HUNGER Drivers can make a daily pitch about a big problem BY BRIAN C. JONES

For the past two years, Rhode Islanders have had the option of ordering special license plates for their vehicles, promoting the Rhode Island Community Food Bank (www.rifood bank.org) and supporting the overall battle to end hunger.

The license plates feature a cartoon of Mr. Potato Head, one of the signature toys of Pawtucket-based Hasbro Inc. The Spud carries a Food Bank sign, and across the bottom of the plate is the motto: "Help End Hunger." It costs an extra 40 bucks over the usual $30 annual registration costs ($20 goes to the Food Bank, which supplies tons of goods to food pantries, soup kitchens, and shelters; the rest covers the state’s extra costs).

The legislation which established the plates gave Mr. Potato Head and his special tags just two years to roam the Ocean States highways, with December 31, 2004, being the end of the road. Greg Pare, a spokesman for Senate President Joseph A. Montalbano (D-North Providence), says that legislation will be filed before the upcoming General Assembly session to remove the sunset provision. This is a refreshing development for me and more than 1600 other motorists who have the plates, to say nothing of being a plus for the greater cause involved.

Unlike many other states, Rhode Island offers few alternatives to the plain vanilla routine registration tags, even for vanity plates. You have to be a legislator, veteran, ex-POW, or judge to get plates with a really different look. But mainly I like the Mr. Potato Head plates because of their noble purpose in a time when idealism seems to be on the run. And also because they say something about Rhode Island that often is underlooked: that we live in a uniquely caring place. For all the strife and arguments about Rhode Island’s struggling economy, its government corruption, political contentiousness, high taxes, unaffordable housing, staggering utility costs, and struggling schools, this littlest of the Blue States has a big heart.

We have one of the best systems for the care of the mentally retarded in the country; one of the best health insurance systems for children and the poor; and one of the best childcare programs. We don’t have the death penalty, and there are gazillions of organizations like the Food Bank that work and work and work to solve unconscionable problems like hunger.

So it’s nice when I walk out to the driveway every day that my own license plates remind me that I need to "Help End Hunger." When I leave the multiplex, I’m told I’m supposed to "Help End Hunger." When the dog and I drive to our daily romp in the park, we’re admonished to "Help End Hunger." When I’m loading my trunk with supermarket goodies. I’m commanded again to "Help End Hunger" — and not just my own. This is much more encouraging than New Hampshire’s famous "Live Free or Die" war cry, or even Rhode Island’s standard license plate boast about our being the "Ocean State."

Of course, Rhode Island is not alone in promoting good causes on its cars. Vermont has a plate with a pair of cartoon kids and the plea to "Invest in Children," meaning support for childcare services. Massachusetts has a lighthouse plate to boost good works on Cape Cod, as well as whale and trout plates to help the environment. The scores of special plates listed on a Florida registry Web site, include a classic "Save the Manatee" edition that has raised $32 million since 1990.

Bernard Beaudreau, Food Bank executive director, says more than $30,000 has been pulled in by Mr. Potato Head plates in the past two years, and he agrees that the bigger value may be the message, day after day, mile after mile. So Beaudreau is encouraged that the General Assembly leadership is set to extend the life of the plates (the Food Bank isn’t advertising them currently, pending legislative action). But what Beaudreau says he’s really hoping for is a time when the wheels can be taken off both Mr. Potato Head and the Food Bank.