What Kind of a Fellow Is — Selig? (1918) 🇺🇸

Being a glance at the real human side of the big men of the picture game caught in action

by William A. Johnston

We want you to take more than a cursory glance at the likeness of Col. William N. Selig decorating this page.

We want you to look at it again and again — and then you might do as we are certain to do — frame it.

Why all this flurry about Wm. N. Selig’s portrait?

Simply this:

Col. Wm. N. Selig is the least photographed film magnate in the business. We doubt if there are more than two photographic likenesses of Mr. Selig in existence. As a trade paper editor, we marked that day on which we once secured a photograph of Mr. Selig with a broad red pencil on our calendar.

Trade paper “morgues” which can boast of at least half a dozen different poses of some magnates consider it an achievement to be able to know where they can borrow a photograph of Mr. Selig.

His only rival in this respect is that other pioneer of Filmland — Frank J. Marion.

And having lugged that word “pioneer” within this page, we might as well drive home the fact now that Mr. Selig is a real pioneer who has not received half the credit coming to him for his “pioneering.”

Mr. Selig, for example, produced the first serial of the type that is now an established screen factor. The Adventures of Kathleen surely set the pace, though What Happened to Mary? may have shown the way.

Mr. Selig was the first producer to move his producing forces to California, where he found a place in the sun that other manufacturers were quick to follow.

Mr. Selig was among the first of producers to recognize the need of luring well-known writers to the then despised “movies.” Can you imagine Harold MacGrath writing a “movie serial” four years ago?

Mr. Selig’s Christopher Columbus in three thousand feet was a radical step for those days of split-reelers.

All in all, I guess we can be pardoned for the use of “pioneer” with the name of a much abused word when we link William N. Selig.

On the personal side William N. Selig has many qualities that have always caused us to express our admiration for him on the slightest pretext. There is a sincere, wholeheartedness about him — a sincerity that is expressed in his view that “You know, money isn’t everything in this life.”

The joy he takes in simply living, we are told, was well shown by the wonderful collection of art objects that he gathered about him in his Chicago home.

It is also evident in the pride he used to express in making a new capture for the Selig Zoo, that pride which made his animal collection one of the show places of California.

And it is also shown in another point — which Mr. Selig would probably be the last to mention in search of self-glorification — but which should go on record.

William N. Selig has been making pictures since the days when the possession of a can of film was sufficient to stamp a man a “magnate.”

He has probably staged some thousands of different stories — we would like to know the exact total.

Yet —

Never once has Mr. Selig’s stamp been on a story that made its appeal on the point of suggestiveness.

Some record.

Something to be proud of!

Never yet has William N. Selig put his world famous Diamond S. on a picture where the initial could be expected to stand for “Suggestive.”

A thousand and one stories — a thousand and one different plots — a hundred and one different authors paid — and not one word or cent that hoped to profit by off color tastes.

That’s William N. Selig’s record.

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Illustration by: Harry Palmer (Harry Samuel Palmer) (1882–1955)

Collection: Motion Picture News, 6 July 1918