by Sam Juliano
The following is the transcript of classroom introduction, and post-film discussion in an undergraduate cinema studies class held in the Margaret Crowden Auditorium at Jersey City State College on the morning of Friday, September 10, 1972.
Professor Harold Keaton: Hello ladies and gentleman. My name is Professor Harold Keaton and I would like to welcome you all to ‘Introduction to Cinema Studies till 1941’ Please check your schedule and make sure you are presently in the right class. This is the Margaret Crowden Auditorium. The class will convene every Friday morning from 8:30 till 11:40 A.M. Depending on the running time of some of the features you can generally figure on a 15 minute break, at which time you are welcome to indulge in a snack that either was brought in or obtained at the student union building directly across from the entrance to this building. I do not permit smoking in my class, so for those who indulge, you can avail youself of the break time outdoors. The current fall semester, as many of you are already aware will run for fourteen weeks until the first week of December, when final exams will be administered. The grade you earn in this class will be based on three components. The first will be the cumulative average of two term papers that will deal with assigned topics that tie in with the weekly screenings. The topics will be given out on the third week of class, and will be accepted voluntarily. The best strategy is to complete the first before the halfway point, so that the final seven weeks can be utilized to negotiate the second one. The second component is the final exam, which will be given during the second week in December. The exam will take into account the films that are screened and the lectures and discussion that preceed and follow the viewings. The last requirement to figure into your final grade will be active participation in class discussion and analysis. I will closely monitor the contributions of each and every one of you, and can only advise you to be as animated as possible in your invlovement in class discussion. I’d go as far as to say that this component may well be the weightiest of all three. If there are any people who define themselves as shy, I’m sorry to say that this is not the class for you. The first three weeks will cover silent comedy, with today’s sceening of The Gold Rush set to launch during today’s session. Has anyone in this class ever seen the film, or have heard of the director and lead actor, Charles Chaplin? Please state your name at all times before responding.
James Woods: I have seen a few shorts by Chaplin, that were once shown on Ch. 13, but I haven’t seen The Gold Rush.
Brian Leary: (coughing) I saw it once, but I can’t remember too much about it. My father took me to some theatre across the river in Manhattan when I was about 11. I remember my father laughing himself silly, and a few times I joined him.
Jennifer Medina: I saw another movie with Charles Chaplin called Lights in the City. It ended with a blind flower girl regaining her sight, and addressing her benefactor, who was Chaplin.
Professor Keaton: You mean City Lights.
Jennifer Medina: Yes, I’m sorry. City Lights.
Lorraine Lucas: I saw a Chaplin movie where he was a factory worker, who tested a food machine and got caught in the gears of machinery. I really liked the music. I was told the song is named “Smile.” I saw part of another movie where Chaplin played Hitler, and held the globe in his hands.
Professor Keaton: That’s Modern Times and The Great Dictator. The latter is a scathing satire of fascism, while the former is one of Chaplin’s masterpieces, and a film I would have loved to show to the class. But as we can only really go with only one Chaplin film I thought it would be best to screen the film that Chaplin himself called “the one film of mine I’d like most to be remembered by.” While City Lights may well be the most humanist and deeply-moving of his films, and Modern Times the most audacious, The Gold Rush is quintessential Chaplin, the film made when he was at the peak of his powers, and able to inject the proceedings with his incomparable physical agility and perfect comic timing in a most alluring winter setting up north. The gags in The Gold Rush may be the greatest ever staged, by the greatest of all comics.
Brian Leary: Professor Keaton, I don’t mean to say anything insulting, but don’t you think it’s “ironic” that you favor Chaplin, and your last name is “Keaton?”
Professor Keaton: Ha! I’m not insulted at all Brian. I may be a Keaton but I’m in love with Chaplin! Anyway, I’ll give everyone a brief introduction to Chaplin, and then we’ll begin the film. You of course are encouraged to take notes:
Charles Chaplin is in my carefully considered opinion the greatest versatile genius the cinema has ever produced, and on a list of my favorites may well rank as my top choice, (depending on what day of the week I am asked the question. Ingmar Bergman is the one who seems to alternate with him, but both Yasujiro Ozu and Robert Bresson and even Carl Dreyer are with them at the pinnacle. Ozu’s work is just now being made available at Manhattan revival houses, but it will take a while for the public to gain exposure) No film artist has engaged me as thoroughly, no comic has made me laugh as much, no humanist has brought more tears, no technical genius -not even Keaton- has caused me to marvel just how much acrobatic brilliance can come from a single person. He was the consumate genius, writing and directing his films, serving as the main star, and to boot, writing his own music, some of which includes some of the finest compositions of the century. The overwhelming poignancy of the music he wrote for the final flower girl scene in City Lights (his greatest film across the board) is the perfect embodiment of theme expressed in music. As Lorraine noted the song “Smile” in Modern Times is one of the most recognizable tunes written in this century, and another he wrote under the credits of The Circus is widely beloved for it’s lovely melody. His physical agility, his astute understanding of the human condition, and his uncanny sense of timing all are part of this Shakespeare of film, the single man who set the standard that has not subsequently been equalled.
Chaplin is the subject of some of the best biographies, and his veneration is worldwide. No American film artist has equalled the stature and adoration he has enjoyed abroad, and none match the sheer passion his visage has engendered. City Lights is my personal favorite film of all-time, and the single one that would accompany me to a desert island if I were limited to just a single choice. Chaplin wrote his own autobiography and has been toasted worldwide by kings and presidents, some of the greatest literary figures, and his life has been the subject of more sustained interest for both the layman and the scholar, the upper and the lower classes and a wide range of admirers ranging from young kids to the elderly. His influence was enormous, his personality infectious, and his success complete on every level. He was lauded for his business sense and known for his frugality, and his canon continues today to exert an enormous influence on new filmmakers and those who value the film as an art form. His personal life was a fishbowl even after the move to Switzerland; his marriage to Oona O’Neill -the daughter of American playwright Eugene O’Neill- despite their 36 year age difference caused a near scandal and cost Oona any further relations with her father, and the subsequent communist witch hunts eventually forced Chaplin to move to Europe, where he presently resides.
Chaplin first made a stage appearance when he was five years old, and later registered with a theatrical agency on London’s West End. He spent some time on stage to considerable success, and then moved on to vaudeville, working with his brother Sydney Chaplin. After touring America he landed a job with Mack Stennett at Keystone Pictures in 1914 and a star was born. His first feature comedy the highly-successful Tillie’s Punctured Romance was completed at Keystone before he moved on to Chicago to accept a then lucrative offer from the Essanay Film Cooperation to produce a notable series of shorts, and at the same time forge a relationship with Edna Purviance who was to become his leading lady. Then in 1916 a huge signing bonus and an offer from the Mutual Cooperation, where he produced some of his greatest shorts including Easy Street, The Immigrants, One A.M., and The Cure. Chaplin said decades later that the Mutual period was the happiest of his life. He moved on to First National, where he made two of his greatest short films ever, A Dog’s Life and Shoulder Arms, as well as Pay Day, The Idle Class and The Pilgrim, and the endearing feature with Jackie Coogan titled The Kid. After that highly-successful run he decided to make a more serious picture named A Woman in Paris, which was a success, but a box-office disappointment. Then came the inspiration for the masterpieces that we will be watching in class today. If anyone has to leave for any reasons please do so now, as I would like everyone to stay put when the film begins. I plan to start in ten minutes. A longer discussion will follow the screening after another brief break.
At this point the 96 minute ‘The Gold Rush’ was screened in the auditorium.
Professor Keaton: From the visible reactions I think I can safely say the film struck a chord with many of you. That’s good. I think it will greatly assist and animate our discussion. The Gold Rush is generally considered one of the two true comedy epics of the silent era. Sure there were a number of non-comedies that were epic in scope – D.W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation and Intolerance, and Douglas Fairbanks’s The Thief of Bagdad come quickly to mind – but the term epic is alien to the intimacy that comedy is dependent on to be effective. Scope or scale therefore could well be seen as the enemy of comedy if for no other reason than that the little man (in this case Chaplin) would almost always get lost in an extended canvass. True intimacy in the comedy epic would be difficult to achieve in theory, and morso in actuality. Even the non-comedy epic is usually unable to sustain intimacy as the weight of the productions often prevent any kind of a scaled down focus, or a leaden screenplay that rings hollow. One of the most intimate of epic films is William Wyler’s 1959 Ben-Hur, but the 1962 El Cid, directed by Anthony Mann is arguably it’s match.
Maurice Toniolo: Professor Keaton, would you include Spartacus on that shortlist?
Professor Keaton: Maurice, that’s a fine addition there. There are indeed some striking instances of “intimacy” in Kubrick’s film, especially the one that is spoken of in rather sordid terms.
Michael Toomey: Professor, if I might ask, you did say that The Gold Rush was one of two comedy epics, but didn’t name the other one.
Professor Keaton: Indeed Michael. It’s Buster Keaton’s The General, released three years later.
Michael Toomey: I have read about the movie version of The Godfather, based on Mario Puzo’s novel, that is due on in several weeks. The critic who talked about it – Arthur Knight – mentioned that he thought it is epic in scope, yet intimate in the way it looks at the Corleone crime family. I also understand it may be one of the most violent of movies.
Professor Keaton: Michael there is no question at all that The Godfather is both epic in scope and intimate in examination. We get a good idea already from Puzo’s potboiler novel. The film’s young director, Francis Ford Coppola, has the talent to make The Godfather quite special. I did see two of his earlier films, a low-budget horror, Dementia 13, and a quirky little title called You’re a Big Boy Now. I believe Coppola has the talent to transform this material into a trenchant and moving examination of the rise of a crime family and the metamorphosis of it’s key members. (laughs) In any case I am really looking forward to see how Coppola hands the ‘horse in bed’ sequence!
Maurice Toniolo: And let’s not forget the infamous ‘page 28.’
Professor Keaton: (laughs) Maurice, I think they’ll handle that one well enough, though in a subtle way to circumvent an ‘X’ rating. I don’t think they want to risk another Midnight Cowboy. Anyway, most interesting diversions, but let’s get back to The Gold Rush. Chaplin handles the problem of spectacle by injecting his film with the most confining sense of intimacy available to the theater or film director: acute claustrophobia. All the film’s most celebrated set pieces save for the one of teh hose hovering on the cliff, are set indoors, with the lion’s sahre of those occuring in the cabin. Can I ask what some of you would identify as the film’s most extraordinary set-pieces?
Valerie Tuttle: Professor Keaton, I just want to say I agree with what you say about the film’s intimacy surviving the epic scale. The lone prospector enters a lone cabin, during a storm, sharing it with a man wanted for murder and another who is even bigger, who has uncovered a rich claim. In this first cabin the little tramp hungrily cooks a Thanksgiving dinner of a boiled shoe. I though the way it was staged was pure genius.
Professor Keaton: Indeed Valerie! Terrific point there about the ‘lone prospector’ entering the ‘lone cabin’ as a repudiation of the film’s epic scale! And needless to say you have chosen one of the most adored sequences in the film. Chaplin’s character is the ultimate survivor, as he fends off impending doom by boiling and eating one of his grimy shoes. With the utmost finesse and the slight smile of a satisfied gourmet, he twirls the laces as if they were spaghetti and nibbles daintily at the nails as if they were succulent bones. I think this statement stregthens the film’s most prevalent themes, and I’m use your word Valerie, in that it’s perhaps Chaplin’s purest statement of the triumph of man over the dispassionate cruelty of nature and the calculated cruelty of man. Throughout the film, Chaplin succeeds in turning his pantomimic art into something funny, moving and transcendent, while at the same time thumbing his nose at the idea of accepting one’s supposed fate. I’m sure that many of you did conclude that the film in the end represented a miraclous combination of slapstick and poignancy, and both of these elements are suffused in this famous sequence. Can we have some other favorite set-pieces?
Ron Bogle: Professor, I’d like to mention the hilarious dinner roll sequence that occured in the second cabin.
Professor Keaton: Excellent Ron! This in another iconic sequence that is always mentioned as further example of Chaplin’s genius. The lone prospector is of course dreaming of the festive party he is giving for his adored Georgia Hale and her friends, entertaining them by plunging forks into buns and performing an ingenious variety of dance steps on the table to the tune of the “Oceana Roll.” In fact this set piece is known in the vernacular as “Oceana Roll” sequence. Chaplin is actually in his comfort zone indoors, where he is able to maintain a still camera when he wants to compromise his humor with a melancholic undercurrent. Thus, when Georgia kisses him, he topples from his chair in embarrassment, only to discover it was all a dream. The Tramp again is a solitary soul buffeted by the strong winds of adversity. No other artist, not even my namesake I’m afraid (ha!) could combine tears and laughter with delicacy and resonance like Chaplin. Another priceless moment please?
Tim McGuire: My favorite is when the cabin is blown to the edge of the cliff while the occupants are asleep.
Professor Keaton: Ah, fabulous choice there Tim! The film’s climactic show piece is indeed one for the ages. In the hands of a lesser artist this sequence would have only provided temporary suspense, even at a time when audiences were hardly saturated by such cinematic acrobatics. Trick photography of course helped to enrich this visual idea. Chaplin however, develops this idea with logic and vivid imagination and manages to transport his audience. As it plays out Charlie and his companion wake up: the panes of the shack are frosted; they do not realize what has happened, whereby Charlie sets out to get breakfast -plucking icicles from the rafters to boil down for morning coffee – but whenever he moved to the side of the room where his overweight companion is lying -the side hanging over the abyss- the house begins to tip. He figures this is all a result of dizziness from a drunken episode the night before, and goes about his business. But when burly Mack Swain gets up and lumbers around the situation is exaserbated, causing the inter-titled dialogue that asserts that there is some kind of illusion. This musical chairs-style balancing act continues until both are one one side, at which point the cabin come precariously close to toppling over. They rush back to the safe side of the room, and Charlie opens the door, that was of course frozen due to sub-freezing temperatures, in an attempt to see what the logistical problem is, and is promptly deposited in the opening, barely able to hang on to the sill. He is rescued by Swain, but the double weight finally dislodges the cliff (laughs) But as we all saw, there is yet another brilliant puzzle piece here when the cabin is held by a thin rope that has caught a in a cleft of a rock. Certainly they are as close here to disaster as Phillippe Petit was when he tight roped between the Wold Trade Center Towers in a real-life scenarion. As a master of disaster of course, Chaplin can never rank with Keaton, despite this brilliant and extended pantomimic sequence, but it’s the way it’s incorporated into the humanist and farsical elements that are dominant in The Gold Rush that make it so singularly effective. Moe?
Henry Beamis: I’ll go back to the first cabin again and mention Big Jim’s hungrily eying Charlie as a succulent chicken.
Professor Keaton: (laughs) Seems it’s even funnier when you look at Charlie’s scrawny physicality, but yes, that’s yet another that’s Hall of Fame material in the Chaplin pantheon. Jim’s hallucinatory vision of the Tramp as a hen, who’s well ready for roasting, especially with Charlie’s herky-jerky chicken movement to make the ruse even more delectably conceivable. Again in this sequence Chaplin brings the harsh realities of the physical environment into play, where food is non-existent, and huner has turned into delirium. The idea of cannibalism is of course one that would reasonably work as a comic idea in any venue, but here there is an undercurrent of believability, one that is heightened by the very limits of extreme desparation. The matter of desparation no doubt was based on Chaplin’s sterling regard and appreciation of Erich Von Sternberg’s Greed, another silent ‘epic’ that began as a thirteen hour work, only to be mutilated by unscrupulous studio hacks, who not only destroyed a unique vision but permamently scarred it’s director’s psyche for the rest of his life.
Maurice Toniolo: Professor, you said ‘Von Sternberg.’ Didn’t you mean to say ‘Von Stroheim?’
Professor Keaton: Did I really say ‘Von Sternberg.’ Oh boy! You people must excuse me, I had a rough day yesterday, as I had to drive my brother to La Guardia Airport, and got stuck in a three-hour bumper-to-bumper traffic jam on the way home. Yes ‘Von Stroheim indeed. Maurice, remind me after class to officially put you in the dog house! (laughs) (students break out in laughter) Aside from the famed set-pieces that are best-remembered in the film, there are a number of images that are ingrained in the mind. One might be of Black Larsen’s greedy relish of his stolen food over a campfire on the tundra. Another of Charlie shooting a bear and immediately laying out dinnerware, and still another of the fierce struggle between Big Jim and Black Larsen over Jim’s claim which includes Jim being left behind for dead and Larsen perishing after the ice splits under his feet. In any event, I think it should be mentioned here that while Chaplin obviously imparted his incredible agility and gift for how to create comedy and pathos in some minimalist confines, he never forgot that his film was still an epic in concept and space. The film is framed like an epic, and the rhythym of the picture implies ‘epic’ in no uncertain terms. It may not be what everyone remembers most about the film, but neither could it ever elude one’s recollection of this film. In fact I’d pose it’s the combination of the indoor gems amist the harsh Call of the Wild terrain that gives the film a particular urgency and an empathy, if not the irresistible appeal of any film that is set in the northlands. Another silent film that comes to mind in Robert Flaherty’s Nanook of the North, a documentary that I would love to show the class at a later date if it could be negotiated. Ultimately, perhaps what we do remember most about the epic or blustery winter northlands setting are the iconic images within that picture, especially the one of Charlie jauntily feeling his way down a snowy path and of him availing himself of a slide down a slope. We also remember the fiery eyes of Black Larsen, and his brutal murder of two policeman. But the film is enconsed in snow and a expansive seeting that sets the sensory tempo for all the events that are so gleefully staged in one indoor refuge after another.
Valerie Tuttle: Professor, could you explain how Chaplin got the inspiration to make The Gold Rush?
Professor Keaton: Very good question Valerie. Sometime in late 1923 Chaplin had been purportedly invited to breakfast by Douglas Fairbanks Sr. and Mary Pickford, who, as his partners in United Artists, were anxious to see him start on a new film. After breakfast he amused himself gazing at stereograms, and was particularly struck by one showingan endless line of prospectors in the 1898 Klondike gold rush, toiled up Chilkoot Pass. A caption on the back supposedly described the hardships the men suffered in their search for gold. The thought stayed with him as he then read a book about the disasters which befell a party of about ninety immigrants on the way to California in 1846. Continured misfortunes eventually led to their being snowbound in the Sierra Nevada. Eight men died and the survivors, close to starvation ate their bodies. The account include dreports that the surviving men ate their dogs, cowhides and even their own moccassins. As we know this last idea contributed to one of The Gold Rush’s most celebrated sequences. Against all odds this unlikely material formed the foundation of the screen’s greatest comedies. Chaplin, himself, I think, had the best assertion of all in regards to this when he said: “It is paradoxical…that tragedy stimulates the spirit of ridicule….ridicule, I supposed, is an attitude of defiance; we must laugh in the face of our helplessness against the forces of nature – or go insane.” Chaplin thus, at the very start has a clear idea of the story line and planned arc of progression, though, as was the case with his previous and later films, the film was improvised, with new incidents developing as the story progressed.
Anthony Francisco: Professor Keaton, how would compare The Gold Rush with Modern Times and City Lights as far as the distribution of comedy and pathos is concerned? Would you say that all three would be equal?
Professor Keaton: Anthony, in fact they are not equal. City Lights has some humorous sequences (the opening shtick with the unveiling of the statue, the boxing match and the changing moods of the drunk depending on whether he was sober or imebriated are classic) but it’s decidedly tilted towards pathos, and is in fact focused on the blindness of the flower girl. The final scene of course is one of the cinema’s most moving climaxes, guaranteed to melt the hardest of hearts. Modern Times, on the other hand is definitely slanted towards comedy with some of the greatest Chaplin set pieces in the factory and at the party raising the bar. There is surely a melancholic undercurrent what with the song “Smile” and the waif played by Paulette Godard a Depression era symbol, but humor does rule there. The Gold Rush provides the perfect balance between the two, and the success to fuse both and bring everything to allow for alternating emotional focus is Chaplin’s most brilliant achievement in the film. I’d like to note here that The Gold Rush is similar to the other two ‘Big Three’ works in that it again showcases a poignant love affair – in this case with Georgia. the dance hall girl.
Susan Fish: Professor, I am an exchange student from the University of Manchester. I wanted to note that though Chaplin is an American, he was born in London, and plied his trade in the U.K. before being lured by lucrative offers from Hollywood. Would you say he was unique in this respect?
Professor Keaton: Susan, hope you have enjoyed your time in the states, including the semesters here in Jersey City. Actually, there are many more film artsists than just Chaplin who were European by birth and artist sensibilities that followed earlier works on the continent by ending up in Hollywood and this long list includes such titans as Hitchcock, Murnau, Lang, Ophuls, Lubitsch, Renoir, Sirk, Clair, Wilder, Mackendrick and Herzog. Obviously there are some Asians as well.
Susan Fish: Thank you kindly Professor. One more question. There are two versions of the film, the one we just watched and another longer one in 1942. Would you have a preference yourself?
Professor Keaton: Indeed Susan. The version we just watched is superior. Chaplin cut some of the romantic scenes down, and intertitles were replaced with narration. Of course he commisioned a musical score, and it could be proposed that this was a positive addition. This brings me to one final point today -as the bell with be sounding in about ten minutes- and that is Chaplin’s pre-eminence as a film composer, even though he was not techically adroit and couldn’t really read music. He made dictations to the studio musicians who developed his melodies, and proved himself beyond question as possessing an ear for music. As we mentioned earlier the song “Smile” from Modern Times is now a popular classic. His music for City Lights, The Circus and Limelight is magnificent, and would be the pride of the best film composers who ever worked in Hollywood. Again his ear for sentiment and melancholy bring a deeper level of pathos to his comedies, and make their appeal more universal…….well folks, that was the bell. Happy so many of you loved The Gold Rush, and hope it inspires in you a love for it’s famous creator. Many great questions, I must say! I’ll see you all next week for our discussion and screening of Lewis Milestone’s landmark war film, All Quiet on the Western Front. Have a great weekend.
The following is the copy of a letter addressed to Professor Harold Keaton, sent from Susan Fish in Kendal, United Kindom to the Cinema Department of Jersey City State University, dated June 20, 21012:
My Dearest Professor:
You may not remember me as it’s been so long, in fact nearly 40 years since I appeared in your ‘Cinema Studies till 1940′ class way back in the autumn semester of 1972. Though I have thought about you and that excellent class a number of times over the years, I never could muster up the nerve to write you. I am rather shy in that way. But I had to reach out to you now because of a recent happening. My son Allan, who just turned 39 last month is barmy on movies. Hey love, he’s even writin’ a book now. The movies caught on with him at a young age and he went straight away for em, watching endless hours on the telly, and then later when those tapes and discs came out he started collecting. I can’t even remember how many times he was zonked watching to late into the night. He often asked me about the cine class I took in the states, and he’s now seen every film shown many times. I never forgot the class where we watched The Gold Rush, and always remembered what you told us about the film being a perfect blend of humor and heartbreak. Just this past month Allan received a parcel in the mail -my son always tells me the Royal mail here is so slow to move- with a new copy of The Gold Rush on blu ray from an American company he always talks about called Criterion. Allan said the film probably hasn’t looked this good since it was released, and that blu-ray is the dog’s bollocks! I wanted to tell you that Allan mentioned that they were planning a ‘comedy countdown’ at the blogsite he writes for. It’s called Wonders in the Dark. Most of his co-writers there are Americans. He even visited one of them twice in the last few years. He has been featuring hundreds of reviews from his book at the site, and is hopeful that someone will notice some of these at some time. Allan is modest and always tells people on the phone that his writing is nothing special, but just about everybody says he knows his onions. He is presently attending Uni in Manchester and is majoring in cinema studies. Anyway Professor, I hope all is well with you. You made a lasting impression on so many students, and we always got a kick out of the fact that your name is ‘Keaton’ but your first love was Chaplin! Allan has asked me if you would consider making a guest contribution to the comedy countdown by writin’ a piece on ‘The Gold Rush.’ Anyway I’m off to Bedfordshire, as I’m feeling knackered.
Class of 1972
The following is the copy of a brief letter of response addressed to Susan Fish in Kendal, sent from Professor Harold Keaton, dated July 16, 2012.
I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to hear from you after such a long time. I have a very good memory and have forgotten very few students, especially the ones that impressed me during class discussion. I even remember that you received an ‘A’ in that course. I turned 83 two months ago, and still get out to the movies, almost always with my wife, whose name is Lucille. My five children are all doing well, and the youngest is actually still living in the house. We see them all very often. What a happy surprise to have this letter sent on to my New Jersey address from the university. And what a small world! I know all about your son Allan, and for the last two years have been following his work at Wonders in the Dark. A great blogsite for sure! And a place where people are never afraid to say what they think! They ran a terrific musical countdown last year, and I do know they are planning to start up their comedy countdown soon. I will be honored to do something on ‘The Gold Rush’ Susan, and I guarantee my mode will have you in stitches. Ah, the memories. I’ll reach Allan in the comment section at the site. The best to you always my dear friend!
How the Gold Rush made the top 100: