This is 99% Invisible.
I'm Roman Mars.
In 1928, a strange phenomenon was sweeping the state of Idaho, a vanishing act of sorts.
A Boise resident would wake up on a typical Monday morning, drag themselves out of bed, get dressed for the day and they would hop in their car to drive to work, not noticing that something was missing.
And suddenly, cops in the rear view.
The next thing that the driver of the car knew they were getting picked up because they weren't displaying a license plate.
Idaho historian Rick Just says license plates, well, they were disappearing.
The Secretary of State was fielding complaints about all the lost tags.
And soon enough, the culprit became clear.
Tourists would come to Idaho and steal the plates.
Idaho's license plates were being snatched up like plush hotel bathrobes.
Yeah, yeah.
People would come up and they would pull up to either a tourist park or a motel or something.
And they would spot those plates and think, you know, I'd like to have a souvenir.
And so they would just take it off of the car and take it home.
And there was a reason why people couldn't resist swiping Idaho plates in particular.
That year, the state had revolutionized license plate design.
That's reporter Daniel Ackerman.
Before this, plates were basic with info like the state name and the registration numbers.
All of this on a pretty simple, solid colored background.
But in 1928, the secretary of state in Idaho had an epiphany.
He was like we have this half square foot of open real estate just rolling around on everyone's cars.
Let's do something with it.
The 1928 plate is often said to be the very first advertising license plate in the country.
The very first one that tried to advertise a product.
And the product that Idaho chose will surprise absolutely no one.
The state's 1928 license plates all featured a single giant potato.
A big, kind of elongated, goofy-looking potato, but big.
It was almost as big as the plate.
The registration numbers were stamped in green lettering, right on top of this lumpy brown spud.
I would say it looks almost fecal in nature.
It does.
The shape particularly, yes, yes.
The execution wasn't perfect, but it was innovative.
Below the tremendous tater, there was even a modest, pragmatic slogan.
Idaho Potatoes.
Today, every state's got a marketing slogan.
Hawaii is the Aloha State.
Missouri is the Show Me State.
But Idaho was the first to put theirs on a license plate.
They wanted to make sure that when people thought about Idaho, they thought potatoes.
And for better or worse, the association stuck.
And now it's gotten to be such a thing.
I mean, coming up here in a few days at New Year's Eve, we drop a potato.
What do you mean?
Well, you know how the Times Square ball comes floating down like that.
Well, we have a big potato that comes floating down.
They've been doing it about 10 years now.
The concept of slapping a tagline onto a license plate might not seem like a big deal, but it turns out this idea would end up having outsized consequences, and not just for Idaho.
We're talking legislative clashes, multiple Supreme Court cases, and even jail time.
Because what started in one state would soon spread, and when it did, the question of what should go on a license plate and what shouldn't would prove surprisingly contentious.
The first state-issued license plates appeared at the very beginning of the 20th century, and they served a mostly bureaucratic function.
More people were buying and crashing cars every year, so state governments originally mandated plates as a way to keep track of all the nuts behind the wheel.
No one was interested in sloganeering.
But then Americans discovered the road trip.
Well, the big factor with increase in automobiles was that it allowed people freedom to roam.
You could go wherever you wanted.
Christine Byron is a former history librarian at the Grand Rapids Public Library.
She focuses on the history of tourism and she says that the rise of the road trip in the 1920s created this huge new tourist market.
Drivers needed services like gas stations and roadside motels that hadn't existed in the age of steam-powered travel.
Traveling east.
When you traveled by steamship or railroad, you pretty much brought what you needed with you and your meals were served at a resort.
But once the automobile came along, there was a lot more money that needed to be spent.
From the state's perspective, all those new tourist dollars were up for grabs.
So states started letting the world know what they had to offer.
Arizona had the Grand Canyon, Minnesota its lakes, New Mexico its average 310 days of sunshine per year.
And in this war for tourists, states promoted themselves anywhere they could national magazines, various automobile guides, the Blue Guide, the Green Book and, of course, tons and tons of promotional brochures.
But no one thought to advertise on a license plate until 1928, when Idahoans realized that their plates were too valuable to waste on just a registration number.
And Rick Just says once Idaho staked its starchy flag on the license plate, the rush was on.
License plates became a different thing because of that potato.
States spent the middle of the century transforming their plates from austere government documents into colorful boosters of tourism and industry.
You could even think of them as miniature little ads that are driving all over the state and all over the country hopefully.
In 1940, Arizona stamped Grand Canyon State on its plates and never looked back.
In 1950, Minnesota went with Land of 10,000 Lakes.
Meanwhile, New Mexico actually put Sunshine State on its plates in 1932, before Florida muscled in on the slogan in 1949.
Florida, for the record, only has an average of 237 days of sunshine per year, but whatever.
Wisconsin was America's daring land.
Maine was vacation land.
Other states couldn't make up their minds.
Michigan's plate, for example, initially sported the phrase Water Wonderland in 1954.
Which then evolved into Winter Water Wonderland.
Followed by Great Lakes State, Great Lakes, and Great Lakes Splendor.
In 1970 Michigan's State Tourism Council actually adopted the slogan The Michigans, the almost islands of the Great Lakes.
But sadly, that plate never happened.
Today, license plates like these are a national institution and it's fun in a kitschy Americana kind of way.
Each state is earnestly trying to put its best foot forward.
So what could possibly be wrong here?
It turns out, quite a bit.
Because, as fun as some of these plates might have been at half a square foot, a license plate is a small canvas.
And when you have to pick one symbol to represent an entire state, you are not going to please everyone.
And this has caused trouble from the get-go.
In 1928, when Idaho unleashed the potato plates, it didn't go over all that well.
People detested those license plates.
Lots of Idahoans, it turned out, resented being associated with the state's cash crop.
Particularly people from northern Idaho, because they don't grow potatoes up there.
Really, it's a kind of a southeastern Idaho thing.
Newspaper editorials called it an embarrassment.
One headline actually read, why bring that up?
And probably it's a good thing that they just dropped the idea entirely and went back to numbers in 1929.
No motto, no graphics, and certainly no potatoes.
And license plate quarrels weren't unique to Idaho.
Florida had to dump one of its plate designs after residents complained that the grapefruit with a stem attached looked more like a bomb.
Massachusetts meanwhile, tried to put a codfish right next to its state's name, only to be blamed by fishermen for a poor catch that year, because the fish on the plate was swimming away from the word Massachusetts.
These dust-ups over license plate design can seem like small potatoes, but the fight over license plates was about to be taken to the next level, thanks to a politician named Meldrum Thompson.
In this critical battle for the survival of America, we shall not tolerate a no-win settlement.
Thompson was a titan of New Hampshire politics in the 1970s.
He served three terms as governor, and he was a conservative firebrand who hated Democrats.
We must drive from the seats of power in the White House, Congress and the State Department all of the foul brood of commie lovers.
Thompson had a lot of unorthodox ideas, including wanting to arm the New Hampshire National Guard with nuclear weapons.
And he was obsessed with freedom.
Here's Thompson's dorky campaign song.
Live free or die, don't let the freedom pass you by.
Stand up proud and strong and lead this country on.
Live free or die, of course, is New Hampshire's fiery state motto.
It was coined by a Revolutionary War vet.
And Thompson loved it so much that before he became governor he worked with allies in the state legislature to get it slapped on every car in the state.
And I don't know of any more prominent place to carry a message than right on the license plate.
That's the best billboard of all.
In 1971, the slogan on the state's license plate changed from scenic New Hampshire to live free or die.
But not everyone embraced the state's message.
It's ridiculous.
At 88 years old, George Maynard still gets heated about the New Hampshire license plate.
And for good reason.
It changed the course of his life.
George grew up in Rhode Island.
He married a woman, Maxine, who he'd actually met in junior high.
They settled into a pretty typical family life.
They had kids.
George got a job as a newspaper printer.
And then something happened, like really abruptly.
In 1956, four years after I got married, the witnesses came to my house.
They told me that God had a name, and his name was Jehovah.
George and his family joined the Jehovah's Witnesses and by 1972 they had moved to Claremont, New Hampshire.
That's where the trouble started.
Every day, George would hop in his car and drive to work at the local printing press with his New Hampshire license plates screaming in all caps LIVE FREE OR DIE.
And this really graded on George, because he didn't share Meldron Thompson's belief of freedom over everything.
As a Jehovah's Witness, George actually believed that God-given life was more important than freedom.
Oh, that's right.
Definitely.
And the real existence of life is very precious.
Life is a gift.
And we appreciate it very much.
George didn't want the government telling him what to die for.
So then one day I decided you know, if it's offensive, why should we be forced to support something that's offensive?
So I covered it up with red tape.
And when he erased the state motto, George marched to the front lines of the license plate wars.
Covering up the slogan was a violation of state law.
But a few weeks went by and not much happened.
Until one day, George and Maxine were shopping.
They left the store.
They got to their car in the parking lot and they saw a police officer writing them a ticket.
George told me he'd been expecting this for a while.
He didn't actually feel scared or surprised.
Well, I was happy.
Yeah, because I was expressing my belief, my rejection of something.
George refused to pay the $25 ticket.
And of course... I kept the tape on.
I did it again.
The tickets piled up until his consistent refusal to pay landed him in court.
And the judge put him away for 15 days.
And so if you don't want to live free or die, you go to jail in New Hampshire.
Two weeks may not seem like hard time, but the sentence had a huge impact on George's life.
When he didn't show up for work, he got fired.
And he was embarrassed that his kids had to see him hauled away.
Things were tough for the Maynards.
But George still wasn't done fighting.
With the help of the American Civil Liberties Union, he filed suit in New Hampshire, claiming the state's law prohibiting the altering of license plates was unconstitutional.
And the state court agreed.
But Meldrum, live free or die, Thompson, had become governor by then.
And Thompson was not inclined to extend George the freedom to cover up his beloved motto.
So Thompson appealed the case.
We'll hear arguments next in... All the way to the U.S.
Supreme Court.
75-14-53, Woolley against Maynard.
The license plates collided with the First Amendment before the high court in November of 1976.
During oral arguments, George Maynard's lawyer claimed that in covering up Live Free or Die, George was just exercising his freedom of expression.
License plates are displayed on people's private vehicles.
He argued the government can't just hijack that space and force people to express a certain viewpoint.
And it's our position that the state lacks the power to require its citizens to bear this sort of motto.
I think that if the court were to uphold this sort of thing, then the state could require all citizens to wear a pin or an armband, or they could require you to have a plaque on your door, next to your address, saying live free or die.
New Hampshire countered with, what's the big deal?
Just because it's on the license plate doesn't mean every driver believes in it.
And sometimes it seemed like the court was buying it, like Justice Thurgood Marshall.
The first time I noticed the mocktail was after this case was filed.
I had never paid any attention to it.
I noticed New Hampshire license.
I said, well, there's somebody from New Hampshire.
But I didn't live or die about it.
Well, most people in New Hampshire don't either.
They accept.
So what was it?
Was a license plate, a declaration of the state's ideology, or just a thing that says nothing at all, since everybody had one?
George couldn't make it to D.C. for the ruling.
He actually found out the same way as everyone else.
From CBS News headquarters in New York, this is the CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite.
The Supreme Court ruled today that drivers may not be compelled to.
Cronkite came on our news and says that
The Supreme Court ruled in our favor that you could tape over the state models.
And so that was nice.
The court, in effect, gave them permission to tape over the offensive words.
I think the court got it right in the Maynard case.
Caroline Mala-Corbin is a First Amendment scholar at the University of Miami.
She says the court's 6-3 decision hinged on a concept called compelled speech.
The First Amendment protects both your right to speak.
So it protects you against government censorship.
But the Free Speech Clause also protects your right not to speak.
So it protects you against the government forcing you to say an ideological message that you disagree with.
And that was what the problem was here.
They were trying to force you to say something that you don't want to say and you don't want to live by.
In George's homemade solution, that strip of red tape.
It actually held up under the weight of the First Amendment.
And so that's my way of expressing my free speech.
At this point, it might seem like George Maynard's case solved the license plate problem.
Today, if you live in say, New Jersey and object to the notion that you live in the Garden State well, you can cover that sucker up.
Your car is not a government billboard on wheels.
But it turns out the constitutional battle over license plates is not over.
Because after all that was settled, a new problem showed up.
Specialty plates.
You've seen these.
Unlike vanity plates, where drivers choose their own numbers and letters, specialty plates, sport alternate designs with their own logos and slogans.
They're usually put out in collaboration with the government by a non-governmental organization.
When drivers choose a specialty plate, they pay a little extra.
And those proceeds get split between their chosen group and the State Department of Motor Vehicles.
So, for example, in my family, we have a Save the Manatees license plate.
That's a specialty license plate that the state of Florida offers that we paid extra money to purchase.
Why did you choose the manatee plate?
What a ridiculous question.
We want to save the manatee, naturally.
Specialty plates are easy money.
A lot of states will issue one to almost any nonprofit, as long as enough people are interested.
But the problem with an open-door policy is you might not like who comes inside.
And a decade ago, the state of Texas learned that the hard way.
I'm now calling the meeting for November 10 2011 of the board of the Texas Department of Motor Vehicles to order.
Usually, public hearings for the DMV are dull, bureaucratic affairs, poorly attended.
But in 2011, the board of the Texas DMV held a standing-room-only hearing.
So we're going to move to agenda item 5A, which is the approval of specialty license plate.
The DMV board votes on proposed designs for specialty plates.
They generally approve the designs with very little fanfare or scrutiny.
But this one was different.
The Sons of Confederate Veterans wanted Texas to issue a license plate featuring the Confederate battle flag.
And a lot of people weren't happy about it.
Dozens of community leaders showed up to testify.
Good morning.
Thank you very much for letting me come.
That voice you're hearing is Sanfronia Thompson.
She's a Texas Statehouse representative and a black woman born in 1939.
There was a time that I could not even come on the grounds of the Capitol because I was black.
And it's very difficult to be able to see these symbols because they bring back memories.
And to me, it's like sticking poop in the face of black people every day to see them.
That's how repulsive it is.
We have folks who say, well, I'm offended by the SCV plate.
And my response is, and your point?
In favor of the Confederate flag plates was Jerry Patterson.
He's the commissioner of the Texas Land Office and a member of the Sons of Confederate Veterans.
No one has a right to go through life to be unoffended.
Patterson made a First Amendment argument.
He thought that if enough people like him wanted a specialty plate related to Texas history, then the state shouldn't be allowed to prevent him from having it.
There's also some folks who have suggested well now, if you want to do that, have it a Mexican flag plate.
And I say, bring it on.
And if that plate offended anyone?
My response to them is, well, get a grip.
It's going to happen, as it should be.
After two hours of tense testimony, the board held its vote.
All those in favor of denying the plate, please raise your right hand.
All those opposed?
Motion carries unanimously.
The plate is denied.
There would not be a Texas license plate featuring a Confederate flag.
But then the sons of Confederate veterans sued, arguing that the state had violated their free speech rights by targeting speech that they did not like.
Remember, Texas had an open-door policy on specialty plates, which meant that they weren't normally in the business of picking sides.
So the state really was singling out the Sons of Confederate Veterans when it denied their plate.
And once again, there was a lot at stake here.
George Maynard's live for your die case had established that you could reject the state's messaging if it didn't suit you.
But was it okay for the state to reject your message on a state-issued license plate?
We'll hear argument first this morning in case 14-144.
So in 2015, license plates were back in the Supreme Court.
John Walker versus the Texas Division of the Sons of Confederate Veterans.
This was a really close decision, a 5-4 split.
But the court's majority sided with Texas.
The state could deny the Confederate flag plates.
The court acknowledged Jerry Patterson's right to display symbols, even abhorrent ones on say, a bumper sticker.
But they said that right does not extend to license plates.
Because the Supreme Court held that specialty license plates were government speech.
And the government's right to speak is also protected.
Justice Stephen Breyer in his opinion actually pointed to a kind of legal symmetry with the live free or die case.
Just like a state can't force an individual to display a message.
So the Sons of Confederate Veterans cannot force Texas to convey on its license plates a message with which the state does not agree.
Ultimately, the Supreme Court's decision in George Maynard's case didn't resolve all the issues around license plates, and neither will the Texas decision.
Caroline Mala-Corbin thinks license plates will always be a contested space.
A government-issued document displayed on a private vehicle.
It's as if a license plate is a kind of bullhorn, only instead of taking turns speaking...
You have both the government and private individuals shouting into the bullhorn.
The problem is they're both speaking.
And perhaps that's why this little hunk of metal has so often become an ideological battleground, a place for governments and citizens to clash over the identity of an entire state in its attempt to reduce it to a slogan and symbol.
Speeding down the highway.
And those debates are still playing out.
The Supreme Court ruling empowered Texas to keep the Confederate flag off its license plates, but it also empowered states to make the opposite choice.
And at least six have.
If you live in South Carolina Mississippi Alabama Louisiana, Georgia or Tennessee, you can go to your local DMV today and register your car with a state-issued specialty plate bearing a Confederate battle flag.
In a couple of those states Tennessee and South Carolina lawmakers have actually introduced bills that would ban the flag from specialty plates.
But so far, neither bill has gotten a vote.
And in Idaho, although it might not ever make it to the U.S.
Supreme Court, the state's official license plate still raises eyebrows.
And you know, I wish we would change it.
And some folks, like Rick Just, are still less than happy about it.
I don't think that anybody really thinks it's a bad, evil thing or anything.
But, you know, I'm just tired of it.
There is no longer a lumpy brown spot on the license plate.
But the motto still reads, Famous Potatoes.
When we come back, reporter Daniel Ackerman takes us into the subculture of license plate collectors.
You knew they existed.
They do exist.
Stay with us.
So I'm here with Daniel Ackerman.
Hey, Dan.
Hey, Roman.
So I know you talked to some really passionate license plate collectors for this story that we ended up cutting out, but can you tell us more about them?
Yeah, so amateur collectors are really the keepers of this history.
There's not like a Smithsonian Museum of the American license plate or anything like that.
Is this kind of like archived in the basements and attics around the country?
Yeah, exactly.
And one of those archivists is Stuart Berg.
I recently visited Stuart here in Boston to check out his collection, because he's been collecting since he was a kid in the 70s.
And he said he inherited his first plates from his grandfather.
My grandfather had a lot of really cool old cars and there were 21 plates hanging in his garage.
And at one point I took them all down and I actually have every one of those plates except one today.
And the one that I got rid of, I'm dying to get back.
So like every true collector, his collection is perpetually one item short.
Yeah.
Yeah, although he has certainly made up for that missing plate in terms of volume, because at one point he told me his plate collection topped 100000.
Whoa!
How do you even accumulate that many plates?
Roman, I wanted to know that too, but Stuart was pretty reluctant to give up his sources.
Oh, I see.
But when it was at its height, his plate collection.
It was so thorough that you know in the classic car world someone who wanted an accurate vintage plate to go with their vintage car.
They would just call up Stuart.
And I wanted every year that.
If somebody said hey, I need a three-digit plate for my Buick from 1931, can you get me one?
And I'd have it.
So when I went to visit Stuart, we sat out on the pool deck near his condo because of COVID.
And he rolled out this wagon with two huge plastic tubs completely packed with plates.
Each one was in its own little protective sleeve.
And he just started pulling out and showing me some of his favorites, and starting with some of the earliest state-issued license plates, which were from the first decade of the 1900s.
And so what were those like?
They were really fancy.
To me, they actually looked more like fine china than vehicle tags.
And that's because they were literally made of porcelain.
Well, that seems a little too fragile to go on a car.
How does that work?
Yeah, well, he was actually pretty proud that he had some without any chips or dings in them.
But keep in mind, at that time, only really rich people owned cars.
They weren't even that reliable as a mode of transport, but they were definitely a status symbol.
And the license plates kind of played along.
They were this smooth cobalt blue with bold white numbering.
And I can actually show you one if you'd like to see it.
It was a 1909 No.
5.
Feel how heavy that is.
Oh, yeah.
It was registered to a James P Stearns 31 Pleasant Street in Brookline Mass, for a three-horsepower Pope Electric.
A Pope Electric?
What's a Pope Electric?
It's an electric car.
Oh, okay.
Well, there you go.
So, I mean, this is before combustion took over.
They were still experimenting with all these different types of engines.
That's how new the automobile was at the time.
Oh, yeah.
Yeah.
So I don't know if you caught that, but the license plate number was just five, as in it was Massachusetts' fifth state license plate.
That is remarkable.
I mean having license plate number five has got to confer some bragging rights in the license plate collection community.
Right.
It absolutely does.
And at the time, it also conferred bragging rights to the owner, like James P. Stearns.
He was a bank president, so he was, you know, kind of high society at the time.
And Stuart also had First Lady Frances Cleveland's license plate, married to President Grover Cleveland and she was number 44.
44 is pretty good.
But I dig it that the era of fancy porcelain plates with low numbers didn't last all that long.
No, and that's thanks mainly to Henry Ford and his Model T.
Cars got way more affordable in the 19-teens and in the first quarter of the century the number of registered cars in the US jumped from 8000 to more than 18 million.
So as early as 1916, Massachusetts was stamping their plates out of tin, which was way cheaper.
So these mass-produced metal plates, they hit the scene.
And that's when license plates, as we talk about in the story, basically become billboards.
Right.
They become this space where states can play around with graphics and slogans.
And Stuart has thousands of examples.
So during our interview, he was pulling out plate after plate after plate.
Like I would try to ask him a question and he would, you know, throw off a one word answer but already be pulling out the next graphic plate to show me.
This is a golden jubilee from the state of Washington from 1939.
The 36 Wyoming was the first year of the bucking bronco.
Mount Rushmore in 1952 was on the plate.
It was the first year of the state shaped plate in Tennessee.
South Carolina in 1930.
They're the iodine state.
They like produce iodine.
Yeah, here's the New York World's Fair.
No real graphics, but it does have a lot of words on it.
Wow.
It's kind of fun to hear all the experimentation that was going on.
Like the Tennessee plate was shaped like Tennessee.
That's pretty cool.
Yeah, he said that one was actually pretty tough to mount on people's cars.
I bet.
Yeah, but you know that experimentation really exploded in the 1970s when states started putting a reflective coating on the license plates.
And that basically let them print really detailed graphics rather than having to like, emboss the shapes into the metal.
So designs got really busy.
And I think that is perhaps best exemplified by the plates that Illinois recently introduced, just back in 2017.
So let's pull that one up.
Oh, yeah.
OK, so there's a lot going on here.
Yeah.
It has the light blue and red of the Chicago flag, which I like.
That looks like the top of the statehouse, I'm assuming.
And then a windmill.
Yeah.
Shout out to rural Illinois.
Yeah, because right next to that is the Chicago skyline.
And then, of course, at the very far left edge is half a face of Abraham Lincoln.
Right.
So there's not even enough room for him.
He's like split right down the nose.
And it has Land of Lincoln, of course, which is their motto.
What's kind of interesting about this is, like this is kind of the opposite of the Idaho potato problem that we talked about in the piece.
I mean, this is not the whole state boiled down into one thing.
This is the whole state boiled down into way too many things to put on a license plate.
Right.
And, you know, it's not pretty because it's not like the canvas gets any bigger.
It's still just this half a square foot and you're cramming ever more onto it.
And so what do you know people like Stuart?
You know license plate collectors make of, you know this kind of graphical onslaught.
Like, what do they think of this as compared to the old plates?
Yeah.
I mean most collectors I talked to expressed a preference for those older plates with the simple sleek design.
But a lot of them also just take the whole thing in stride, because to guys like Stewart, the more the merrier right.
Do you think license plate design has gotten like too busy and complicated?
Um, no, I don't.
Here's the neat plate.
This is one of my favorites.
It's the Georgia peach.
Um, More graphics just means more plates.
It just means more joy for Stuart.
Absolutely, yes.
Just more grist for the collector's mill.
Here's a Texas Centennial plate from 1936.
Here's New Mexico, 1940.
Great graphics on these.
Utah, center scenic America in 1942.
Ohio in 1938.
Here's an early graphic plate from Rhode Island.
41 Hawaii.
Here's an Oklahoma plate with an F in the middle.
That story originally aired in 2021.
It was produced by Daniel Ackerman, edited by Joe Rosenberg, original tech production by Bryson Barnes.
Remix by Martin Gonzalez.
Music by Swan Real.
Special thanks this week to a whole bunch of additional people we interviewed for this story, including Virginia Scharf, Eugene Volokh, Peter Blodgett, Dan Smith, Thomas Wilson and especially Tennessee State Representative GA.
Hardaway, who has been fighting to get the Confederate battle flag off off the state's specialty plates.
Cathy Tu is our executive producer.
Kurt Kolstad is the digital director.
Delaney Hall is our senior editor.
The rest of the team includes Chris Berube, Jason DeLeon, Emmett Fitzgerald, Christopher Johnson, Vivian Leigh, Lashima Dawn Kelly Prime, Jacob Medina-Gleason, Talon and Rain Stradley, and me, Roman Mars.
The 99% visible logo was created by Stephan Lawrence.
We are part of the SiriusXM podcast family, now headquartered six blocks north in the Pandora building in beautiful Uptown Oakland, California.
You can find us on all of the usual social media sites, as well as our own Discord server.
There's a link to that, as well as some pictures of very fun license plates.
And of course, every past episode of 99PI at 99pi.org.
