Amid Uncertainty About His Future, a Ukrainian Locksmith Keeps the City Secure

Pidneybennyi and Drach pose after installing a J-bar in Bushwick. (Credit: Lauren Hartley)

On a recent afternoon, Roman Pidnebennyi used an electric lock pick gun to slice through the lock of a Crown Heights apartment with ease – no damage to the front door – a skill he flexes seven days a week to feed his family.

A New York City locksmith, Pidnebennyi knows how to fix, repair, and replace locks ranging from century-old antiques to modern smart systems. He completed roughly 800 jobs last year — about two to three a day. It’s an unexpected career for the 36-year-old Ukrainian, who came to the U.S. 14 years ago on a student visa and has a bachelor’s degree in economics and law.

Pidnebennyi and his friend and former trainee, Oleksii Drach, 34, both gained asylum under the Biden administration and currently hold Temporary Protected Status (TPS), which shields Ukrainians from deportation due to the war with Russia. But that shield is fragile: TPS for Ukrainians is set to expire in October 2026, and President Donald Trump has threatened to eliminate it.

“I feel terrible about the immigration changes,” Pidneybennyi said. “A feeling of uncertainty, lack of confidence in the future. Sometimes it is better not to open the news so as not to spoil your mood. And this concerns not only me but also my wife and child. Sometimes there is a feeling that you are knocking on a closed door.”

The uncertainty that Pidneybennyi feels has pushed both men to pursue EB-1 visas — a green card pathway reserved for individuals who demonstrate extraordinary ability in their field. If the men lose their protected status before they earn EB-1 visas, their ability to apply for other types will be limited.

Drach, 34, also arrived in the United States on a student visa. That was 11 years ago. He worked in restaurants for a while. Then he met Pidnebennyi through mutual friends. “I met him first time, he trust me, I trust him,” said Drach, who made Pidnebennyi the godfather to his daughter. Now, Drach runs his own company, Top Locksmith, while Pidnebennyi operates Undersky Locksmith.

The locksmith business does not require a formal education, but it is a hard industry to crack. Much of the expertise is gained on the job, often taught by an experienced locksmith willing to tutor an apprentice. Locks can vary widely depending on the neighborhood, the building’s age, and even the type of door, making hyperlocal knowledge — learned outside of a classroom — essential. The community is close-knit, and mentors can be hard to find.

In the city, locksmiths need a license, which requires two recommendations from those who are licensed, or a certificate from a locksmithing school, and they must pass a background check. There are 2,480 active locksmith licenses in New York, with 535 issued since 2020.

Roman Pidnebennyi pictured in front of the door whose lock he just repaired. (Credit: Lauren Hartley)

A bit of luck and kindness opened the doors for Pidnebennyi. Eleven years ago, an Israeli man who was going to leave the locksmith business and move to Pennsylvania took Pidnebennyi under his wing. He trained the young Ukrainian and referred clients to him, setting him up for success.

“I’m zero patient,” jokes Pidnebennyi, 36, invoking the term for the first person to fall ill from a disease outbreak to his own position as one of the first Ukrainian locksmiths in New York City. He takes other immigrants under his wing now as the seasoned professional. Along with Drach, he has trained about 10 other Ukrainian locksmiths.

Though he does not have the security of U.S. citizenship, locksmithing has given Pidnebennyi a large measure of financial security. That is the word he spreads to others who arrive from Kyiv and other war-ravaged cities in need of a fresh start.

“It’s pretty good business,” Pidneybennyi said. “It’s pretty good money, but if you own your business, it’s 24/7 business, so we need to be always on a phone. There is no vacation days, there is no rest days, no weekends, seven days a week, you need to work.”

While still a minority, Ukrainians have carved out a visible niche among the city’s locksmiths. Many operate independently but maintain strong informal networks, training each other or referring business to one another. New York City, home to over 150,000 Ukrainian Americans, has the largest Ukrainian population in the U.S.

“New York is a city with one of the most mobile populations — people move frequently,” Pidneybennyi wrote in an email. “A new apartment means a new lock, which keeps us busy all year round.”

He lives in a rent-stabilized one-bedroom in Ditmas Park with his wife, son, and in-laws. While most of his work is in Brooklyn, he’ll drive two to three hours for larger jobs. He says he earns at least $120,000 a year.

Pidneybennyi said that he’s able to make more money and charge his clients less by working independently instead of working for a big company. While the locksmith business is generally considered to be recession-resistant, Pidnebennyi says there are slow periods when projects are fewer. He tries to savor the slow times, which he says never last long, by enjoying some free time and getting out of town with his family.

Drach appreciates the flexibility of being his own boss. He can drop off and pick up his daughter from school and take her to gymnastics.

On a sunny April afternoon, Drach held a drill to install a J-bar on the door of an apartment building in Bushwick. As schemes to steal packages are an omnipresent threat, residents request J-bars, a metal bar wedged under door handles that makes forced entry from the outside more challenging.

The two men say their work can lead to bizarre encounters. After all, their job is customer service. Drach described one recent request.

“I got a call from a guy like, ‘I need to open the door; how much is it going to be?’ I’m telling him like, ‘okay, it’s $175.’ He’s like, ‘Do I need to pay right now?’”

“Of course, when the job is done you need to pay,” Drach recalls telling him. “And he’s like, ‘Actually I don’t have this money. And actually this is not my apartment, but can you still come and open it?’”

“I’m like, ‘Okay. No,’” Drach said, retelling the story, laughing.

There are also harder moments. Locksmiths are often called during evictions to change locks the moment a tenant is forced to leave. That can be emotionally taxing.

Pidnebennyi credits his business success to living by his values of transparency, punctuality, and kindness. His car is spotless, an indication of how meticulous he is on the job, with mounts for both his personal and work phones. In an industry known at times by scammers and mistrust, people want someone they can rely on in an emergency.

He relates to those who need protection. His mother and brother remain in Ukraine, where war and trauma have become daily realities, and where the fear is palpable.

“So basically, each night you’re going to hear the noise from these drones flying, and people just don’t know where they’re going,” Pidnebennyi said of the situation back home. “They’re flying—maybe right next to your house. So yeah, people live in stress.”

Both Pidnebennyi and Drach are now focused on growing their businesses and helping other Ukrainians find steady footing in America. Pidnebennyi describes Drach as a “popular guy.” If Drach meets a Ukrainian looking for work, one of the two men will train him.

“We keep America safe,” Pidnebennyi said.