RICHMOND — Larry Dearborn’s limo swaggers even when parked. A bald eagle decorates the hood. Stars and stripes spangle the sides. And loudspeakers hidden beside the wheel wells belt out a version of  “You’re a Grand Old Flag.”

But it’s the simple stenciled letters on the windows — listing the names of Maine soldiers killed since Sept. 11, 2001, — that make this car irreplaceable, the Vietnam War veteran said. It has become part of Maine’s response to 9/11 and the wars that followed.

Since 2005, Dearborn and his limo have been in many parades, several Wreaths Across America convoys and in nearly every Maine soldier’s funeral.

“I was at the Maine Veterans’ Cemetery and this woman came up and touched one of the (soldier’s) names on the window. It was her son,” Dearborn said. “I asked her, ‘Do you want me to take his name off?'”

“‘No,’ she said. ‘As long as he’s there, people won’t forget him.'”

The sentiment choked up Dearborn.

“I can’t do this forever, but I’ll do it for as long as I can,” he said. “I don’t care how much its costs.”

He is slowing down, though.

On Sunday, when the Christmas wreath convoy heads to Arlington, Dearborn, 76, will miss the drive for the first time in several years. His knee aches too much for the long drive. He still plans to meet the tractor-trailers hauling the wreaths and their Patriot Guard Riders escort in Portland.

“I want to go, but I can’t,” Dearborn said.

Dearborn began operating his own four-wheel patriotic tribute after he picked up a 1988 Lincoln Town Car limo five summers ago. He began taking it to official events as a way of paying respect to soldiers. Within three years, he’d accepted an invitation to join the Patriot Guard Riders and replaced the dying Lincoln with another.

Why do it?

“I don’t know; patriotism, I guess,” said Dearborn, who is tall and rugged despite his age and his bum knee.

In part, it was a response to his own service. He was a U.S. Army infantry soldier, a “ground-pounder,” a drill sergeant at home and a platoon sergeant in Vietnam. Dearborn served two tours, one in 1968-69 and another in 1971-72.

After his second tour, when he went to get a new uniform, he was quietly counseled to pack it in a bag and wear his civilian clothes on the street.

“I wasn’t spit on,” he said. “But it hurt.”

He retired in 1973 and came home to Richmond, where his wife, Gisela, was raising their six children.

After the Persian Gulf War, he helped his town celebrate the soldiers’ return. For a while, he led Richmond’s American Legion post and later served as the legion’s state commander.

Then came 9/11 and the limos.

The cost, particularly for the second car, has been extraordinary.

“I paid $5,000 for that car,” he said. He painted it and hired someone to repair the body. There were repairs to the belly of the car. And when the window frames rusted out he had to install new ones. Still, the odometer is broken and the speedometer is typically stuck at 120 mph, not that it could move that fast.

“You won’t believe this, but I have over $32,000 tied up in that car,” he said. “It needs a new roof. It’s not getting one.”

It all feels worth it behind the wheel, though, often with Gisela at his side. The pair have been married since 1956.

On the highway, they pick out the Veterans license plates.

“I blow the horn and wave,” Dearborn said.

In most towns, if they go slow and turn on the music, folks on the sidewalks smile and wave or snap a salute.

“If he doesn’t play music when we go through the toll booth, the girl inside says, ‘What’s the matter? Is your radio broke?'” Gisela said.

Kids seem fascinated by all the decorations, particularly the eagle on the hood. That was Gisela’s idea.

“The kids say, ‘Lady, I like that car with the big bird on it,'” she said.

Of course, the car has a serious role, too. In the too-common funeral processions, he takes a place behind the motorcycles of the Patriot Guard Riders.

“I’m right behind them and the hearse is right behind me,” Dearborn said.

It’s his way of paying respect to the men who serve and die.

“I know what the guys have to go through,” he said. “I’ve been in a war.”

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