After 24 years, it looks like Maine will finally get a new license plate, with the “chickadee plate” set to be retired, beginning in 2025.

Secretary of State Shenna Bellows presented the plan for almost two hours before the Legislature’s Transportation Committee last week, and it was a skillful performance.

Bellows had satisfactory answers to almost all the legislators’ numerous questions, and the choice of the new design was canny: the “star and pine tree” from the original state flag of 1901, which has attracted much attention since some lawmakers tried to bring it back.

By choosing a recognized state symbol, Bellows avoided the lengthy and occasionally bitter fights at the Legislature over exactly what should be on the plate.

To understand why, we need to go back to the 1985-86 session, and a seemingly innocent proposal by some elementary school students from Saco.

Beginning in 1905, when Maine first issued plates, the design had been basic black-and-white, with “Maine” on top and, since the 1920s, “Vacationland” across the bottom.

The kids’ proposal was for a lobster design, which created two problems. The first was that it ignited the coastal-inland divide, the lobster vs. white pine iconography that is every bit as deep as the rural-urban split in other states.

The second was that it took away the traditional prerogative of the Secretary of State to approve changes. When the bill passed, the then-incumbent, Rodney Quinn, was not amused.

For whatever reason, the design that emerged was among the worst ever to appear on a license plate.

In case you’ve forgotten, or never knew it, the red outline of a lobster was stamped right in the middle. The overprinted letters and numbers obscured the design partially or entirely.

Jokes were legion. My favorite was a quip for changing the “Vacationland” motto to “The Crawdad State.”

None of this was the kids’ fault, of course, but it did touch off a range war that continued long afterward.

One of the first specialty plates to be issued, for wildlife conservation, became an immediate bestseller. Countless Mainers replaced their lobsters with the “loon plate” for an additional $20 fee.

The artist was Mark McCullough, a wildlife biologist who worked for Inland Fisheries and Wildlife and then the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.

David Silsby, retired revisor of statutes and director of legislative research, was responsible for the chickadee plate, which dislodged the lobster after 13 years, in 1999. But not before an even more heated battle among lawmakers.

Though the chickadee design was widely praised — and led to a falling-off in loon plates — there were many entrants, with the Legislature now the arena.

Matt Dunlap, then a House member and later secretary of state for 14 years, was so averse to renewing the battle that he said “never again.”

Bellows seemed to be taking the same approach when elected in 2020, but has come around to a new design, which is overdue. Most states change designs every five or 10 years.

One reason her presentation was effective was that before unveiling the new design, she displayed a plate used in Aroostook County, so sand-blasted as to be unreadable.

The committee got the message, and appeared to favor going forward. The only sticking point was how and where it will be made.

Numerous plates — 300,000 a year — are now produced on two giant presses at the Maine State Prison in Warren. Bellows praised the work of inmates and their supervisors, including attention to detail.

That’s necessary because Maine has a staggering 61 plate categories, including 11 specialty plates in addition to vanity plate messages.

Most automobile plates are still chickadees — 783,979 as of Jan. 1 — but the specialty total is up to 245,588.

The three most popular specialties are for sportsmen and lobsters (a better design.) The loon has fallen to third.

Bellows proposes that a contractor, presumably out-of-state, produce the new general issue, some 1.2 million plates for about $7 million.

Asked why, if the prison shop is so reliable, it shouldn’t get the job, she said it would require an expansion, including a new building, costing $10 million.

Lawmakers weren’t entirely satisfied. Prisoners learn useful job skills, and the investment would presumably be one-time.

Maine already contracts out an enormous amount of business to firms that may offer a better price, but contribute nothing material to the state economy.

I recall a long-ago bumper sticker attempting a humorous approach. It read, “Stamp Out License Plates. Do a Stretch in Prison.”

Perhaps that would be the better path. Either way, we can expect this to be a hot topic for the rest of the session.

Douglas Rooks, a Maine editor, commentator and reporter since 1984, is the author of three books, and is now researching the life and career of a U.S. Chief Justice. He welcomes comment at drooks@tds.net