Shoo-Fly!

It's summer which means it's fly season. However, the deer flies that have bothered me lately on my morning walks apparently are minor compared to Kingstree's fly problems in years gone by.

Fly on a tulip.

The Kingstree Civic League, in cooperation with the town council, sponsored a Fly Killing Day in 1910. Six years later, in May 1916, the entire month was devoted to promoting "A Flyless Kingstree." The ladies of the civic league promised prizes to the children who killed the most flies. The rules were surprisingly complex. The league would pay 10 cents to each child who turned in 200 dead flies. After the first 200 were turned in, children were instructed to deposit the flies they killed in pint jars. For each pint jar turned in, the civic league would pay an additional 10 cents. However, if a child chose not to participate in killing the first 200, he/she could still earn a dime by turning in a pint of dead flies by the end of the month. 

The child who turned in the most dead flies by the end of May would receive $2. The town was divided into three sectors: Kingstree, New Town, and Nelson's Addition. A member of the civic league was assigned to each sector to receive the dead flies. Children in Kingstree delivered their flies to Margaret Arrowsmith; those in New Town to Ann Swittenberg, and those in Nelson's Addition went to Lillian Clarkson. These ladies received flies on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons only, from 3-4 p.m. Children were not allowed to bring in less than a half a pint of flies. 

Black children living in town were also encouraged to kill and collect flies. They would compete for separate prizes. However, The County Record did not print what those prizes were.

Perhaps not surprisingly, participation had not been quite up to the ladies' expectations. They expressed their disappointment in The County Record, noting, "In an enterprise which is for your good as well as for the good of your neighbor, it should be a pleasure as well as a privilege to contribute thereto."

But, it is possible that years earlier, Williamsburg County may have contributed to the old minstrel show song from the 1860s, "Shoo Fly, Don't Bother Me." There are many versions of how the song originated, but in November 1882, The St. Louis Post Dispatch re-printed a story which ties Williamsburg County to the origin of the song. Here is that story:

"The other evening a party of gentlemen were seated in the social room of the Meridian Club, discussing the smiles and frowns of fortune. In the party was Henry J. Sargent, the well-known theatrical manager. Finally someone said, 'Sargent, were you ever dead broke in a strange place?'

Sheet music for Shoo Fly.

"'That experience has been mine on several occasions; in fact, they have been too numerous to mention. While you were talking I was reminded of my experience in 1867, at Charleston, SC. On the 1st of July of that year, I found myself walking on the Battery with no money, save a lucky penny bearing the date 1833. I had a railway map, and added to that quite an extended knowledge of the geography of the South, for by that time "Sargent, the Illusionist" had become pretty well known in that section of the Union. After looking over the map, I decided on a tramp to Kingstree, a country town sixty-three miles from Charleston. I at once went to the hotel, packed my traps in such a shape that I could carry them, ate a big supper and went to bed. 

"'At four the next morning, I left the hotel without breakfast, for I did not want a scene with the proprietor, and took up my march on the railway track. Time was too precious to stop for dinner, so I trudged along until nine that night when I reached Funkstown, 37 miles from Charleston. It had poured rain all afternoon, and I had not a dry thread on me. The army of dogs which seemed to inhabit the shanties along the railway, near the station, were all on the alert to give me a reception, and somehow I felt that I reciprocated the feeling that they had me under suspicion. I went on until I came to the station which was occupied by the station-master, his wife, a sick child and a Negro servant. I asked the man if I might sleep in the depot, but he said that he could not allow me to, as the roof leaked. I finally curled up on my bundle outside, beneath the eaves and spent the night battling with mosquitoes. 

"'The next morning I was up early and on the march, though I was as stiff as a broken-down racehorse. As I walked along, I overtook a jolly-looking Negro, who was whistling a merry air, and I asked him if he had not had his breakfast. He said he had not. My resources consisted of a gilded watch-chain, which I used for tricks on the stage. This I offered to the Negro if he would procure a breakfast for me. He said he would, and I waited while he went across the field toward some cabins. In a little while he returned with a watermelon and two roasting ears. I ate the melon, which was only half ripe, and then continued my journey. At noon, I came to a small station containing a variety store, and I went in and asked for the proprietor. To him I handed a pair of tortoiseshell eyeglasses, saying, 'I am hungry, give me as much cheese and crackers as you can for these. I will send for them if I ever get any money.' Without a word, the man made up a bundle of the articles I wanted, and it was a good big one, too, then gave me his address and I moved on. 

"That night I reached a place six miles from Kingstree, but having no money, none of the white inhabitants would take me in. Their refusal was a lucky thing for me, for that night I discovered the tune, 'Shoo-Fly.'

"'An old Negro man seeing my trouble followed me a short distance and said, "Boss, I ain't got much of a house, but you're mighty welcome to go there, " and there I went. They gave me some cornbread and fat meat, with which I mingled the remnants of my cheese and crackers and feasted royally–far better than we have here tonight. After supper a Negro with a banjo came and played and sang "Shoo-Fly." The air impressed me, and before I went to sleep I had learned it. When I resumed my tramp the next morning, I marched to the tune of "Shoo-Fly."'

"'But you did not march into finances and comfort to that tune, did you?" asked one of the party.

"'No, indeed. I marched to the water-tank about a mile from Kingstree and waited until the train from Charleston came by and stopped for water. As it moved away, I climbed on, and when it reached the station, I stepped off, and inquired the way to the hotel. After that I did not go hungry, though I came within a hair's breadth of it. I had arranged for the hall for three nights and had posted the few bills I had with me, and all was going well, when a man who had seen me pawning my eyeglasses for the cheese, said to a merchant that I was not Sargent, but some fraud, for he had seen me on my tramp and told the circumstance. That night I had but $22 in the house, but the next night I had $75, and my troubles on that trip were at an end. When I reached New York in the Fall, I was flush, and I got a young man in Boston to arrange the music for "Shoo-Fly" and he gave it to Delehanty and Hengler."

So, did the song "Shoo-Fly" originate in a little cabin just outside Kingstree? I don't suppose we'll ever know, but it's a good story, nevertheless.