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Few-Plate Special

Car tags with low numbers are highly coveted and controlled.

They're prized by politicians, celebrities and other bigwigs. They're passed down through families like precious heirlooms. They're fought over and sought after even though their monetary value generally is less than a hundred dollars. What is it about low-number license plates?

From a practical standpoint, tags stamped with low numbers basically enable people to drive a vehicle legally just as six-digit ones do. But one-, two- and three-digit plates are considered prestigious by some people. Since there's a maximum of 999 available, they are a commodity not everyone can have, and the struggle to get ahold of one has ended up playing a role in a campaign finance scandal, court cases and political controversies.

One of the most recent incidents to come to light happened in Illinois. Larry Hall, a high-ranking official in the secretary of state's office for five years during the 1990s, admitted he gave the low-number plates to several people in exchange for contributions to three campaign committees. It was just one revelation in an ongoing federal investigation into unlawful behavior in the secretary of state's office, then headed by now-Governor George Ryan.

David Druker, spokesman for Jesse White, the current secretary of state, says his office does not seek campaign contributions in exchange for low-number license plates but tries as best it can to give out the popular plates when they become available. Druker, who drives around with a regular plate, doesn't quite understand the cachet of the three-digit license plates that are now causing such a stir in the state. "It's the mindset of some individuals," he says. "A certain type of personality likes to be seen."

Druker also points out that the really elite plates are almost impossible to come by. Those are the one- and two-digit plates, many of which have been in the same hands for decades. Number "1" belongs to Dorothy Ogilvie, the widow of former Governor Richard Ogilvie, who served from 1968-72. Number "2" belongs to Anton Kerner, son of a former governor and grandson of a former Chicago mayor. Number "3" belongs to Mary Lee Carpentier, the widow of a former state senator and also the daughter-in-law of a former secretary of state. The list of the owners of at least the first 25 plates reads along the same lines.

Occasionally, someone who managed to get a prized plate has it taken away at the discretion of the powers that be. Last August, Diane Claveau of New Hampshire wanted to keep the "701" plate that her husband's uncle, a former state senator who died in 1999, had received years earlier. But when she sold the car that had carried the plate and asked for it to be reissued for use on her new vehicle, her request was denied. Claveau sued Safety Commissioner Richard Flynn, who, along with the director of the Division of Motor Vehicles, has the authority to issue the plates. A Superior Court judge ruled in the state's favor.

In Washington, D.C., the Reverend Willie Wilson was driving around with the number "16" tag until Mayor Anthony Williams decided to recall the plate in a fit of pique after Wilson criticized the mayor's plan to privatize a city hospital. Williams told the Washington Post that the clergyman deserved to have the perk pulled. "You dis somebody publicly, there's a little give and take," he was quoted as saying.

But Wilson is not--heaven forbid--driving around with a commonplace six-digit tag. Two city council members who had low-number plates available to give out conferred on what numbers they each had available. Between the two of them, Councilwoman Sandy Allen had the lowest number, 42, just 26 digits higher than the pulled plate.

She gave it to Wilson, who she says is a friend and a leader in the African-American community. Nevertheless, Allen adds, "I don't understand the value. They don't stop you from getting tickets. They don't give you special parking spaces. They don't do anything."

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