Southern Exposure—The Fly Swatter
October 9, 2025
By Tom Poland
Grandmothers’ Weapon Of Choice
The New Oxford American Dictionary defines “fly swatter” as “an implement used for swatting insects, typically a square of plastic mesh attached to a wire handle.” I beg to differ. An honest-to-goodness fly swatter is made of screen-wire. Both my grandmothers wielded those instruments of doom with an Olympic fencer’s skill. How many times did I watch those sweet, Southern ladies pull off a trifecta: dispatching three flies with one swat.
Before central air conditioning, screen doors and open windows delivered a modicum of cooler air on oppressive summer days. In no time at all, though, flies made themselves at home in the kitchen. It was there, at the hands of my grandmothers, that they met their maker.
Those ladies had reflexes like Muhammad Ali. They could even clobber a fly buzzing through the air. I witnessed my maternal grandmother bat a “black buzzard” into an arc of death where the deceased stuck to my granddad’s bifocals as he tried to read the weekly paper’s classifieds.
“What the — ,” as he snatched his bifocals off.
Yes, those simple screen-wire swatters struck with deadly force and were far more efficient than plastic swatters. You see, the greasy little critters detect changes in air pressure and a plastic swatter’s pressure wave says, “Here I come.”
“I’m outta here,” says Buzzy the fly, and off he buzzes.
A thin mesh of screen-wire, however, comes down swiftly, silently, converting the fly to a countertop’s version of road kill possum.
Screen-wire swatters trump plastic swatters, but you will be hard pressed to find a genuine screen-wire swatter in an air-conditioned, fluorescent lit store today. All you’ll find are plastic ones.
I own a real fly swatter. Screen wire. It brings back a lot of memories. No visit to my grandmothers’ home was complete without seeing those Southern ladies reach for an old-fashioned screen-wire flyswatter. Both were superb marksman. They had radar. They would be looking at me, talking, and swat a fly 90 degrees to the right or left without so much as a glance. A flick of the wrist. Pay dirt!
But then plastic swatters came along. Plastic flyswatters aren’t worth a hoot. The air doesn’t sift through a plastic swatter like it does screen wire. The result is predictable: the fly launches into the air and lives to tromp across the peach pie again.
Another good thing about screen-wire flyswatters—a shake over a toilet bowl took care of the matter. Burial at sea. If a plastic swatter scores a kill over a slow, dimwitted fly, the fly remains where it was, albeit wider, thinner, and bloodier. Now you have to scrape up the mess.
Another thing. Back when kids actually played outdoors, flies and kids made a bad combination. Kids had an annoying habit of standing in an open door, neither going in or out … just standing there.
“Close the door, you’re letting flies in.”
The war was on, and my grandmothers were armed and ready.
The days of swatting flies are behind us. Air conditioning makes life more tolerable but it robs us of color and character. The annual war against summer flies not only required screen-wire swatters but puffs of cotton stuffed in holes in door screens. Despite such measures, pesky, nasty, greasy flies managed to invade the dwelling. It was there that they encountered the original No Fly Zone, and if a chap, as we were called, got out of line, well, the swatter was good medicine for us too.
Georgia native Tom Poland writes a weekly column about the South, its people, traditions, lifestyle, and culture and speaks frequently to groups in the South. Governor Henry McMaster conferred the Order of the Palmetto upon Tom, South Carolina’s highest civilian honor, stating, “His work is exceptional to the state.” Poland’s work appears in books, magazines, journals, and newspapers throughout the South.
Visit Tom’s website at www.tompoland.net
Email him at [email protected]
