Romeo Corriveau, who served 25-years with the Lewiston Fire Department, was honored on his 90th birthday.
LEWISTON – Dozens of family members from around the country converged on the Marion Road home of Joan Villani on Sunday to celebrate the birthday of a local hero.
Villani’s father, Romeo Corriveau, of Lewiston, turns 90 today. Lewiston Fire Chief Michel Lajoie was on hand during Corriveau’s surprise party Sunday to present him a ring to commemorate his 25 years of service with the city Fire Department.
Corriveau retired from the department in 1969, at the age of 54. Back in 1944, when he joined up, his starting wage was $28.85 a week, nearly double the pay earned by workers in area shoe and paper mills, and he earned every penny of it.
Corriveau was on call 24 hours a day, six days a week. Fighting fires in Lewiston during the middle of the 20th century was a busy job.
“We used to get up every night for chimney fires,” said Corriveau.
“During the days, it was the same thing. We got two or three calls a day for chimney fires.”
In addition to the volume of calls, firefighters 60 years ago did not have the same level of protection as their counterparts today.
“They used to go in without any of the breathing apparatuses we have today. That’s why a lot of them have lung problems now,” said Lajoie.
Like many in such a dangerous profession, Corriveau had a few close calls. Once, when a chimney collapsed around him, his arm became wedged in his ladder, saving from falling into the burning house below.
Corriveau was off duty on July 7, 1949, when two fire engines, one from Lewiston and one from Auburn, collided en route to the same fire, killing two firefighters and an Auburn police officer. Corriveau was doing some shopping in Auburn, mere blocks away, at the time.
“If he had been working that day, he might not be celebrating his 90th birthday today,” said Corriveau’s granddaughter, Jennifer Leever.
Corriveau was on hand, however, for one of the area’s most devastating blazes, the fire that burned the Maine State Fair site to the ground during the 1950s.
“When got close to the fair, and we saw the smoke in the air, we knew we had a big one,” said Corriveau.
Corriveau’s two daughters also have memories of their father’s job.
“For the whole time I was growing up, I thought if there was no fire, there would be no paycheck, like it was piecework,” recalled daughter Joyce Underwood.
“I’d come home and ask Were there any fires today?’ If he said no, I’d think, Oh no, we’re going to be poor.'”
Corriveau’s other daughter, Joan Villani, remembers the large Fire Department bell that sat in their home. If there was a fire, the bell was activated to call Corriveau to duty.
Sounding that bell was a complicated process, says Lajoie. Back then, it took several minutes just to page department personnel to duty. With modern communications technology, response time is now much shorter.
“I still have that bell,” said Corriveau.
“I remember he used to leave his pants right next to the bed when he went to sleep, so they’d be ready if he had to run,” said Villani.
Their father’s round-the-clock work schedule also meant the girls’ phone time was heavily restricted.
“If I stayed on our party line for more than 60 seconds, dad would start poking me and saying The Fire Department might be trying to call,'” said Underwood.
Being a firefighter’s daughter wasn’t all bad, though. The other neighborhood kids were always impressed when Corriveau’s colleagues drove up their street in the fire engine to drop him off for lunch.
For all of his adventures, and his role in saving possibly thousands of local homes and businesses over more than a quarter of a century, Corriveau is modest about his years with the department.
“It was a good job. You could depend on a job like that,” he said.
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