Notre Dame de Paris

by Tom Kando

The Notre Dame fire has affected me in a very personal way. I was surprised by the depth of my feelings about this incident. Clearly, it should not be compared to 9-11. Zero deaths vs. nearly 3,000. Nevertheless, many people (including me and several media pundits) compared the two events from the get-go. I suppose the two events had at least some visual resemblance - immense structures burning and collapsing, etc. But this deja-vu is superficial and meaningless.

So the question remains: Why has the Notre Dame fire captured the deepest sorrow and sympathy of millions worldwide? Why has it driven me to the verge of tears? (9-11 never did, it just made me mad as hell).

To me, the Notre Dame event is personal, and I believe that it is the same for most Frenchmen, and also for the millions of foreigners who have visited that shrine.

For one thing, I am flooded by unforgettable memories. All those times that I and members of my family visited the Grand Old Lady - “Our Lady,” literally - our beautiful experiences under the nave, on top right under the giant bells, cavorting on the roof and the balcony, trying to touch the gargoyles...My wife, my children, my grandchildren, my sisters, my parents, my friends, we all experienced Notre Dame repeatedly, often together.

Here is what my daughter Danielle just wrote:”Sitting on top of the Cathedral with you and Leah is one of my best memories. I may have whined on the climb up, but I'm so grateful you showed us that view.”

 ...and “this place means a lot to many of us. To me it was the church that sheltered my father and his family, educating and feeding them when they were stateless refugees. I remember going there for the first time, as a little girl, blown away by the magnitude of that interior and then walking up onto the roof, as my dad outlined all of the painstaking work of a thousand years of humans at their best and most creative. Later, I took my kids there and let an incredibly delighted Sadie feed the sparrows in the courtyard. I hope there are some artisans and good souls out there who will make it their mission to quickly rebuild this sanctuary.”

And this is what my friend Cedric writes: “...like everyone, I share the hurt. Two memories of Notre Dame: As a student I would sometimes go down the Boul' Mich' to Notre Dame, take the small stairs up to the top of the north tower that were then widely open to the public, and read some book on the sloping roof while enjoying the view, the sun, and the fresh air. Also, while once again enjoying the view from the back with all the flying buttresses, a bus of Welsh students, obviously a choir on a tour, stopped by briefly; they all poured out and sang a beautiful Welsh song, only to quickly climb back in and resume their travel.”

To which my colleague Sylvia adds: “My eyes are so blurred from tears I can barely see the letters I am typing....”

And Sue says: “...so many tears have spilled into the streets - it was such a shock today and will be for many years to come ...”

Claude (colleague on the French faculty): “Un énorme désastre! Je garde de très calmes et douloureux souvenirs de mon enfance à Paris quand j’étais enfant-de-coeur après la guerre.”

Clearly, so much of this has to do with the unforgettable memories we each carry with us. Like Cedric, I, too, remember the days when walking all the way up was not a problem, not terribly crowded and regulated; I sat on the slanted metal rooftop with my then eight and ten-year old daughters. We gazed down upon the antlike pedestrians crossing the Parvis-Notre-Dame, as Quasimodo did. We even played a bit at sliding down the tower’s slanted metal roof, joking that if we picked up too much speed we might flip over the edge of the tower (an impossible scenario, as the balcony/walkways on top of the towers are wide and perfectly safe...)

Other memories include waving at my wife, who waited for us at a sidewalk café on the Rive Gauche, in sight of the towers, but of course too far to be able to identify us...

Just a few years ago, my family and I walked down from our hotel behind the Pantheon to the Ile de la Cité at night, sneaking up on the grandiosely lit-up Queen of Cathedrals from behind, where Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron had danced.

When I look back at the years I spent in Paris, first living there as a child with my parents and sisters, later as a visitor with my wife, children, mother and friends, only now do I realize that Notre Dame was practically my “habitual” church. She has even occurred in my dreams more than once.

But whether you visit the Grand Old Lady once or innumerable times, her imprint upon you is inevitable and indelible. Her divine, magical beauty and her spirit are with you forever. It takes a disaster for you to realize this.

Why are so many of us so devastated by the fire? Leave aside the alleged crown of thorns, the piece of Jesus’ cross and one of the nails. Focus on the unimaginable beauty of the stained glass windows, the 23-ton bells, the 8,000 pipe organ, the hundreds of statues, gargoyles and other sculptures, most of them created anonymously, in an age when ego mattered less than faith.

Notre Dame is supposed to be forever. Revolutions and World Wars come and go, I grew up as a teenager roaming the streets of Paris, sixty years later I am an old man in California. The world changes and becomes unrecognizable, but Notre Dame is forever, just like Paris itself...She is not supposed to change! She is my friend forever. She can never die. That is the way it is supposed to be. This fire was not supposed to happen.

© Tom Kando 2019;All Rights Reserved

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