Sit Down and Stay Awhile, A Genteel Jaunt in Savannah

By Cody Bond

This is Georgia’s oldest city—as old as the state itself. It’s a proud place, steeped in history and tradition. James Oglethorpe landed here in 1733 with a boat full of settlers and a plan. He envisioned a community built on even, open streets, all centered on a series of public squares. Nearly 300 years later Savannah’s still reaping the benefits of his design.

You walk past tended lawns and clean-swept porches, sidewalks shaded by clusters of dogwoods and magnolias. Wrought-iron gates wrapped in jasmine open onto garden paths, carriage houses, fountains and ponds. Azaleas bloom in the squares. Centuries-old oak trees spread their limbs above the streets and drape the sky in Spanish moss.

A statue of Michelangelo stands in the sun before the columned entrance of the Telfair Academy, the South’s oldest public art museum. Other greats, including Raphael, Rembrandt, Phidias and Rubens share the courtyard in a state of stony repose. Photo by Cody Bond.

The Savannah River marks the northern border of the city proper. River Street runs along its bank, fronted by restaurants, bars and shops. You see couples walking arm in arm across the trolley tracks to watch the tugboats and containerships slip under Talmadge Bridge to the west. Street peddlers jump up from their curbs and try to sell you palm fronds twisted into roses and hearts. Across the water sits Hutchinson Island. South Carolina and low country lie beyond.

Pitted steps lead up the old city walls to Bay Street. The historic district stretches southward. Savannah has grown over the years, but it has stayed true to Oglethorpe’s vision. The map shows 22 squares carefully placed among its tidy streets. They are named for governors and generals, famous battles, statesmen and churchmen and presidents.

This is a city that doesn’t forget—a city that keeps its past polished and handy and, most of all, intact.

In mid-November, 1864, after laying waste to Atlanta, General William Sherman turned his army southeast and began his infamous March to the Sea. Rather than watch their city burn, the residents of Savannah surrendered. Sherman’s forces marched into town on December 21, unopposed. Sherman sent a telegraph to President Lincoln, informing him of his victory: “I beg to present you, as a Christmas gift, the city of Savannah…”

The city survived unscathed. After awhile the troops left, the war ended, and things went back to normal. That’s the way Savannah likes it.

The grave of Corinne Elliott Lawton sits at the southeastern end of Bonaventure Cemetery overlooking the Wilmington River. As the story goes, Corinne fell in love below her station but was forced into a suitable marriage. Heartbroken, she walked out to Bonaventure the night before the ceremony, leaped from the bluff and drowned. Photo by Cody Bond.

On Sundays people still put on their best. Parents park their cars around the squares and hustle their children to church. Little girls step from backseats and smooth their skirts. Little boys tug at their shirt collars and scuff their shoes. Shops are closed. Everyone prays and goes to brunch.

Life goes on in Savannah, but the dead are never far away. Just outside the city, not five miles to the east, lies Bonaventure Cemetery. One hundred and fifty acres’ worth of Savannah’s sons and daughters are laid to rest behind its gates. Generations share the soil in family plots that sit side-by-side in long rows. Johnny Mercer is buried here. So is the poet Conrad Aiken. At dusk the sunlight filters through the trees and lingers. The angels and obelisks spill their shadows across the hallowed ground, the leaves rustle softly, and you sigh.

You can lose yourself in Savannah. Retrace your steps and find something new. The official history, the stories spelled out in the guidebooks and historic markers, only goes so far. You find yourself peeking over walls, into windows and alleyways, wondering who has lived and died behind these lace curtains and in these quiet courtyards. But if the city could speak she’d keep her secrets. A lady never tells.