Back in the day in that same little town, a license was 25 cents. My Dad would bike with us all down to the PD (back then it was where the Jailhouse Inn is) and we would all stand in line and get our licenses. They would screw a little plate onto your seatpost. It had a number on it.
All of our bikes always got stolen in summer. At the end of the summer, my Dad would march us all back down there, and the chief would open the big garage, and we would all run in and get our bikes.
*sigh.*