Stop the Presses—Notre Dame Was Built with Staples!

Some surprising news for those easily surprised by news

By Ed Goldman

In a big week for office supplies, it was revealed that for more than 900 years, the stones supporting Notre Dame Cathedral were held in place by (wait for it) staples. 

The news shocked the architectural community, builder population, Catholic church and, I imagine, stationery stores. 

But why is it so surprising? Did people think the Paris monument didn’t crumple for nine centuries because of strategically applied duct tape? And maybe a few glops of Monster Glue (just to be on the safe side)? I’ve used both of those to mend favorite old running shoes long beyond their sell-by date. In fact, beyond their burn-by date. But I never thought the technique would work on a building that climbs 226 feet high. (For our British readers, that’s 69 meters. Oh. Sorry. Metres. And you wonder why we left you more than 250 years ago?) 

The revelations came as crews continued to work on repairing the historic cathedral, largely gutted by fire in 2019. In tearing away melted debris, sconces and men’s room signs from the scorched walls, workers discovered outsize rocks clinging to one another with the aid of ginormous iron staples—the kind you imagine Paul Bunyan would have used to fasten together the wall-sized pages of his midterm bluebook. 

Another reason I wasn’t as surprised by the announcement is because I learned the versatility of staples more than a decade ago when they were deployed to keep my midsection intact after the final round of my seven operations. I’d been anesthetized when they were installed and one of the world’s largest band-aids hid them from view, mine and others’, for a few days, until it was time for them to be removed. 

At that time, my surgeon’s head nurse took me into an office so small you had to step into the hall to change your mood. She had me climb onto a table, then she unbuttoned my shirt and whipped off the band-aid with one fierce yank. The move had all the delicacy of a demolition derby, and possibly the sound effects. 

“There,” she said, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?” I stoically shook my head no, remembering the old Yiddish expression, “You can even get used to hanging if it doesn’t kill you first.”

“Well, I guess that’s that,” I said in what had been a decent baritone when I’d climbed onto the table and could now silently summon wolf puppies. But as I started to sit up, she placed her hand on my chest and said, “Whooooa, Podnuh, we’re not quite done. That was just the gauze and adhesive. Now we have to remove the staples.”

“And how do you do that?” I asked, wanting neither to know the answer nor why she’d called me Podnuh.

“Why, with a staple remover!” she all but sang.

I thought she was kidding. But then she reached into a cabinet behind her and produced, yes, an actual industrial-strength staple remover. 

I now realize it looked large enough to dislodge recalcitrant boulders at Notre Dame.

I think people might have been surprised not just by the use of iron staples in such a massive construction project but also whether they were covered by French building codes at the time (the original job ran from 1163 to 1345, or roughly how long it takes to get a building permit in California). 

Another question is, “No kidding? There were iron staples back then?” Disappointingly, the question came from this column’s consulting metallurgist, Reddy “Ore” Knott.