DL&W’s primary differentiator: Anthracite.

How one railroad turned Pennsylvania coal into splendor.

Today, it’s hard to imagine coal as a luxury product. But at the height of American rail travel, anthracite wasn’t just fuel; it was a selling point. For the Delaware, Lackawanna & Western Railroad (DL&W), the use of anthracite coal incurred a reputation for clean, comfortable, and modern service.

Why anthracite mattered

Anthracite is the highest grade of coal, and it is especially well-suited for rail travel. Unlike the more common coal (bituminous), anthracite burns hot and slow, generating very little smoke. Cleaner combustion meant there were fewer cinders, fewer sparks, and less soot in the air. These benefits mattered to everyday people who engaged with rail service, whether they were a worker shoveling coal into a firebox or a well-dressed passenger riding in a car.

In the late 1800s and early 1900s, when open windows and unsealed cabins were still the norm, passengers especially noticed the difference. A cleaner-burning fuel meant cleaner air, cleaner clothing, and less irritation in confined spaces. For the railroads, it meant a quieter, more efficient burn that produced steady heat and fewer mechanical problems.

Courtesy of Forgotten Buffalo

A railroad built on coal

The DL&W railroad connected the anthracite-rich hills of eastern Pennsylvania to urban markets in New York and Buffalo. It grew into one of the most powerful anthracite railroads in the country, shipping a large portion of Pennsylvania’s coal production to key industrial areas and populated cities.

By the turn of the century, the DL&W had expanded from hauling coal in six-ton wooden “jimmies” to operating forty- and fifty-ton steel hopper cars. Coal-carrying carts were loaded from above and emptied from below, making it easier and faster to move coal at scale. Infrastructure kept pace with demand, improving efficiency at every step.

That investment in freight capacity also supported the railroad’s ambitions in passenger service. As revenue from anthracite shipments flowed in, DL&W poured resources into its stations, rail cars, and amenities. Clean-burning coal helped deliver a cleaner passenger experience, and the company made sure riders knew it.

Comfort and reputation go hand-in-hand.

Riding on a DL&W train meant arriving with your clothing clean, your mood unspoiled, and your luggage free from ash. The company’s reputation for cleanliness and care helped distinguish it from competitors, especially on commuter and intercity routes.

Anthracite became part of the railroad’s public identity. The comfort it offered, especially to refined and well-dressed travelers in close quarters, became one of the DL&W’s most marketable qualities. The company built this promise into its legacy from day one.

The war years and beyond

By 1917, the year construction wrapped on Buffalo’s DL&W terminal, railroads were under enormous pressure. The United States had entered World War I, and troops and materials needed to move quickly and efficiently across the country.

At its peak, the rail system included over 250,000 miles of track and employed nearly two million workers. Federal oversight temporarily replaced private operations to meet wartime demands. As passenger and freight service increased, railroads increased their footprint in towns and cities throughout the United States. While increased rail service provided jobs and commerce, the stations and the tracks defined (and often divided) neighborhoods. None more so than the Old First Ward neighborhood of Buffalo surrounding the DL&W terminal.

Anthracite coal became the primary fuel for freight and passenger locomotives across the Northeast. Railroads that could deliver cleaner, more reliable performance had an advantage, and the DL&W turned that edge into a business model, branding itself as “the Road of Anthracite.”

In Buffalo, that model took physical form in the DL&W terminal: a place shaped by wartime urgency, industrial innovation, and the ambitions of a city on the rise. What began as a response to national demand became a lasting piece of local infrastructure, embedding itself in the daily rhythms of labor, travel, and neighborhood life for decades to come.