Squantum residents compete for position of great nobility and power, legendary license plate

Article by Beak Wilder / Photos courtesy of the World Wide Web

Squantum residents took it to the streets in an epic battle for supremacy this weekend to see who would be given the right to use their official license plate.

The "SQNTUM" license plate, which was given to the 17th century Native American inhabitants of Squantum by English colonists in exchange for a bag of mollusks, has been given to a new resident of the peninsula each year since.

Every year, near the end of spring, residents of this tightly-knit community gather together to challenge each other in games of sport, intellect, and feats of strength.

He who survives to the end of these challenges is made the King of Squantum for a term of one year, and is given the license plate as his crown.

But with great rewards can also come vast corruption. Or so it seems.

Most recently, controversy was abound when Squantum resident Jacia Hearn was disqualified from the javelin tossing contest when it was determined that his javelin was being operated by a makeshift remote control.

In 2006, Bernard Koch, cousin of Mayor Thomas Koch, was twice disqualified from a headbutting match after judges realized that all members of the Koch bloodline have heads the size and density of an oil drum filled with Quikrete.

But when did these dirty tricks and illegal maneuvers begin?

Some say that the urge to cheat has always been there, but most believe it began in 1876, when Daniel "Swing Vote" Robittaile, a simple dockhand from Pratt Road, attempted to win the sympathy contest just by being black.

Being fairly unfamiliar with the ways of black people, the Squantum residents did the only thing they knew how to do: take him to the shoreline of Nickerson Beach and carve his right hand off, covering him with honey and leaving him for the bees.


The Squantum townspeople, tearing Robittaile apart after the alleged cheating fiasco.

"I don't know what Robittaile expected," said Teddy Crumble, great-grandson of then-judge Festus Crumble. "The sympathy contest was a major part of that year's festivities. But you had to work for it, you couldn't just milk it with something obvious. Of course they were gonna feel bad for him. He was fuckin' black!"

The legend of Daniel Robittaile has been disputed by many Quincy historians.

Going along with Squantum tradition, the winner of this year's event will not be announced outside of the peninsula, as the King of Squantum moniker is merely an unofficial title that bears no actual political power.