The famous phrase wasn't organic. It was heavily promoted in a 1961 NBC special starring Groucho Marx, sponsored by DuPont, which had a significant stake in General Motors. This campaign successfully shaped public perception and cemented the car's cultural dominance.

When the Sons of Confederate Veterans sued Texas for rejecting their specialty plate, the Supreme Court sided with the state. The decision classified these plates as 'government speech,' granting the government the right to choose which messages it endorses, unlike general-issue plates that citizens are compelled to display.

The NFL's potential European expansion via supersonic jets mirrors baseball's history. The Dodgers and Giants only moved from New York to California once commercial air travel made cross-country trips practical. This reveals a recurring pattern where transportation breakthroughs are the critical catalyst for unlocking bi-coastal or intercontinental sports markets.

The recurring legal battles over license plates stem from their unique dual nature. They are government-issued documents displayed on private vehicles, creating a contested space where both the state and the individual driver can lay claim to the message, forcing courts to define the boundary between personal and government expression.

The entrepreneurs behind the 1930s mini golf boom demonstrated extreme resourcefulness. Some strategically located their courses directly underneath large, illuminated billboards. This scrappy tactic allowed them to operate their businesses at night without incurring any costs for electricity, maximizing their slim profit margins.

From its 19th-century beginnings, the outdoor industry has promoted an ideal of self-sufficiency. However, this narrative masks a reality where participants, even then, have always purchased specialized gear, turning the act of "getting back to nature" into a shopping trip.

The first state-issued license plates weren't cheap, stamped metal but were made of heavy, fragile porcelain, resembling fine china. This material choice reflected the automobile's status in the early 1900s: a delicate and expensive status symbol for the elite rather than a practical vehicle for the masses.

The first advertising license plate featured a giant potato. This innovative but polarizing design was detested by many Idahoans, especially those in non-potato-growing regions, who found the association an embarrassment. The state abandoned the design after just one year due to the public backlash.

Without a central institution like a 'Smithsonian of License Plates,' the physical history of their design and evolution is preserved primarily in the private collections of hobbyists. These amateurs act as de facto archivists for a niche but revealing slice of American material culture that official institutions often overlook.