown used to the unexpected. Five years ago a customer scooped up an entire row of “brassies.” He seems to miss them. “Every one of them was beautiful,” he said. The customer paid $28,000 for them, Mr. Faerman said, then gave the lot away as Christmas presents.

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