I was raised—and still reside—in the anthracite coal region of Pennsylvania. I come from a long line of immigrants—Italian, Slovak, German—who came to Northeastern Pennsylvania seeking work in the booming coal industry of the time.

I carry deep respect for those not-so-distant ancestors. Life in the mines was anything but easy. Stories of long hours, dangerous conditions, and harsh treatment have been passed down through my family for generations.

The coal industry of Northeast PA became infamous for brutal working conditions, low wages, and monopolistic practices—company ownership of housing, transportation, even the stores where workers spent their pay. Entire towns revolved around a single corporation. Our region played a major role in the push for labor laws and increased government oversight.

To this day there is a sense of local pride around that fact—that our area helped bring about reforms that improved working conditions. A friend once said to me, “I don’t understand how you can be a libertarian having grown up in Northeast PA.”

That statement stayed with me.

Because my framework around government tends to revolve around incentives, I began asking a different question: What actually caused the consolidation of power in the coal industry? Was it simply that the free market was “too free”? Or was there more at play?

After digging into the history, the answer became more nuanced. What emerged wasn’t a simple morality tale. It was a hybrid system—where state charters, land privileges, transportation control, and corporate consolidation reinforced one another.

In many ways, it resembled the dynamic I explored in my Gilded Age essay: not pure capitalism, but a fusion of political power and private industry.

Here’s what that history looked like.

The coal fields were geographically concentrated—just a few hundred square miles in Northeastern Pennsylvania. That alone created natural advantage. But consolidation was reinforced—and often structured—through state-granted charters and legal privileges.

Certain companies were granted the right not only to mine coal but to control transportation routes. The Lehigh Coal & Navigation Company, for example, received monopoly rights to improve navigation along the Lehigh River—effectively controlling how coal left the region.

Pennsylvania law technically prohibited railroads from directly owning coal fields. But the Philadelphia & Reading Railroad created a separate corporate entity to do exactly that—allowing the same interests to control both mining and transportation while remaining compliant with state law. The monopoly wasn’t illegal.

Competitive conditions weren’t equal either. Some canal companies were barred by charter from owning coal lands, while others were empowered by the state to mine, ship, and sell coal. Uneven privilege was embedded in law.

In 1865 and 1866, the Pennsylvania legislature passed acts allowing corporations to effectively deputize their own police forces. For a small fee, companies could have “coal and iron police” commissioned by the state—officers selected, paid, and directed by the companies, yet vested with full public law enforcement authority.

The line between public authority and private enterprise blurred. When workers attempted to exercise leverage through strikes, they faced company-controlled police operating under state authority—a clear instance of the state aligning itself with one side of the dispute.

By the time federal intervention came in 1902, consolidation had already taken root. Later reforms unwound what earlier law had enabled—and once intertwined, unwinding it required even more state action.

So how can I be a libertarian from Northeast PA?

Because consolidation followed privilege, not competition.