Haunted Savannah: America's Most Spectral City

by Caskey, James

  She passed away in 1917, but before she did, she was adamant about no one ‘wearing mourning’. She would be with Willie again in the afterlife, so everyone should celebrate.

  Nellie died in her bedroom on Washington’s Birthday, February 22, 1917. Her daughter-in-law, Margaret, reported that she was surprised to see her father-in-law, who had died five years ago, coming out of Nellie’s bedroom. He was wearing his grey officer’s uniform, and his face was one of extreme joy. He walked down the front stairs and out of sight. It was then that another family member walked out of the same doorway to Nellie’s bedroom and told her that Nellie had just passed away. Margaret told of seeing Willie Gordon, but her claims were dismissed… that is, until they walked to the foyer. The old family butler was standing at the foot of the stairs, tears streaming down his cheeks. Before they could speak, he told them that he had just seen Willie in his General’s uniform, walking down the stairs, looking ever so happy. The man went on to say that the General must have come back to fetch Nellie himself.

  Her children said that when Nellie died, her face took on the radiance of a bride.

  Place of History, Place of Hauntings

  The house has been turned into a museum, and restored to reflect the 1880’s. Among the collection of art and antiques is artwork created by Daisy herself. Members of the staff that work at the museum claim that Willie and Nellie are still happy and together in the house. The piano in the south parlor is heard playing from time to time—which is amazing considering that it has been broken since the 1940’s. Both Nellie and her mother-in-law, Sarah Gordon, were accomplished musicians.

  The Juliette Gordon Low Birthplace was featured on the Travel Channel program America’s Most Haunted Places- Savannah. In the segment, several people gave firsthand accounts of seeing strange sights at the house. Tour guides claim that the presence of Sarah, and not Willie or Nellie, is the foremost spectre in the house. It stands to reason that a woman so dominant in life would also be somewhat prominent in the household even after her passing. In the upstairs office, the adding machine would be found by a senior member of the staff in the morning to have jumbles of numbers on the paper scrolling out of the machine. Exasperated, she finally unplugged the device before leaving for the night. When she returned in the morning, the machine was once again found to be used—with the paper scrolled out onto the floor once again, but the power cord was still disconnected from the wall. Later, she actually saw the machine while it was tabulating on its own, with the cord unplugged from the wall and no fingers actually pressing the keys.

  Sarah’s Overbearing Presence

  Guides also report that as soon as the elevator was installed, Sarah began to make appearances from time to time. According to them, she is upset because the elevator essentially took up the closet space in her bedroom. A special code must be entered in order to access the third floor, but on Missy Brandt’s first day working at the Birthplace, it took her unerringly to the third floor, which opens next to Sarah’s old room, without her touching any buttons. Sarah is seen by tour guides and tourists alike at times, reportedly wearing a dark brown dress, in various rooms of the old house.

  Sometimes, working at such a haunted location means you have to take certain things in stride. A guide in the house smiled broadly when I asked her about Sarah’s ghost. “Well, I had a couple of Girl Scouts come back from the bathroom and comment that it was ‘pretty neat’ that we had installed those motion-activated sinks in the bathroom, because the water turned on as soon as the Scouts got near them—and it was surprising that the water was so hot. I’d say it’s surprising: we don’t have motion-activated sinks, and the water isn’t hot in the bathroom! But I pretended as if nothing was amiss because I didn’t want to create a stampede of girls towards the bathroom.”

  One night, a special evening time tour was to take place. The guides arrived to open the Birthplace and found the lights in the house blazing, when they had been shut off earlier that day. On another occasion, a ghost tour guide telling the story outside reported something strange seen through one of the windows. A woman in period costume was seen by both the guide and the entire tour walking through one of the southern parlors, carrying a candle. Inquiries the next day at the Birthplace revealed that no events had taken place the previous night.

  A former tour guide related that once while walking up the stairs to the third floor carrying a heavy package, suddenly lost her footing and was about to take a fall that could have possibly been fatal. She felt a firm hand plant itself squarely in her back and push her back to her feet. She turned around to thank whoever had possibly saved her life—and found no one on the stairs behind her. The ghosts in this house apparently lend a helping hand from time to time.

  Today, the Juliette Gordon Low Birthplace operates as a house museum, and is available for touring.

  The Cotton Exchange Seafood Grill & Tavern

  201 East River Street

  At the center of River Street near the Abercorn ramp, a seemingly quiet bar contains a tumultuous collection of spirits. The restaurant, bar, and kitchen of the Cotton Exchange Tavern have all been scenes of supernatural occurrences. According to those who work at the Exchange, there is more than one entity in the tavern; and if the stories are to be believed, there is at least one presence that is clearly unfriendly.

  Before we go getting into the haunted stories at this bastion of River Street, first we must explore the question for the uninitiated: what is River Street, exactly? Well, the bayfront area which is now River Street is where Savannah began. The forty foot high sandy bluff where our founder, James Edward Oglethorpe, established our city provided a wonderfully defensible position from the Spanish in Florida. Unfortunately, this same bluff made unloading cargo and passengers difficult. The early settlers initially built a series of steps for passengers and wooden ramps and a rudimentary crane for cargo, but as the shipping port grew they also needed warehouses for storage and eventually offices for shipping companies. The earliest construction was undoubtedly wood, but something more permanent was needed. Those involved in the development of River Street decided to use the ballast stones, weights added for the stability of ocean-going vessels, that were being offloaded from the tall-masted ships in the harbor. As heavy cargo was loaded on, ballast stones were moved off the vessel to keep weight evenly distributed.

  The Cotton Exchange Tavern opened in the early 1970’s.

  Much of the current buildings in the area, including River Street itself, are built of ballast stone, non-indigenous rocks imported as described above by incoming ships. Thus these stones were readily available, fairly easy with which to build, and had an important quality lacking in the wooden buildings: they were fireproof. Much of the early exports—lumber, rosin, cotton and rice—were all flammable. Fire-resistant construction was an absolute necessity, as illustrated by Savannah’s numerous “Great Fires”.

  Those with an even rudimentary eye for architecture will notice that the majority these buildings were built in two stages: the bottom floors of most of River Street were built out of ballast stone (starting on or around 1820), but the upper floors were not added until there was a need for office space in the 1850’s and 60’s. The backsides of these warehouses, facing Bay Street away from the river, have a series of bridges running above the back lane separating the buildings and Bay Street. These bridges (which were originally wood, but now are steel and concrete) were where bidders on cotton, commonly called ‘Factors’, would observe the cotton and grade it. Thus it became known as Factor’s Walk.

  The immense warehouse which currently houses the Cotton Exchange Tavern (along with several other businesses) is a typical example of the two-stage construction. Although the building has a single date of 1823, it is likely not accurate, which is common with this area of the city—the dates are a ‘ballpark’ estimation of when the building was expanded into something we would recognize today. The date quot
ed is probably the time the brick was added, making the building multi-level. The ballast stone construction on the lowest level was likely adapted from a previous building: remember, construction has been nearly continuous at this location since 1733 so finding the ‘correct’ date is more a matter of opinion than objective fact. But we will use the date quoted for the purpose of our historical sketch of the property.

  The building was built by Archibald Smith, who was a local plantation owner. It was common knowledge that he rarely visited his plantation, which was quite a regular occurrence amongst the local planter aristocracy; but was equally noteworthy because he left a slave overseer in charge while he was away, which was a rare arrangement. Smith eventually left Savannah in 1838 due to religious reasons (he was a devout Presbyterian and was encouraged by fellow planter Roswell King to move inland) and settled just north of Atlanta, Georgia. He established a plantation home in that area, which is present-day Roswell, Georgia. Incidentally the Archibald Smith Plantation House, circa 1845, shares something else in common with Savannah: both the house and the City of Savannah escaped destruction by William T. Sherman’s troops during the Civil War. So the house Smith built in Roswell and the building he constructed and left behind in Savannah both managed to escape the Union Army’s torch during their fiery six-week March to the Sea in 1864.

  The popular Savannah building reflects our history as seen through our commerce: cotton and other goods gave way to shipping finished materials. Eventually, tourism entered the picture by way of restaurants, shops and antique stores. Presently, the riverfront is packed with family-friendly restaurants and attractions, but when the Exchange Tavern opened for business in the early 1970’s it was something of an anomaly. Up to that point, River Street had been populated with bars that catered primarily to sailors, making it a very different place than it is today (NOT family friendly!). The Exchange was the charter member among true restaurants on the riverfront, first opening its doors in 1971.

  Mean Jean

  The Exchange has a constant presence, and we’re not just talking about ghosts. Bartender ‘Mean Jean’, as she is known with much affection by management and fellow staff alike, has called the Exchange Tavern a home-away-from-home for a quarter century, working at the tavern since 1981. If you want the inside scoop on anything from the ins-and-outs of city government to how to make the perfect cocktail, turn to Jean for all the info. Mean Jean is also the amalgamator of, in my opinion, the finest Bloody Mary available anywhere—a drink I don’t normally like to consume, but I’ll make an exception and order (and enjoy) one if it has been prepared by her experienced hand. Jean also has numerous ghost stories about the old building, and has had several experiences herself involving the supernatural over the years. One of her first encounters was with a spectral tremor from the past involving the father of the original owner of the Exchange Restaurant, which she related one hot and muggy August over perspiring beverages.

  Oompah’s Brew

  “The father’s name was John, but everyone, me included, called him ‘Oompah’,” Jean related with a smile. “He was a clock collector, and had a collection of over a hundred clocks at the time in the restaurant. He’d show up every morning and wind up those clocks, and then he’d sit down at the bar at a certain spot and have a cup of coffee—the old-style kind of mug with the plastic insert.

  “Well, Oompah passed away, and one morning not soon after I went in for work. The first thing I noticed when I passed Oompah’s usual seat was the strong smell of coffee, like it had been fresh brewed. Well, I figured the night staff had left a coffeepot on all night, so I went around and checked, and they were all clean and the burners were all cool. None had been brewed at all, so I was smelling Oompah’s morning cup of coffee. Just like he was there in the morning and brewed himself a cup. I figure he was just dropping by to see how we were doing.” It stands to reason that a man so obsessed with timepieces would be on time to enjoy his coffee, even in the spirit world. Even ghosts apparently need a coffee break.

  Ghostly Trajectory

  Jean reveals that the hauntings of the Exchange Tavern have gotten worse, not better, since a fire occurred on July 4th several years ago. “For whatever reason, since the renovation after the fire, things have picked up steam,” she says. As I explored briefly in the Introduction, there is a theory that paranormal activity can increase exponentially when old buildings are renovated, as if all that pent-up psychic energy is stirred up—and it seems to hold true in this case. The servers have since reported hearing footsteps when no one can be seen, as well as the sounds of babies crying. But there is a more aggressive energy to the space, as well.

  In one incident, a staff member was smacked by a loaf of bread in the kitchen. It flew off of a prep table into the air and pegged him with unerring accuracy. No word, though, on whether he was ‘loafing’ on the job. “Yeah, I don’t think the ghost liked him,” says Jean with typical understatement. And Jean herself is not immune to the apparently frustrated energy: she was almost impacted one day, literally. A metal ice scoop flew across the restaurant, narrowly missing her. “If it wanted my attention, all it needed to do was ask,” Jean says with a wry smile, and the unspoken implication is either that the ghost likes her better than her co-worker (he of the bread loaf), or perhaps that the ghost’s aim is deteriorating over time? She also recounted that the spirit in the Exchange liked to hurl other objects, too: things are either falling or being tossed from shelves near the bar on a regular basis.

  Jean also says that the radio in the tavern will sometimes have the volume turned up or down. In one humorous instance, a server noticed that a certain song got a lot louder. She stood with her head cocked to one side, listening to the rising volume for a moment, and then asked the empty air: “Like that song, do ya?” This got a laugh from the rest of the staff—some things are funny because they’re true, apparently. The ghost has traditional tastes, if the volume is any indication of preference, leaning towards bluegrass or country, and has a dislike for rap and hard rock.

  Apparitions

  One former server reported seeing something strange on the staircase leading to the second floor: she saw a white and indistinct form walk down the stairs while she was upstairs. “It wasn’t glowing or anything, but it looked like gauze—sort of wispy,” she says. Thinking she had caught a glimpse of the manager, who was the only other person in the Exchange, she went to go see what she wanted. She found the manager in her office, and was surprised to learn that she had been in the office doing paperwork the entire time. This particular server is sick of ghosts: “I’ve worked at the Pirate’s House, Garibaldi’s, the Cotton Exchange, and now I have a job at the Marshall House! The entire downtown seems as though it is infested with ghosts. Can’t I find a job in a building that isn’t haunted?” Which, I hated to inform the poor server in question, is not such an easy feat sometimes in Savannah’s Historic District.

  The spirit in the Exchange Tavern has eluded identification thus far, unless it is indeed Oompah, like Mean Jean has surmised. The list of potential suspects runs back through every bit of Savannah’s nearly three centuries of history, so even a guess at the identity of our ghost would be just that: a guess. Without more clues coming to light as to who or what this spectre (or spectres) might be, the tale of the Exchange Tavern will have to remain open-ended, for now. One thing is certain, however: I absolutely do not fear any ghosts or phantoms, but the lethality of Mean Jean’s cocktails gives me reason to pause. Sometimes you have to respect the spirits which can really put a hurting on you.

  Pour Larry’s in City Market

  206 West St. Julian Street

  “…if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

  —Friedrich Nietzsche

  Running a haunted pub crawl can be difficult, and I’m not talking about just handling the occasional drunk. What I mean that it can be very hard to find the right balance, storywise,
between the tragic (sometimes heartrending) history and the humor used for entertainment purposes. There is usually a time and place for both elements in all the stories we tell, because while all ghost stories involve some horrific events by their very nature, a good storyteller can usually make light of some of the more absurd elements of the historical circumstances. Tragedy can be very funny, if you have the proper timing.

  Then there are those tales where one unexpectedly comes into contact with absolute, faith-shaking evil, and no amount of humor can cover up the awful things that humans can do. There are those kinds of yarns, and yes, you’re reading one of those now, which can test your faith in humanity. How do you weave soul-sucking bleakness into a narrative? That’s how I found myself sitting in a darkened room with a glass of liquor, pondering the career choices that led me inexorably to that particular moment. To this day, I associate the taste of a certain brand of Irish whiskey with a man who most closely embodies the word ‘evil’ I have ever encountered in my research. The tinkling of my ice in the glass became… well, I’m getting ahead of myself, and a good storyteller paces his tales appropriately. But I can tell you that it’s a day at the archives I’ll never forget: the day that I met John Montmollin. Over one hundred and fifty years separated us, and he was still way too close for comfort.