Who the Heck Was Obadiah Gore? (And Why You’ve Never Heard of Him)

Before the Boom, There Was a Guy with a Hammer

Let’s set the scene: It’s the late 1700s. Luzerne County isn’t much more than trees, rivers, and rumors of black rock that burns. And in the middle of this pre-industrial nowhere, there’s a man named Obadiah Gore.

Not a general. Not a president. A blacksmith.

But don’t let that fool you—Obadiah helped light the fire (literally) under what would become one of the most important fuel revolutions in American history: the rise of anthracite coal.

⚒️ The Spark That Changed the Valley

Anthracite coal is tough stuff. Hard to burn, hard to break, and harder still to figure out what to do with—unless you’re Obadiah Gore.

While other folks in the Wyoming Valley were just trying to keep their cabins warm, Obadiah was experimenting. Tinkering. He found that under the right conditions—steady airflow, intense heat, and a little grit—this black rock could burn long, hot, and clean.

It wasn’t just fuel. It was fuel for an empire.

And suddenly, this unassuming stretch of northeastern Pennsylvania had what cities like New York and Philadelphia desperately needed.

🏗️ From Forge to Freight Lines

Once word got out, industry followed. Railroads. Canals. Laborers by the thousands. The Delaware & Hudson Canal Company came roaring in by the 1820s. What followed was decades of boomtown energy—and brutal, backbreaking labor.

But before it was all contracts and coal barons, there was Gore’s Forge.

It stood near present-day Wilkes-Barre. Locals say he proved anthracite’s burn potential around 1769. That small experiment quietly rewrote the future of Pennsylvania—and powered the steel, steam, and cities that came after.

🌄 Why It Matters (Still)

Look, we’re all about the future here—AI tools, new economies, seed vaults, NFTs of vegetables. But stories like this? They ground us.

Obadiah Gore didn’t invent anthracite. He didn’t industrialize it. He just saw what others didn’t, tried what others hadn’t, and lit a spark that still echoes.

Innovation often looks like obsession. It starts with one person, one idea, one hammer.

If you’re doing something weird right now—if your work doesn’t make sense to anyone yet—you’re in good company.

📍 Local Legacy

In Plains Township, where Love and Vegetables is re-rooting and new stories are being written, Obadiah’s legacy still smolders beneath the ground. Every coal vein. Every old rail tie. Every family that’s been here since the valley first roared with smoke and ambition.

Remember the name: Obadiah Gore.

He didn’t ask for attention. He just made fire.